Now called Willow Wealth, the private markets platform has moved from picking individual deals to building portfolios. Its history explains why easier access still demands difficult questions.
The solo entrepreneur gets the invoices, the freedom and the retirement paperwork. Carry puts the financial machinery in one place - and its move to Lettuce makes the ambition larger.
Private funds learned to reach more investors. SUBSCRIBE built the machinery to handle them: reusable investor profiles, digital subscriptions, and a shared workflow for everyone who has to say yes.
An investment return looks simple until someone has to explain it. First Rate has built a business around the data, decisions, and human relationships hiding behind the percentage sign.
Alex Rodriguez built his investment business around apartment buildings, then added startups, sports teams and a media operation. Its most revealing deals show both the value of a famous name and the limits of one.
Private credit grew faster than its plumbing. Oxane Partners built the control room - software, analysts and all - for the documents, covenants and awkward loan data that spreadsheets can no longer contain.
Intralinks helped replace couriers, binders and guarded rooms with a browser. Thirty years later, it is betting that security, workflow and AI can turn that original wedge into the operating system for high-stakes finance.
The private-markets software company withdrew a $275 million IPO, stayed private and kept building. Now its advantage may be the data exhaust of 21,000 funds - if it can turn old workflows into trusted AI.
For 28 years, Dynamo kept adding the jobs private-market firms wanted software to do. Its biggest redesign asks a harder question: can one sprawling investment platform finally behave like one product?
Independent advisors wanted private markets. What they lacked was the institutional plumbing. CAIS spent 17 years assembling access, diligence, education and paperwork into one operating system - and turned the boring middle into a company valued above $2 billion.
Most wealth firms begin with a portfolio. Newport begins with the family - then builds an endowment-style mix of public and private assets around the life that money is supposed to fund.
Prime Quadrant started after one family discovered that a liquidity event can buy almost anything except unbiased advice. Now the firm serves more than 260 families, caps the roster near 300, and wants to manage the arguments around wealth as carefully as the assets themselves.
Brad Nathan’s first deal wiped him out. His second act was built on a less cinematic idea: buy sturdy companies from retiring owners, read the balance sheet, and keep the good parts intact.
Scott Wood and Mark Gehlbach left product-tied Wall Street advice behind, built the alternative-investment shelf they wished existed, and waited 24 years before taking outside capital. Now comes the harder trick: scaling a family office without turning trust into a product.
North Square made a business out of the least romantic part of asset management: getting good strategies onto advisers’ shelves. Eight years, several acquisitions and $4.05 billion in retail fund assets later, its distribution machine belongs to Azimut.
Perry Vieth left a $7 billion bond desk to buy dirt. Eighteen years later, corn and soybean acres he leases to family farmers are worth $1.85 billion - and Wall Street finally wants in.
Two Chicago traders spent a decade turning hedge-fund tactics into a wealth business for families who aren't endowments. In 2026 they sold it - $5.6 billion later.
The firm that backed early technology companies is assembling venture, credit, impact and media under one roof. Its wager is that the useful edge is not a single fund, but the ability to meet an idea at several points in its life.
New Mountain Capital built a multi-strategy investment platform around a deceptively simple filter: choose businesses people still need when the economy gets strange, then help those businesses grow.
Linqto turned private-company investing into something that looked almost like online shopping. Its rise - and its Chapter 11 restructuring - shows both the appeal and the hidden plumbing of fintech access.
For 13 years, EquityZen has turned startup stock - awkward, restricted and stubbornly illiquid - into something more people can transact. Its new owner, Morgan Stanley, is betting that the private market needs plumbing as much as it needs picks.
It started as a distressed-debt shop picking through the wreckage of the 1990 junk-bond collapse. Thirty-five years later Apollo runs close to a trillion dollars and is trying to sell private credit to your 401(k).
For years, private markets belonged to endowments and the ultra-wealthy. BIP Capital is betting the next chapter belongs to the advisor down the street - and it built the plumbing to prove it.
Founded in 1984, Kayne Anderson built a $41 billion alternatives platform by specializing in the unglamorous middle market - oil wells, storage units, and student housing - where cash flow, not hype, does the talking.
A pandemic side project for charity became the meeting place for hedge funds, private equity and the allocators who fund them - roughly 26,000 members and $50 trillion in capital, run on software instead of steak dinners.
Clearlake turned a distressed-debt strategy into a $90 billion machine by fixing unglamorous companies - then bought a Premier League club to prove the point.
Fundrise started by letting neighbors buy a piece of a Washington property. It now manages billions across real estate, credit and venture - an ambitious attempt to give ordinary investors institutional-style access without pretending private assets are as simple as stocks.
A private markets firm started in 2007 now helps steer roughly $700 billion across private equity, credit, real estate and infrastructure - and it is quietly opening the door to individual investors.
Car washes, oil-change bays and small industrial buildings rarely make glamorous pitch decks. QC Capital thinks that is precisely why they deserve a closer look.
Jeremy Coller spent 36 years arguing that private equity needed a second-hand market. Now that the market is worth trillions, EQT is paying up to $3.7 billion to own the firm that started it.