I had never in my corporate life had a failure.

Host: The night was electric — a storm brewing above the city, lightning curling in the clouds like an impatient hand sketching across the sky. Down below, the office floor glowed sterile and white, rows of cubicles stretching endlessly into the dark. Most of the building had emptied hours ago. Only one light remained on — a lone corner office, its glass walls glowing like a confession booth in a city of ambition.

Host: Inside, Jack sat behind a sleek desk, the kind that looked more like a mirror than a workspace. His tie hung loose, his sleeves rolled, and his eyes — sharp, grey, and exhausted — traced the edge of a glowing spreadsheet. Numbers danced. Achievements gleamed. And yet, the silence in the room felt heavier than success.

Host: The elevator chimed softly. Jeeny stepped out, a folder in her hand, her heels clicking against the polished floor like a ticking clock.

Jeeny: “Still here.”

Jack: “Still pretending it matters.”

Host: She smiled faintly, though her eyes stayed serious.

Jeeny: “You sound like a man at the end of his empire.”

Jack: “You sound like someone writing the obituary too early.”

Host: She set the folder on his desk — reports, data, projections — all the things that once gave him power, now only serving as reminders of how thin the line between order and collapse really was.

Jeeny: “Do you remember that John DeLorean quote? ‘I had never in my corporate life had a failure.’ He said that right before everything fell apart.”

Jack: (smirking) “Yeah. There’s a strange kind of poetry in that.”

Jeeny: “Arrogance, you mean.”

Jack: “No. Faith. The kind that kills you and keeps you alive at the same time.”

Host: The rain started to fall outside, tapping against the windows like cautious applause. Jack leaned back in his chair, the city lights reflected in his eyes — fragments of gold, blue, and regret.

Jack: “You know, I used to think I was like him. Untouchable. Everything I touched worked. Every risk turned to reward.”

Jeeny: “And now?”

Jack: “Now I realize it wasn’t talent. It was timing. The kind of luck you mistake for genius until it runs out.”

Host: The thunder rolled, low and deep, like an echo from the belly of the world.

Jeeny: “You’re not the first person to confuse momentum for mastery, Jack.”

Jack: “And you’re not the first to mistake failure for redemption.”

Jeeny: “Maybe not. But DeLorean learned that lesson too late.”

Host: She walked slowly toward the window, her reflection merging with the city outside — lights and rain blending on the glass.

Jeeny: “You know what fascinates me about him? He wasn’t ruined by incompetence. He was ruined by belief. He thought he could outsmart the system that raised him. He thought charisma could replace conscience.”

Jack: “You think I’m heading that way?”

Jeeny: “You already built your car, Jack. You just haven’t crashed it yet.”

Host: He laughed softly — but the sound was hollow, like air escaping a balloon.

Jack: “You always think everything’s about morality. Sometimes, it’s just about winning.”

Jeeny: “And sometimes, winning is the failure you can’t recognize yet.”

Host: The lights from the street below flickered against their faces. The city outside was alive — honking horns, wet asphalt, neon signs bleeding into puddles. Inside, the office was frozen in time — a museum of decisions made too confidently.

Jack: “You know what DeLorean said after his empire fell? ‘I don’t regret trying.’ He went broke, disgraced, dragged through courts — and he still said he didn’t regret it.”

Jeeny: “Because regret is a luxury for people who stop.”

Jack: “And failure is the tuition for people who don’t.”

Host: He stood then, moving to the window beside her, looking out at the horizon where the storm rolled closer. His reflection met hers in the glass — two figures trapped between ambition and its aftertaste.

Jack: “I’ve been thinking lately about that car — the DMC-12. It was brilliant and broken at the same time. Like him. Like all of us who think innovation excuses our ego.”

Jeeny: “It was beautiful, though. Stainless steel. Gullwing doors. A dream disguised as machinery.”

Jack: “And doomed from the start. That’s what makes it beautiful.”

Host: The thunder cracked again, closer now, shaking the glass slightly.

Jeeny: “You don’t admire DeLorean. You envy him.”

Jack: “Maybe. He didn’t go quietly. He went spectacularly.”

Jeeny: “And you’d rather explode than fade.”

Jack: “Wouldn’t you?”

Host: Her silence said enough. She turned to face him, her eyes catching the brief flash of lightning — fierce, fragile, alive.

Jeeny: “There’s a difference between daring and denial, Jack.”

Jack: “And yet they look the same when you’re standing on top.”

Jeeny: “But only one leaves you standing at the end.”

Host: He studied her — the steadiness in her gaze, the lack of fear. She had failed before. He could see it. And somehow, that made her freer than he’d ever been.

Jack: “You’ve failed, haven’t you?”

Jeeny: “More times than I can count.”

Jack: “And you survived.”

Jeeny: “That’s the point. Failure doesn’t end you — pretending you’ve never failed does.”

Host: He exhaled, a sound between laughter and surrender. The city lights shimmered through the rain, bending and warping like memories that refused to stay straight.

Jack: “You think DeLorean ever understood that?”

Jeeny: “Maybe. But by then, he was too far in love with his reflection to hear the truth.”

Host: She stepped closer to the desk, touching the folder she’d brought — the numbers that had once defined success.

Jeeny: “You don’t have to prove you’ve never failed, Jack. You just have to prove you can start again.”

Jack: “Start again? After all this?”

Jeeny: “That’s what the storm is for. It clears the air so you can rebuild.”

Host: He watched her, her words settling into him like rain into dry soil. The clock on the wall ticked softly — a metronome for reckoning.

Jack: “You know, in every story about DeLorean, there’s that same photo — him standing in front of his car, smiling, right before it all collapsed. He looks invincible.”

Jeeny: “That’s what ambition looks like before it learns humility.”

Host: The rain hit harder now, streaking down the glass like lines of ink rewriting the skyline.

Jack: “Maybe it’s time I stop trying to be invincible.”

Jeeny: “Then you’ll finally be human.”

Host: The storm cracked open the sky — white fire spilling through black clouds. For a moment, everything in the room was illuminated — his face, her hand, the papers, the ghosts.

Jack: “You know what’s funny? Failure might be the one thing that makes me worth something again.”

Jeeny: “Exactly. Perfection builds walls. Failure builds depth.”

Host: She smiled — not kindly, not pitying, just honestly. Then she picked up her coat and headed toward the elevator.

Jeeny: “Don’t wait too long to learn that lesson, Jack. Lightning doesn’t strike forever.”

Host: The doors closed behind her. Jack turned back to the window. Outside, the storm raged, the rain washing down the city’s glass towers, blurring their reflections into one great, trembling image.

Host: He whispered into the silence — half prayer, half admission:

Jack: “I had never in my corporate life had a failure.”

Host: The thunder rolled — answering him, mocking him, forgiving him.

Host: He smiled faintly. Because tonight, for the first time, he had one — and it finally felt like the beginning of something real.

Host: Outside, the city shone brighter through the storm, as if the world itself approved of a man learning what John DeLorean never had:

Host: that sometimes, the most important success is the moment you stop pretending you’ve never fallen —
and decide, at last, to build again.