In a company once defined by visionary leadership and fierce loyalty, the silence of departure is now deafening. At Tesla, one of the most iconic brands of the 21st century, something is shifting. Those who stood beside Elon Musk through the company’s meteoric rise—who built, designed, engineered, and defended the Tesla dream—are quietly walking away.

From long-time engineers to founding designers and political strategists, the inner circle of Musk’s empire is crumbling. The message is becoming harder to ignore: the king still sits on the throne, but he’s more alone than ever.

Just days ago, David Lau, Tesla’s Vice President of Software Engineering, officially stepped down after 13 years with the company. Lau wasn’t a figure often splashed across headlines, but his impact was woven deeply into the core of Tesla’s operations. He oversaw software systems that powered nearly every part of Tesla vehicles—from the battery and powertrain to data engineering and vehicle performance.

Since 2017, he led the teams that kept Tesla’s software experience seamless and responsive. He helped turn cars into computers on wheels. His departure alone would be a major loss. But it wasn’t just a quiet resignation—it came with a sting. 

“Elon Musk should get out of Tesla.”

That’s what Lau allegedly said on his way out, according to sources close to the situation. And in a company where loyalty to Musk has often felt like an unspoken rule, this was a declaration of protest.

Only weeks before Lau’s dramatic exit, Tesla lost two of its most influential design minds: David Imai and Bernard Lee.

Imai, who had spent nearly 14 years at Tesla and held the position of Director of Design for the last five, was responsible for shaping the visual language of the Model 3—the car that brought Tesla to the masses. His work helped define what a “Tesla” looked and felt like.

But two weeks ago, Imai left it all behind for a position at a boat design studio, ending more than a decade of crafting futuristic road-bound machines. It was a calm exit—but symbolic. The man who once helped lead Tesla’s most accessible product was now choosing to design boats.

More alarming, though, was the departure of Bernard Lee, a name revered inside Tesla’s earliest creative rooms. Lee joined Tesla in 2008, coming from Mazda, and was a founding member of Tesla’s internal design studio. He was involved in every major vehicle since the Tesla Roadster, playing key roles either as lead or supporting designer.

The one design he notably didn’t contribute to? The Cybertruck—a vehicle that split opinions and signaled a creative divergence inside Tesla. For many observers, Lee’s absence from the Cybertruck and his eventual departure felt connected. When one of the original architects of Tesla’s identity chooses to walk away, it’s not just personal—it’s institutional.

But this unraveling of Tesla’s leadership didn’t start with designers. Months before the design team began to thin out, Tesla’s strategic and engineering infrastructure was already being dismantled from within.

In the spring of last year, Drew Baglino, Tesla’s Senior Vice President of Powertrain and Energy Engineering, resigned. Baglino was no ordinary executive—he was widely considered one of Musk’s closest engineering allies. His role was central to Tesla’s energy innovations, and he often stood beside Musk during public presentations.

With over 16 years at the company, Baglino’s presence represented continuity. When he left, it was one of the first true warning signs that something in Tesla’s core was shifting.

Almost simultaneously, Rohan Patel, Tesla’s head of public policy and business development, stepped down. Patel had helped Tesla navigate regulatory battles, expand globally, and defend its position in the face of growing competition and political scrutiny. At a time when Musk was becoming more overtly political, aligning with far-right ideologies and taking on controversial government roles, Patel’s exit was seen by many as a silent rejection of that direction.

And then came Jos Dings, Tesla’s European policy director, who resigned just days before the high-profile Robotaxi reveal in October. Europe—already uneasy about Musk’s increasingly political persona—lost one of the few remaining diplomatic voices inside Tesla. Dings’ exit didn’t make global headlines, but to those paying attention, it was the loss of Tesla’s policy bridge to its most complex international market.

Individually, these exits could be dismissed as standard attrition. In a fast-moving company with sky-high demands, people come and go. But this is different.

These are not just names on an org chart. These are the engineers, designers, and strategists who helped turn Elon Musk’s ideas into working reality. Many of them stayed with Tesla for more than a decade. They joined when the company was a risky bet. They stayed through chaos, growth, setbacks, and breakthroughs.

Now, they’re leaving in waves—and not just because of burnout or better offers. From Lau’s pointed criticism to Patel’s and Dings’ strategic silence, a narrative is emerging: Elon Musk’s Tesla is no longer the Tesla they believed in.

Elon Musk remains the face of Tesla. He is still the visionary. The decision-maker. The force behind every product launch, every tweet, every pivot. But what once made him powerful wasn’t just his vision—it was the trust and dedication of those who carried it out.

Now, as the original team vanishes, Musk is left ruling an empire with fewer loyal generals by his side. His attention is increasingly divided—between Tesla, SpaceX, Neuralink, X (formerly Twitter), and now his role in the Department of Government Efficiency (DOGE) under the second Trump administration.

Meanwhile, Tesla faces slipping sales, mounting competition (especially from BYD in China), and public perception challenges driven by Musk’s political involvement. The numbers are concerning, but the culture shift might be even more damaging.

Tesla is still building cars. It’s still innovating. It’s still profitable. But something deeper is breaking. Something harder to measure. Culture. Loyalty. Trust.

And as the architects of Tesla’s golden years walk away, one by one, the company begins to feel less like a collaborative revolution—and more like a one-man show.

The king still sits on the throne. But the hall is growing empty. And the silence is starting to echo. The empire Elon Musk built still stands tall—but brick by brick, the people who helped raise it are walking away. A king can lead. But even a king can’t build alone.