As the OLPC laptop was getting ready to go into mass production

Host: The rain fell in soft, steady sheets across the glass walls of the tech campus, turning the world beyond into a blur of color and motion — umbrellas, cars, neon reflections bleeding into puddles. Inside, the lobby hummed with the faint whir of servers, machines, and the low murmur of voices echoing off polished marble.

It was late. The offices upstairs were mostly dark now, save for one corner — a pool of white light spilling from a conference room, where two figures sat across a table scattered with prototypes, coffee cups, and blueprints creased from too many late nights.

Jack sat forward, his shirt sleeves rolled up, his eyes sharp but weary, fingers tracing the edge of a half-assembled circuit board. Across from him, Jeeny leaned back, her hair pulled into a loose knot, the glow from the monitor painting soft shadows across her face.

The room smelled faintly of solder, ink, and rain — that familiar scent of invention and exhaustion.

Jeeny: “You know, this reminds me of something Mary Lou Jepsen once said — ‘As the OLPC laptop was getting ready to go into mass production in 2007, many executives approached me wanting the screen that I invented, and the laptop architecture that I co-invented, for their new laptops, cell phones, and other devices.’”

Jack: (smirking faintly) “Yeah. That’s what happens when you build something that actually works — everyone suddenly wants a piece of it.”

Jeeny: “You sound cynical.”

Jack: “I sound realistic. Innovation isn’t about changing the world. It’s about being first long enough to sell your patent before someone steals your idea and calls it progress.”

Host: A flash of lightning flickered outside, illuminating the rain-streaked window behind him — for a moment, Jack’s reflection seemed to fracture, doubled, blurred by water.

Jeeny: “You don’t believe that. You wouldn’t spend nights like this if you didn’t believe in something bigger.”

Jack: “Belief doesn’t pay for servers, Jeeny. Or lawyers. Or the next generation of prototypes. Jepsen learned the hard way — she built something meant to educate children in the poorest parts of the world, and what did the tech giants do? They tried to strip-mine her work for parts.”

Jeeny: “And yet, she didn’t stop. She kept inventing — imaging tech, medical imaging, wearable displays. She didn’t let greed erase her purpose. That’s what sets true innovators apart from opportunists.”

Host: Jack’s eyes flickered toward her, the faintest trace of challenge behind the exhaustion.

Jack: “Purpose doesn’t keep the lights on. You think Apple or Google survives on idealism? No. They build empires on someone else’s brilliance. That’s the reality of invention — the dreamers dream, the wolves cash in.”

Jeeny: “Then maybe the dreamers need to stop selling their dreams to wolves.”

Host: The air between them tightened — charged, electric, like the space between lightning and thunder.

Jack: “That’s naive, Jeeny. You can’t change an ecosystem that rewards theft with stock options. You can’t protect ideas in a market that values speed over soul.”

Jeeny: “Then maybe it’s not about protection. Maybe it’s about persistence. Jepsen didn’t lose because others copied her — she won because her vision outlived the copycats. That’s the power of genuine creation. It doesn’t die when it’s stolen; it evolves.”

Jack: (leaning forward) “That sounds beautiful. But tell that to the engineer who’s forced to sign an NDA while their design gets mass-produced under someone else’s name. You can’t eat ideals.”

Jeeny: “But you can starve without them.”

Host: The rain intensified, hammering against the windows like a thousand impatient fingers. The fluorescent light overhead hummed louder, flickering slightly, as if the electricity itself was listening.

Jeeny: “You think Jepsen built that screen just for money? She designed it so a child in a village could learn under sunlight without needing power. That’s vision, Jack — the kind of vision that reshapes how we measure success. Every corporation that copied her missed the point: they took the tool, but not the purpose.”

Jack: “Purpose doesn’t scale. Profit does. That’s the ugly equation that built Silicon Valley.”

Jeeny: “Then rewrite the equation.”

Host: Her voice cut through the hum, low but steady. The kind that lingered. Jack froze for a second — his hands motionless over the keyboard, as if the words had stopped the machine itself.

Jack: (quietly) “You talk like we still have that power.”

Jeeny: “We do. We always do. Every time someone chooses impact over credit, or design over greed, or education over luxury, we tip the scale — even slightly. That’s how revolutions start: one unprofitable truth at a time.”

Host: Jack’s jaw tightened. He looked down at the schematics, the delicate lines and measurements, the promise and pressure inked into every corner. His voice came lower now, heavy.

Jack: “You know, I met Jepsen once. At a conference in Boston. She said, ‘The problem with inventors is that we want to change the world, but the world only pays for what it can own.’ I didn’t understand it then. I do now.”

Jeeny: “And what did she do? She built anyway.”

Jack: (sighs) “Maybe she was stronger than most. Or maybe she just didn’t know when to stop fighting.”

Jeeny: “No. She just knew what was worth fighting for.”

Host: The room fell quiet again. Outside, the rain softened to a drizzle, the distant city lights blurred into shimmering constellations. Jack ran a hand through his hair, his expression softening.

Jack: “You really think integrity can survive in this world?”

Jeeny: “It can survive in you. That’s where it starts. The rest follows.”

Host: The clock on the wall blinked 2:13 a.m. Jack stared at it for a long time, as if realizing time itself had been slipping away in service of something uncertain.

Jack: “So what do we do? Keep building and hope someone doesn’t steal it?”

Jeeny: “We build louder. We build better. We make it impossible to copy the purpose, even if they copy the product.”

Host: Her eyes gleamed now, alive with quiet defiance. The light caught the edge of her coffee mug, scattering a small arc of brightness across the table — like a spark refusing to go out.

Jack: (after a pause) “You know… maybe you’re right. Maybe invention isn’t about ownership. Maybe it’s about leaving fingerprints no one can erase.”

Jeeny: “Exactly. That’s what Jepsen did — left light where others built shadows.”

Host: The storm outside had passed. The sky began to pale, the first hint of dawn seeping through the clouds — a soft, gray light brushing the edges of their tired faces.

Jack looked at the half-built prototype before him. He touched the screen, watching it flicker to life — a faint, glowing rectangle, imperfect yet breathing.

Jack: “You know what’s crazy? Every time something I build gets stolen, I feel less angry now. More… proud. Maybe it means it mattered.”

Jeeny: “It does. Because imitation is proof of impact — but originality is proof of courage.”

Host: The first birds began to stir outside, their faint chirps threading through the silence like tiny signals of renewal. Jack smiled — a small, honest curve of the mouth — and leaned back in his chair, watching the light rise.

Jack: “Alright, Jeeny. Let’s build something they can’t buy.”

Jeeny: (grinning) “Now that’s the spirit of an inventor.”

Host: The sun finally broke through the rain clouds, pouring golden light across the room, washing the circuits, blueprints, and faces in warmth. The machines hummed softly again — no longer cold, but alive.

And as the new day began, the two of them sat surrounded by the quiet electricity of purpose — the kind Mary Lou Jepsen had lived for — the kind that builds not just devices, but light.