A wise ruler ought never to keep faith when by doing so it would

Host: The rain fell in slow, deliberate sheets, like a veil being drawn over the city’s conscience. The windows of the high-rise office trembled with the hum of distant thunder, their glass reflecting the dim glow of skyscrapers piercing the storm. Inside, the room was cold—marble floors, steel furniture, and the faint smell of expensive coffee gone cold.

Jack stood by the window, a tall, lean figure in a charcoal suit, one hand in his pocket, the other holding a thin folder of documents. His grey eyes—calm, calculating—watched the city lights flicker beneath him like dying embers.

Across from him, Jeeny sat at the conference table, her small frame swallowed by the vastness of the boardroom. Her brown eyes—warm, alive, and defiant—reflected not the skyline, but something deeper, something human.

Host: The clock on the wall ticked like a metronome for betrayal.

Jeeny: “Machiavelli said, ‘A wise ruler ought never to keep faith when by doing so it would be against his interests.’ You quoted that in your presentation today, Jack. Do you actually believe it?”

Jack: [without turning] “I believe it’s true.”

Jeeny: “True doesn’t make it right.”

Jack: “Right doesn’t make it survive.”

Host: The thunder cracked outside, a deep, rolling growl that shook the glass. The lights flickered, but Jack’s expression didn’t move.

Jeeny: “So you think breaking trust is wisdom now?”

Jack: “Not breaking trust. Managing it. Faith is a tool, Jeeny, not a virtue. You use it when it serves the plan, not when it weakens it.”

Jeeny: “That’s not strategy, Jack. That’s cynicism in a tailored suit.”

Jack: [turning slowly] “You think the world rewards sincerity? Look around you. Every deal in this building, every handshake you’ve ever witnessed—each one’s just a performance. Everyone’s pretending to be loyal until it stops paying off.”

Host: Jeeny stood, pushing back her chair, her fingers trembling slightly on the table’s polished surface. Her voice rose—not loud, but edged with disbelief.

Jeeny: “So what happens to honor? To the idea that trust is what holds people—nations—together?”

Jack: “Honor’s a luxury. Trust is temporary. Interests are eternal.”

Jeeny: “That’s not wisdom, Jack. That’s fear disguised as reason.”

Jack: “And your version? Faith disguised as blindness.”

Host: The tension between them thickened like smoke. Outside, the rain beat harder against the glass, and the city below blurred—its streets glowing like veins pulsing under the skin of something immense and indifferent.

Jeeny: “You sound like every tyrant in history. They all said the same thing: ‘It’s for the greater good.’”

Jack: “Maybe it was. Maybe it’s the only reason their cities still stand.”

Jeeny: “And what about the ones that fell?”

Jack: “They kept their promises.”

Host: A flash of lightning filled the room, throwing sharp shadows across their faces—two philosophies carved in the same storm.

Jeeny: “You really think breaking faith keeps a person strong?”

Jack: “It keeps them alive. There’s a difference.”

Jeeny: “Alive doesn’t mean human.”

Jack: “Human doesn’t mean effective.”

Host: Her eyes softened, though her voice stayed fierce.

Jeeny: “Do you know what’s funny? You talk like survival is everything, but people like you are the loneliest survivors on earth. You win, yes—but you win alone.”

Jack: [quietly] “Maybe alone is safer.”

Jeeny: “Safer than what?”

Jack: “Than watching people you trusted destroy you.”

Host: The room went silent except for the hum of the storm. For a long moment, neither spoke. Jeeny’s breath steadied; Jack’s hands loosened around the folder.

Jeeny: “Who hurt you that badly?”

Jack: [after a pause] “Everyone eventually does.”

Host: He sat down across from her, the leather chair creaking under the weight of weariness more than the weight of his body.

Jack: “Look, Jeeny. You see betrayal as evil. I see it as currency. The only difference is who’s smart enough to spend it.”

Jeeny: “You talk about loyalty like it’s a transaction. But I’ve seen loyalty rebuild things that money and fear could never fix.”

Jack: “Name one.”

Jeeny: “The Berlin Airlift. When the city was starving after the war—people dropped food, supplies, hope—from the sky. They didn’t have to. They didn’t profit from it. But they did it anyway. Because faith in others mattered.”

Jack: “And how long did that faith last? Decades later, those same countries built walls, turned on each other. That’s the pattern, Jeeny. Faith is seasonal. Interest is permanent.”

Jeeny: “No, Jack. Fear is permanent. Faith is a choice.”

Host: A faint rumble echoed from above, and for a moment, the light dimmed to near darkness. In the reflection of the glass, their two silhouettes stood side by side—different sides of the same argument, like history repeating itself in miniature.

Jack: “If you ran this company like you talk, we’d be bankrupt within a year.”

Jeeny: “And if you ran the world like you think, we’d all be rich—and soulless.”

Jack: “Souls don’t keep the lights on.”

Jeeny: “But they make the light mean something.”

Host: The rain began to slow, tapping gently now, as if even the sky had grown tired of their war of words.

Jack leaned back, his eyes unfocused, watching the city slowly reappear through the thinning fog.

Jack: “You really believe people can lead with conscience and still win?”

Jeeny: “Not always. But sometimes. And sometimes is enough to keep trying.”

Jack: “You’re an idealist.”

Jeeny: “And you’re a fatalist.”

Jack: “At least fatalism prepares you for disappointment.”

Jeeny: “And idealism makes disappointment survivable.”

Host: The clock struck seven. Somewhere down the hall, an elevator chimed. The storm had passed, leaving only the muted hum of distant traffic and the soft glow of the city returning to form.

Jack: “Maybe Machiavelli was right about rulers. But we’re not rulers, Jeeny. Not kings. Just people trying to make sense of a world that rewards betrayal.”

Jeeny: “Then maybe that’s exactly why we shouldn’t live like rulers.”

Host: Jack looked at her for a long time. The lines of logic on his face softened into something weary—almost human. He sighed, ran a hand through his hair, and smiled faintly.

Jack: “You know, you’d make a terrible politician.”

Jeeny: “And you’d make a dangerous one.”

Jack: [chuckling] “Probably true.”

Jeeny: “But at least now you know why I’ll never stop keeping faith.”

Jack: “And I’ll never stop questioning it.”

Host: They both smiled then—not as adversaries, but as two souls who’d finally realized that the truth lay somewhere in between.

The city lights flickered once more, shimmering off the glass like liquid fire. The storm was gone, but its echo remained—quiet, lingering, unresolved.

Jeeny: “Maybe the wise ruler breaks faith to survive. But the wise human keeps it—to remain human.”

Jack: [softly] “Maybe both are right.”

Host: The camera panned out—the vast city glittering beneath the fading clouds, its towers rising like a thousand moral compromises made of glass.

And in that high, silent office, two people sat across from each other—still divided, still understanding—proof that sometimes wisdom isn’t about winning, but remembering what’s worth losing.