All things being equal, people will do business with a friend;

Host: The city was still buzzing when the rain finally stopped. It was late — the kind of hour when offices slept but dreams stayed awake, pacing the hallways of ambition. Through the tinted glass of a high-rise, the skyline looked like a spreadsheet of stars, each light a quiet calculation of human desire.

Inside, the boardroom still glowed — long after the meeting had ended. Papers were strewn across the table, half-drunk coffee cups lined like forgotten sentinels of strategy. Jack sat by the window, his tie loosened, his sleeves rolled up, his expression one of weary, pragmatic clarity. Jeeny stood near the whiteboard, her hair slightly frizzed from the rain, her eyes bright with that particular kind of faith that still believed business could have a soul.

She had just read the quote — the kind that seemed to echo through the room long after her voice faded:

“All things being equal, people will do business with a friend; all things being unequal, people will still do business with a friend.” — Mark McCormack

The words were simple, but they hung like a challenge — to everything they both believed about success, trust, and the currency of human connection.

Jeeny: “It’s true, isn’t it? You can have the best product, the perfect pitch, but if people don’t like you — really like you — it’s over. McCormack understood that business isn’t about numbers, it’s about relationships.”

Jack: “That’s not truth, Jeeny. That’s sentiment. Business isn’t friendship; it’s a transaction. You give value, you get value. Friendship’s just a convenient lubricant to make the gears turn smoother.”

Host: Jack’s voice was low, steady, but his eyes betrayed a faint sadness, like someone who had once believed in people and then learned not to.

Jeeny: “That’s exactly the kind of thinking that’s made the world so cold. People don’t want to deal with machines. They want to deal with humans. The way you treat someone matters more than what you sell.”

Jack: “Idealism sells well in seminars, Jeeny, but not in the real world. You think clients sign million-dollar deals because you made them feel understood? They sign because they calculated you’re the least risky option. Friendship is just camouflage for strategy.”

Jeeny: “That’s not friendship then, Jack. That’s manipulation. McCormack wasn’t talking about playing nice — he was talking about trust. The kind that can’t be faked. The kind that comes from authenticity.”

Host: The rain began again — softer now, like a whisper on the glass. Jeeny’s reflection shimmered in the window, standing opposite Jack’s — light and shadow, conviction and skepticism, staring at each other across the invisible divide.

Jack: “Authenticity doesn’t scale, Jeeny. You can’t build an empire on being everyone’s friend. You build it on discipline, consistency, power. People trust strength more than smiles.”

Jeeny: “But they follow hearts more than hierarchies. Look at Steve Jobs and Wozniak — one sold the dream, the other built it. Both succeeded because their connection was real. Same with Oprah and her audience. People didn’t buy her products — they bought her honesty.”

Jack: “And when that honesty slips? When the friend fails you, or lies, or just isn’t useful anymore? What then? The market doesn’t forgive, Jeeny. It just moves on.”

Jeeny: “Maybe. But the world still remembers who treated it with respect. You think it’s coincidence that Warren Buffett invests with people he likes? Or that brands like Patagonia or Ben & Jerry’s thrive because people trust their values? They build relationships before they build profits.”

Host: Jack stood, paced to the window, and looked down at the city below — a grid of ambition, greed, and glimmer. His reflection stared back at him, doubled in the glass — a man both cynical and searching.

Jack: “You’re talking about exceptions, Jeeny. Outliers. For every idealist who wins, there are ten who get crushed. Business isn’t about friendship — it’s about advantage. You don’t win by being liked. You win by being needed.”

Jeeny: “And what makes someone need you, Jack? Loyalty. Faith. The feeling that even when things go wrong, you’ll stand by them. That’s friendship. Even in business.”

Host: The air in the room felt charged now — like static before a storm. Jeeny’s words had found their mark. Jack turned, his face half in shadow, half in light.

Jack: “You’re saying friendship is strategy.”

Jeeny: “No. I’m saying friendship is strategy-proof. It’s the one thing that can’t be manufactured or stolen. McCormack didn’t say ‘make friends to get deals.’ He said, ‘if you’re a friend, the deals will come.’ That’s not a formula. That’s human nature.”

Host: The silence that followed was long, thoughtful. Outside, the city lights blurred in the rain, as though the world itself was melting into reflection.

Jack: “You know… when I first started out, I had this client. Small firm, bad numbers, no promise. But I liked the guy. He reminded me of my brother. So I helped him — gave him time, advice, no charge. Didn’t expect anything. Two years later, he brings me a deal that saved my company. I never told anyone that story.”

Jeeny: (softly) “That’s exactly what I mean. You remember the connection, not the contract.”

Jack: “Maybe. Or maybe I just got lucky.”

Jeeny: “Luck is just what we call the rewards of doing the right thing when no one’s watching.”

Host: A faint smile crossed Jack’s face, almost reluctant — like the first hint of light after a long storm. He sat, picked up his pen, and began to draw small circles on a napkin, lost in thought.

Jack: “You know, maybe business isn’t war after all. Maybe it’s… a friendship in disguise. Competitive, imperfect, but still dependent on trust.”

Jeeny: “That’s all McCormack was saying. People don’t just buy your product. They buy your character. And character isn’t built in the boardroom. It’s built in how you treat people when there’s nothing to gain.”

Host: The rain had stopped again. The sky began to clear, and a faint glow of dawn crept over the city. The lights in the distant towers began to fade, one by one, like candles after prayer.

Jack: (quietly) “Maybe friendship is the last real currency we have left.”

Jeeny: (smiling) “It always was, Jack. We just stopped valuing it.”

Host: The camera would pull back now — through the window, past the rain-speckled glass, out into the awakening city, where a thousand deals, calls, and handshakes waited to begin again.

And somewhere in that vast machinery, between the contracts and the emails, the truth of McCormack’s words would linger — that beneath the metrics and margins, business is still human, and trust remains its most precious profit.