CEOs must go beyond working with policy-makers on new regulatory

Host: The city was still awake, though it was well past midnight. Neon signs flickered across empty streets, painting the glass towers in fractured light. In a corner office twenty floors up, the hum of air conditioning mixed with the distant murmur of rain. The desk was littered with documents, half-drained coffee cups, and the faint smell of burned ambition.

Jack sat by the window, his tie loosened, his shirt sleeves rolled to his elbows. His grey eyes reflected the city’s glow — sharp, restless, calculating. Jeeny stood near the bookshelf, arms crossed, her dark hair falling over her face, her eyes heavy with thought. Between them, the room carried the quiet tension of two people who had seen too much of the world — and still believed, somehow, in arguing for what it could be.

Host: The quote had been on the screen for minutes, glowing softly against the dim backdrop — a few words from Pierre Nanterme:
“CEOs must go beyond working with policy-makers on new regulatory frameworks. They must also commit to the principle that success cannot be measured by profitability and growth alone.”

Jack: He exhaled slowly, rubbing the back of his neck. “That’s a nice thought — poetic even. But let’s be real, Jeeny. A CEO who says success isn’t about profit wouldn’t last a fiscal quarter. The board would eat him alive.”

Jeeny: Her voice was calm, deliberate. “Maybe that’s the problem, Jack. Maybe we’ve built a world where conscience is a liability. Pierre wasn’t talking about fantasy — he was talking about survival. A company that only chases profit dies the day it forgets why it exists.”

Jack: “Come on. Companies exist to create value — and that means money. Jobs. Innovation. You start mixing in moral philosophy, and suddenly you’ve got shareholders asking why their dividends vanished into social experiments.”

Jeeny: “And yet, without that moral philosophy, we end up where we are now — oceans full of plastic, cities choking on smog, workers burning out before thirty. Tell me, Jack — what kind of value is that?”

Host: The rain tapped gently against the glass, a soft counterpoint to their words. Jack stood, pacing slowly, his reflection flickering in the window — a man made of shadow and light, reason and doubt.

Jack: “Look, I’m not saying corporations should be heartless. But business runs on logic. Metrics. Accountability. You can’t measure empathy in a quarterly report.”

Jeeny: “Then maybe it’s time we changed what we measure.”

Host: Her words landed softly, but their echo filled the room like thunder.

Jack: He stopped pacing, turning toward her. “You think CEOs should start measuring kindness? Hope? Good intentions?”

Jeeny: “No. I think they should measure impact. The kind that outlives the balance sheet. When Patagonia decided to give away its profits to fight climate change, people called it crazy — yet it inspired a generation. That’s impact. That’s leadership.”

Jack: “Yeah, and that’s one company out of a million. For every Patagonia, there’s a dozen corporations exploiting workers just to keep the lights on. You can’t fix capitalism with a marketing campaign.”

Jeeny: Her eyes flashed, her voice sharpening. “Who said anything about fixing capitalism? I’m talking about fixing people. The people who lead it. The ones who forgot that their decisions shape lives — not just portfolios.”

Host: The lightning outside flared briefly, revealing their faces in stark contrast — Jack’s jaw tight with resistance, Jeeny’s eyes alive with conviction.

Jack: “You think CEOs can just wake up and grow a conscience? They’re under pressure from investors, governments, competition. You can’t tell someone to put humanity first when their company’s bleeding money.”

Jeeny: “But you can remind them that the bleeding won’t stop if they keep cutting into the world. There’s no profit on a dead planet, Jack. No growth in a system that devours its people.”

Host: The storm outside deepened. The sound of rain against steel filled the air like applause for a truth too heavy to ignore.

Jack: Quietly now. “You sound like one of those dreamers who think empathy can change spreadsheets.”

Jeeny: Smiles faintly. “No, Jack. I’m saying spreadsheets should start reflecting empathy. That’s the difference.”

Host: The tension softened for a moment. Jack walked back to the desk, picking up a photo frame — a picture of his team from years ago, smiling, tired, full of unspent dreams. His voice lowered.

Jack: “You know... I used to believe that. When I first started managing people. Thought I could build something that mattered. Then the numbers came — targets, revenue, efficiency ratios. Before long, the people became data points.”

Jeeny: “And you stopped seeing their faces.”

Jack: A beat. “Yeah.”

Host: The room fell silent. Only the rain spoke now, steady and patient.

Jeeny: “Pierre Nanterme didn’t say CEOs should abandon profit. He said they should go beyond it. Profit is necessary — but not sufficient. It’s like oxygen: you need it to live, but you don’t live just to breathe.”

Jack: He chuckled softly, eyes distant. “That’s poetic, Jeeny. But try saying that to a boardroom full of investors.”

Jeeny: “Maybe that’s exactly who needs to hear it.”

Host: A long pause followed. The kind that feels like the world catching its breath before something shifts. Jack leaned against the window, watching the city lights pulse below — endless rows of offices still lit, men and women working through the night for numbers that would never love them back.

Jack: “You think they’ll ever change?”

Jeeny: “They have to. The next generation won’t forgive us if they don’t. People are tired, Jack. They’re tired of leaders who count profits and forget purpose.”

Jack: His tone softened, almost wistful. “You sound like my sister. She used to say that success isn’t what you take — it’s what you leave behind.”

Jeeny: “She was right.”

Host: The light from the streetlamp flickered once more. Jack’s eyes reflected a flicker of regret — and something else: belief.

Jack: “So what does success look like to you, Jeeny?”

Jeeny: “It looks like a company that lets its people go home on time. That doesn’t measure worth by exhaustion. That builds things that heal instead of harm. A company that remembers the world it’s part of.”

Jack: “You’re describing humanity, not business.”

Jeeny: “Maybe it’s time business remembered it’s run by humans.”

Host: The clock ticked toward 2 a.m. The rain began to fade, leaving the city washed and quiet. Jack’s shoulders loosened; Jeeny’s gaze softened. Between them, something unspoken had shifted — not agreement, but understanding.

Jack: “You know... maybe the old way of measuring success isn’t just outdated. Maybe it’s cowardly.”

Jeeny: “Because it hides behind numbers.”

Jack: “Exactly.” He looked at her, eyes tired but awake. “Maybe we need CEOs brave enough to admit that a company’s soul can’t be found in a balance sheet.”

Jeeny: Nods slowly. “It’s found in the lives it touches.”

Host: The sky outside began to clear, revealing faint streaks of dawn. The first light spilled across the city — pale, honest, new.

Jack poured the last of his coffee into his cup, raising it slightly in silent toast.

Jack: “To impact, then — not just profit.”

Jeeny: Smiling softly. “To remembering what we’re here for.”

Host: The camera would pull back slowly, through the window, over the awakening city, where the towers gleamed in the first light of morning. Inside that small office, two silhouettes remained — one pragmatic, one idealistic — both changed by the storm that had passed.

Host: And as the light spread across the skyline, Pierre Nanterme’s words seemed to hum again beneath the quiet hum of the world:
Success is not in the growth of numbers, but in the growth of conscience.