If a business does well, the stock eventually follows.

Host: The city was quiet in that late-hour way — neon lights flickering over empty streets, rain tapping against glass, the low hum of traffic echoing through alleys. In a small bar tucked between two office towers, the air was thick with jazz and the faint smell of bourbon. Financial news murmured from a TV above the counter, the kind of noise no one was really listening to.

At a corner table, Jack sat — his tie loosened, his sleeves rolled up, a half-empty glass of whiskey** beside a stack of papers filled with charts, figures, and headlines. Across from him, Jeeny stirred her tea, her eyes sharp yet gentle, watching him the way someone watches a storm about to break.

Host: The rain outside mirrored the tension in the room — steady, inevitable, cleansing and cruel all at once.

Jeeny: “Warren Buffett once said, ‘If a business does well, the stock eventually follows.’”
She leaned back, her voice quiet, measured. “You quote him all the time, Jack. But I wonder if you actually believe it.”

Jack: “Of course I believe it.”
He tapped one of the papers, his eyes cold, focused. “That’s how the market works. Fundamentals first, speculation later. Value always finds its way home — eventually.”

Jeeny: “You sound like a preacher trying to convince himself that faith still works.”

Jack: “It’s not faith. It’s math.”

Jeeny: “No. It’s hope wearing a spreadsheet.”

Host: Her words cut through the music, leaving a brief silence that even the rain couldn’t fill. Jack looked up, his grey eyes like steel, but there was a faint tremor in his jaw — a sign of fatigue, or maybe doubt.

Jack: “You think this is about belief? It’s about discipline, Jeeny. You build a business, you build value, the market catches up. It’s not magic, it’s mechanics.”

Jeeny: “Then tell that to the workers who got laid off while their company’s stock hit a record high. Tell that to the founders who failed because algorithms didn’t care about ethics, only momentum. If the stock follows, what is it really following — the business, or the narrative?”

Host: Her voice carried conviction, but also pain — the kind that comes from believing in something and watching it fall apart. Jack shifted, draining his glass, avoiding her eyes.

Jack: “The market doesn’t care about feelings, Jeeny. It rewards performance. That’s the truth. It’s not kind, but it’s consistent.”

Jeeny: “No, Jack. It’s not the market that’s consistent — it’s greed. And we keep mistaking that for truth.”

Host: The bartender wiped down the counter, the sound of the cloth like a whisper against the glass. The TV overhead showed a ticker tape of rising numbers, green arrows, smiling analysts — as if prosperity could be measured in pixels.

Jack: “You’re making this sound like a morality play. It’s just economics. When a business does well — when it’s efficient, when it delivers — the stock eventually reflects that. Buffett was right. You can’t fake results forever.”

Jeeny: “But you can fake success for a long time. Look at Enron, Theranos, FTX — every one of them looked ‘efficient,’ until the truth finally caught up.”

Jack: “Exactly. That’s what he meant by eventually. The truth always catches up — for the better or the worse.”

Jeeny: “But how many people get crushed in the meantime? How many dreams, how many lives?”

Host: The rain grew heavier, hammering against the windows. The bar lights flickered, the world outside turning into a blur of silver and motion.

Jack: “You can’t build a world that doesn’t involve risk, Jeeny. Every choice, every investment, every dream — it’s all risk. The system works because people still believe it will.”

Jeeny: “Belief is not the same as trust. One’s blind, the other’s earned. And I think we’ve forgotten which one we’re trading on.”

Host: The band in the corner began a slow tune — piano, bass, and saxophone — their notes drifting through the air like a conversation without words.

Jack: “You really think the whole system’s broken, don’t you?”

Jeeny: “I think it’s human. Which means it’s always breaking, always healing, always pretending it knows what it’s doing.”

Jack: “And you? You still believe in... what? Compassion in capitalism?”

Jeeny: “I believe in balance. That a business should do well because it does good. That the stock should follow because people’s lives are better, not just because profits are.”

Jack: “That’s idealism. The market doesn’t reward virtue.”

Jeeny: “No, but history does.”

Host: He stared at her, his jaw tight, his eyes narrow, but there was something else beneath it — a flicker of admiration, or maybe envy. He sighed, running a hand through his hair.

Jack: “You know, Buffett’s quote — it’s not about morality. It’s about patience. About waiting for the noise to clear, for the substance to show.”

Jeeny: “And how do you know when that happens? When the stock’s high enough? When everyone else starts clapping?”

Jack: “When the numbers tell the same story the people do.”

Jeeny: “Then maybe we should start listening to the people first.”

Host: The rain began to ease, the light from the streetlamps spilling into the bar, soft, amber, tender. The papers between them lay scattered, smudged with condensation — charts turning to abstract art, numbers bleeding into meaningless lines.

Jack looked at them, then at her. His expression had shifted — not quite surrender, but no longer defense.

Jack: “You really think the stock will follow the people?”

Jeeny: “Eventually.”

Host: He laughed, quietly, the kind of laughter that comes not from amusement, but from realization.

Jack: “You know, that’s not far from what Buffett meant after all.”

Jeeny: “Maybe not. Maybe it’s just that doing well should mean more than making money.”

Host: The music swelled — the piano low and warm, the saxophone crying softly like truth finding its way through noise. Jack poured the last of his whiskey, raised the glass, and clinked it gently against her teacup.

Jack: “To eventually.”

Jeeny: “To doing well.”

Host: They drank, and in the reflection of the window, the city lights looked like a thousand tiny stocks — rising, falling, glowing, alive. The rain had stopped, and outside, the world was drying, resetting, starting again.

Host: And maybe Buffett was right. When something — or someone — truly does well, the rest of the world eventually notices. It just takes a little time, and a little faith, to see it.