Berkshire Hathaway's first Q&A without Warren Buffett opened with a question from a deepfake Warren Buffett [Business Insider]

When tens of thousands of shareholders filed into the CHI Health Center in Omaha this past weekend, they knew it would be different. For the first time in over six decades, Warren Buffett was not at the helm of Berkshire Hathaway’s annual meeting. The “Oracle of Omaha” stepped back this year, handing the reins to Vice Chairman Greg Abel and a new generation of leaders. But no one could have predicted the meeting’s very first moment: a question from a deepfake Warren Buffett.

The auditorium, packed with investors from around the world, fell into a stunned silence. A large screen flickered to life, displaying a hyper-realistic digital avatar of the 94-year-old billionaire. The avatar, dressed in Buffett’s signature suit and glasses, leaned into an invisible microphone. “Hello, Omaha,” it said in a voice that was uncannily accurate—right down to the Midwestern cadence and the slight crackle of age. “I know I’m not supposed to be here, but I had a few things I wanted to ask Greg about the railroad business.”

It was, in a word, surreal. The crowd, which had braced for a sober, transitional meeting, burst into nervous laughter and applause. Greg Abel, sitting center stage with Ajit Jain and Charlie Munger’s successor, took the shock in stride. “Well,” he said, adjusting his glasses, “I guess we should have expected this. The internet doesn’t let anyone retire.”

The rise of the deepfake in corporate America

The incident wasn’t random. The question came from a shareholder who had submitted it via the meeting’s digital portal. But instead of a standard video or text, the shareholder—later identified as a 34-year-old tech entrepreneur from San Francisco—had used an advanced AI tool to create a deepfake. The technology, which uses machine learning to map a person’s face and voice onto a digital puppet, has become so sophisticated that even those who knew Buffett personally admitted the avatar was unsettlingly accurate.

The deepfake asked a pointed question about Berkshire’s massive investment in BNSF Railway, specifically about whether the company was doing enough to compete with trucking in an era of carbon taxes. Abel, who oversees Berkshire’s non-insurance operations, answered with his characteristic precision, never once acknowledging the bizarre medium through which the question was delivered. But the moment was a watershed: the first major corporate Q&A to be hijacked—or perhaps redefined—by AI impersonation.

A new era of verification

For Berkshire Hathaway, the incident raises serious questions about the future of shareholder engagement. The company, known for its folksy, old-school approach, now finds itself on the front lines of a digital authenticity crisis. “We received over 3,000 written questions this year,” said a Berkshire spokesperson after the meeting. “We screen them for relevance and clarity, but we have no technical system that can detect a deepfake. We’re now looking into audio and video authentication protocols for future meetings.”

The irony wasn’t lost on longtime shareholders. Warren Buffett built his empire on trust. He famously said that “it takes 20 years to build a reputation and five minutes to ruin it.” Now, in his absence, the very tool that could ruin that reputation—a perfect copy of his voice and face—was used to open the first meeting without him. Some saw it as a prank, others as a cautionary tale. I saw it as a snapshot of where we are as a culture: tech-savvy, irreverent, and deeply uncertain about what’s real.

What the deepfake question really meant

But let’s dig into the substance. The deepfake didn’t ask a frivolous question. It asked about BNSF’s carbon footprint—a topic that has been a quiet but persistent headache for Berkshire. The railroad, which hauls everything from coal to consumer goods, is a cash cow but also a major emitter. Abel’s answer was detailed: he outlined plans to invest $2.5 billion in locomotive upgrades and renewable diesel. But the question itself, delivered by a fake Buffett, carried a deeper message. It suggested that even in an era of deepfakes, the real issues remain. AI can mimic a face, but it can’t mimic decades of strategic thinking.

For the new leadership, the moment was a baptism by fire. Greg Abel handled the disruption with a calm that Buffett would have admired. He didn’t laugh it off, but he didn’t overreact. He simply answered the question as if it were any other. That’s the Berkshire way: focus on the business, ignore the noise. But the noise is getting louder. As AI tools become cheaper and more accessible, we can expect to see deepfakes at earnings calls, board meetings, and even regulatory hearings. The question is no longer “Can they fake it?” but “How do we prove what’s real?”

The human element

I spoke to several shareholders after the meeting. Most were amused. A few were disturbed. “It felt like a ghost,” said Martha Collins, a retiree from Des Moines who has owned Berkshire stock for 30 years. “Listening to that voice, knowing Warren wasn’t there… it was like he was haunting us.” Another shareholder, a younger woman in her 30s, saw it differently. “This is the future. Buffett is a brand now. The deepfake was just a way to keep that brand alive.”

Both perspectives are valid, but they miss the core truth: Warren Buffett is not a brand. He’s a person. And his absence from the meeting, however well-disguised by a deepfake, was a stark reminder that even legends are mortal. The man who built Berkshire from a failing textile mill into a $900 billion conglomerate has stepped back. The empire is now in the hands of Greg Abel, Ajit Jain, and a team of managers who must prove they can carry the torch. They passed their first test. But the deepfake question—and the questions it raises about authenticity in a digital age—will linger.

As I left the CHI Health Center, I couldn’t shake the feeling that we had witnessed something historic. Not just the passing of the torch at Berkshire, but the arrival of a new type of shareholder engagement—one where the line between the real and the synthetic is blurrier than ever. Warren Buffett might not have been there. But his digital ghost was. And it asked a damn good question.

Ahmed Abed – News journalist