I basically see two reasons for a going public: Glencore gets

Host: The city was asleep, but the boardroom wasn’t. A thousand lights glittered through the glass walls like broken stars, reflecting off polished wood and steel edges. It was almost midnight, yet the projector still hummed, casting cold charts and figures across the long table.

Host: Jack stood by the window, his tie loosened, a faint shadow of stubble on his jaw. His eyes, sharp and weary, stared at the skyline — a jagged line of ambition. Jeeny sat across from him, surrounded by papers, her hands clasped as if holding something fragile.

Host: The air smelled of coffee and nervous tension — the kind of tension that comes when money, morality, and purpose start to blur.

Jeeny: “Marc Rich once said — ‘There are two reasons for going public: access to money, and an exit strategy for management.’ Tell me, Jack, which one are you after tonight?”

Jack: “You make it sound like a crime, Jeeny. Every company that grows hits this point — you either go public or you stay small. I didn’t spend fifteen years building this just to stay in the shadows.”

Host: His voice was low, pragmatic, like a man negotiating with his own conscience.

Jeeny: “Fifteen years of building — yes. But for what? So that the board can cash out? So that you can ‘exit gracefully’? You told me once this company was a family, not a machine.”

Jack: “Families grow up, Jeeny. Kids move out, start their own lives. That’s what going public is — a graduation, not an abandonment.”

Jeeny: “Graduation into what? A world where everything has a price tag? Where we serve shareholders instead of vision?”

Host: A flicker of lightning flashed beyond the glass, reflecting briefly in Jack’s eyes — silver fire meeting cold ambition.

Jack: “Vision doesn’t pay the bills. You need liquidity, you need funding, or you die slow. Look at Glencore, look at Facebook — they went public because growth demands oxygen. Cash is oxygen.”

Jeeny: “And what happens when the oxygen turns into smoke? When the company starts chasing quarterly numbers instead of meaning? You think you’re buying freedom, Jack, but you’re selling your soul by installments.”

Host: The rain began to fall, soft but relentless, like time itself pressing against the windows. Jack turned from the skyline and leaned on the table, his hands splayed on the wood, his voice growing tighter.

Jack: “You don’t understand the pressure. Investors, markets, competitors — they don’t wait for idealism. They devour it. You can’t change the system unless you play it first.”

Jeeny: “And once you play it, it changes you. That’s how it works. First you justify it as growth, then as strategy, then as necessity — until you forget what you were building in the first place.”

Host: Her words hung in the air, heavy and deliberate. Somewhere below, a sirene wailed faintly, echoing through the wet streets. Jack looked at her, the old conflict flickering in his eyes — ambition and conscience, fighting like old enemies sharing the same heart.

Jack: “You think too romantically. Money doesn’t corrupt — it reveals. Going public doesn’t make you soulless; it just shows you what you really value.”

Jeeny: “And what do you value, Jack? Growth — or freedom?”

Host: The question cut deep. He hesitated, his jaw tightening, his silence louder than his arguments.

Jack: “Freedom comes from growth. From scale. You can’t influence the world if you’re broke.”

Jeeny: “No. Freedom comes from integrity — from being able to look at your reflection and not see compromise staring back.”

Host: The thunder rolled softly, a distant reminder of forces far larger than balance sheets. The projector flickered, casting their shadows across the wall — two figures standing on opposite sides of a war called progress.

Jack: “You talk about compromise like it’s poison. But it’s how the world moves forward. You think Marc Rich got rich by purity? He understood — liquidity is power. You can’t fight giants unless you first become one.”

Jeeny: “He also became a fugitive, Jack. There’s a difference between being powerful and being right. You can build an empire and still lose your way home.”

Host: Jack turned back to the window, watching the rain run down the glass in crooked lines. His reflection stared back at him — older, harder, lonelier.

Jack: “You think staying private makes you noble? It just makes you irrelevant. The world doesn’t remember the ones who stay small.”

Jeeny: “No, it remembers the ones who stay human. The ones who refuse to trade purpose for profit. I’d rather be forgotten for doing what’s right than remembered for selling out.”

Host: The room fell silent again, save for the steady rhythm of the rain. A faint hum of electricity filled the air — the tension between two souls who once dreamed the same dream, now standing on opposite sides of it.

Jack: “You don’t get it. This isn’t about greed. It’s about survival. The IPO gives us a future.”

Jeeny: “Whose future? Yours — or the company’s? Or maybe it’s your way out. Rich called it an ‘exit strategy.’ Are you planning yours too?”

Host: Her voice was soft now, but the truth behind it was sharp. Jack turned slowly, meeting her gaze. For a moment, the air between them seemed charged — like a string pulled too tight.

Jack: “You think I want to leave? I built this from scratch. This company is me.”

Jeeny: “Then don’t sell yourself in pieces.”

Host: The projector light dimmed. The charts faded. What remained was the pale glow of city lights, painting both their faces with equal shades of exhaustion and realization.

Jack: “Maybe you’re right. Maybe I’ve confused growth with escape. But tell me, Jeeny — what happens when ideals can’t pay salaries? When your people start leaving because you couldn’t afford to stay pure?”

Jeeny: “Then I’d rather lose money than lose meaning. Because meaning can build again — but once you lose trust, there’s no IPO big enough to buy it back.”

Host: A long silence settled, deep as the night outside. The storm eased, leaving only the sound of water dripping from the edges of the roof.

Jack: “You always see the heart in everything. I see the structure. Maybe we need both — your soul and my strategy. Maybe that’s how a company survives without selling out.”

Jeeny: “Maybe. But only if we remember that numbers are just reflections of people — not the other way around.”

Host: The clock on the wall struck one. Jack loosened his tie completely and sat down beside her. The tension softened — not dissolved, but understood.

Jack: “Alright. We’ll go public. But not for escape. For growth — the kind that keeps us alive, not hollow.”

Jeeny: “Then promise me one thing — when the money comes, don’t let it change who you are.”

Jack: “I can’t promise that, Jeeny. But I can promise to fight it.”

Host: She smiled faintly, tired but sincere. The rain stopped. The city lights blinked below — restless, alive, and watching.

Host: And as they sat in silence, side by side, the truth between them settled like dust in a beam of light — that in business, as in life, going public may open doors, but it also opens the soul to temptation.

Host: The true measure of a leader, they realized, is not in the millions raised or the shares traded — but in whether, after all the selling, something human remains unsold.