Golden Goose Gone: Billionaire Exodus Slams California’s Wealth Tax Push

Paul Riverbank, 1/17/2026California's wealth tax sparks billionaire exodus, raising economic alarm and doubts about future fiscal stability.

There’s a catch. If you’re hoping for a grace period, you’re out of luck: the tax would hit retroactively, kicking in from the first day of 2026. And while supporters work the phones gathering enough signatures for a possible 2026 vote, California’s one-percenters aren’t exactly waiting around to see how the dice land.

Some of Silicon Valley’s heaviest hitters have already made their moves. Larry Page and Sergey Brin—brand names in their own right, founders of Google and regulars at Valley soirées—have been quietly reshuffling their business cards. The New York Times laid out the details. In the past year, Brin shuttered or whisked away more than a dozen companies to friendlier states, like Nevada. Page? He’s moved or closed over forty-five. The numbers, astonishing as they sound, are real: “The total wealth that has left California is now $1 trillion,” tweeted investor Chamath Palihapitiya. Maybe it’s bluster, maybe not, but few in Sacramento are laughing.

Palihapitiya, known as much for his candor as his bold bets, didn’t sugarcoat the aftermath. “We had $2 trillion of billionaire wealth weeks ago. Now, half of that is gone. They’re taking their income, their property, their spending—and everyone they employ—right along with them.” Even if the figures wobble, you can sense the alarm bells ringing in tax offices.

The fear isn’t just about sticker shock. It’s the design, the fine print. Garry Tan, who runs Y Combinator, took to social media to complain about how the measure could force billionaires to cough up much more than the advertised five percent. Some of these moguls own shares with voting power—shares impossible to sell without losing control. Tan spun out the math on Alphabet, Google’s parent company: “A 5% wealth tax on $1.2 trillion is a $60 billion tax bill. Each. That’s half their actual Alphabet stake—gone, just like that.” The headlines say five percent, but the fear is the real hit will be much steeper.

The plan’s backers, meanwhile, try to play it cool. Suzanne Jimenez, speaking for SEIU-UHW, painted the tax as “a very minor thing.” Not worth the hullabaloo, she insists. Some of her colleagues wave off the exodus as elite hand-wringing. Bloomberg recently pressed Nvidia’s CEO Jensen Huang on the issue; he shrugged off the idea of a one-time wealth tax, saying he “hadn’t thought about it even once”—despite an $8 billion projected tax bill.

Scratch the surface, though, and it’s not only numbers that anger critics. There’s a deep suspicion—one fostered over years of budget scandals and bureaucratic slip-ups—that California government can’t be trusted to manage the money. The memory of COVID-era relief fraud, which reportedly ran into the hundreds of billions, hasn’t faded. Neither has the sting of local scams: a headline out of Minnesota (dripping with controversy) claimed $9 billion stolen from state programs, with allegations swirling about the beneficiaries.

And it's not just conservatives voicing doubt. Some liberal voters wonder if their own party’s hesitant approach to taxing the wealthy comes down to political fear—money talks, after all, and campaign coffers don’t fill themselves. Meanwhile, figures like Dr. Tammy Carpenter push for a much steeper tab on the ultra-rich, warning that time’s running out for incremental change.

Yet the historical record is sobering. Wealth taxes sound straightforward, but actually collecting the money—without triggering capital flight or investment freezes—proves trickier than expected. In 1990, a dozen countries had net wealth taxes; by 2017, just four remained. In practice, the very rich have options: private jets, teams of lawyers, and (yes) speedy U-Haul reservations.

That’s why some say these taxes never stay put. First it’s billionaires—then, perhaps, millionaires. If the ranks of the ultra-wealthy dwindle, those below look up, wondering if they’re next. The golden goose, it turns out, doesn’t like to linger.

The drama unfolding in California offers lessons for the rest of the country. How do we ensure a fair tax code? Can we curb fraud without killing the golden-egg layers? And if the richest residents leave, who’s left to fill the gap? For now, as moving vans rumble out of Silicon Valley, the rest of the nation is watching, notebooks open, pencil at the ready.

Cash-strapped, anxious, and perhaps a bit desperate: that’s the mood in Sacramento these days. The state’s ballooning deficit has California lawmakers scrambling for new ideas, and this time, the spotlight falls on the Billionaire Tax Act. Backed by union activists and left-leaning politicos, this proposal isn’t about skimming a little extra from income. It’s five percent—straight off the top—on any resident’s net worth above a cool billion dollars. And yes, that means not just salaries, but the whole grab bag: unsold stocks, sprawling properties, whatever’s in the vault.There’s a catch. If you’re hoping for a grace period, you’re out of luck: the tax would hit retroactively, kicking in from the first day of 2026. And while supporters work the phones gathering enough signatures for a possible 2026 vote, California’s one-percenters aren’t exactly waiting around to see how the dice land.Some of Silicon Valley’s heaviest hitters have already made their moves. Larry Page and Sergey Brin—brand names in their own right, founders of Google and regulars at Valley soirées—have been quietly reshuffling their business cards. The New York Times laid out the details. In the past year, Brin shuttered or whisked away more than a dozen companies to friendlier states, like Nevada. Page? He’s moved or closed over forty-five. The numbers, astonishing as they sound, are real: “The total wealth that has left California is now $1 trillion,” tweeted investor Chamath Palihapitiya. Maybe it’s bluster, maybe not, but few in Sacramento are laughing.Palihapitiya, known as much for his candor as his bold bets, didn’t sugarcoat the aftermath. “We had $2 trillion of billionaire wealth weeks ago. Now, half of that is gone. They’re taking their income, their property, their spending—and everyone they employ—right along with them.” Even if the figures wobble, you can sense the alarm bells ringing in tax offices.The fear isn’t just about sticker shock. It’s the design, the fine print. Garry Tan, who runs Y Combinator, took to social media to complain about how the measure could force billionaires to cough up much more than the advertised five percent. Some of these moguls own shares with voting power—shares impossible to sell without losing control. Tan spun out the math on Alphabet, Google’s parent company: “A 5% wealth tax on $1.2 trillion is a $60 billion tax bill. Each. That’s half their actual Alphabet stake—gone, just like that.” The headlines say five percent, but the fear is the real hit will be much steeper.The plan’s backers, meanwhile, try to play it cool. Suzanne Jimenez, speaking for SEIU-UHW, painted the tax as “a very minor thing.” Not worth the hullabaloo, she insists. Some of her colleagues wave off the exodus as elite hand-wringing. Bloomberg recently pressed Nvidia’s CEO Jensen Huang on the issue; he shrugged off the idea of a one-time wealth tax, saying he “hadn’t thought about it even once”—despite an $8 billion projected tax bill.Scratch the surface, though, and it’s not only numbers that anger critics. There’s a deep suspicion—one fostered over years of budget scandals and bureaucratic slip-ups—that California government can’t be trusted to manage the money. The memory of COVID-era relief fraud, which reportedly ran into the hundreds of billions, hasn’t faded. Neither has the sting of local scams: a headline out of Minnesota (dripping with controversy) claimed $9 billion stolen from state programs, with allegations swirling about the beneficiaries.And it's not just conservatives voicing doubt. Some liberal voters wonder if their own party’s hesitant approach to taxing the wealthy comes down to political fear—money talks, after all, and campaign coffers don’t fill themselves. Meanwhile, figures like Dr. Tammy Carpenter push for a much steeper tab on the ultra-rich, warning that time’s running out for incremental change.Yet the historical record is sobering. Wealth taxes sound straightforward, but actually collecting the money—without triggering capital flight or investment freezes—proves trickier than expected. In 1990, a dozen countries had net wealth taxes; by 2017, just four remained. In practice, the very rich have options: private jets, teams of lawyers, and (yes) speedy U-Haul reservations.That’s why some say these taxes never stay put. First it’s billionaires—then, perhaps, millionaires. If the ranks of the ultra-wealthy dwindle, those below look up, wondering if they’re next. The golden goose, it turns out, doesn’t like to linger.The drama unfolding in California offers lessons for the rest of the country. How do we ensure a fair tax code? Can we curb fraud without killing the golden-egg layers? And if the richest residents leave, who’s left to fill the gap? For now, as moving vans rumble out of Silicon Valley, the rest of the nation is watching, notebooks open, pencil at the ready.