If the head man in a company is not working 12 hours a day, doing

Host: The dawn was barely awake, yet the office tower already hummed with a faint, electric pulse. Rows of desks stretched like empty trenches, each one waiting for its soldiers to arrive. The sky outside was the color of bruised metal, and the city below pulsed faintly with the rhythm of ambition — that restless, sleepless heartbeat of those who never stop.

At the far end of the open floor, Jack sat beneath the cold glow of a desk lamp, his tie loosened, sleeves rolled, eyes burning with the exhaustion of too many nights awake. Across from him, Jeeny leaned against the window, a mug of coffee cradled in her hands. Her hair fell loose over her shoulder, her expression a blend of empathy and defiance.

Host: Outside, the rain had begun to fall again — not violently, but persistently, the way time itself wears down those who dare to lead.

Jeeny: “You know, Rupert Murdoch once said something that’s been haunting me lately,” she murmured, her voice quiet against the sound of rain. “He said, ‘If the head man in a company is not working 12 hours a day, doing things, taking risks, but also standing with his people in the trenches at the most difficult of times, then the company loses something.’”

Jack: (letting out a tired laugh) “Murdoch would say that. The man’s empire was built on obsession. But tell me, Jeeny — when did sacrifice become the same as leadership? Since when did being human mean burning yourself alive for your job?”

Host: His voice carried the rough edge of weariness, yet beneath it pulsed a current of bitterness, the sound of a man who once believed and now questioned everything.

Jeeny: “It’s not about martyrdom, Jack,” she said softly, stepping closer. “It’s about presence. About standing with your people, not above them. You of all people should know that — you’ve led teams through layoffs, impossible deadlines, even those nights when the whole system crashed and you stayed here until morning.”

Jack: “And what did it get me?” he snapped, then looked down, regretting the sharpness. “A higher title, sure. A lower pulse. I’ve missed birthdays, lost friends, and — maybe — lost the point of it all. Murdoch’s philosophy sounds noble, but it’s poison if you drink too much of it.”

Host: The rain pressed harder against the glass, drumming like restless fingers. Jeeny watched him, her brow furrowed, her voice steady.

Jeeny: “But don’t you think something dies when a leader hides behind comfort? When people see their boss leave early while they’re still fighting fires — it kills faith, Jack. You talk about balance, but in times of crisis, balance isn’t what people need. They need someone who stands beside them, shoulder to shoulder.”

Jack: “And when that someone collapses?” he shot back. “When the leader who’s always in the trenches burns out — what then? Leadership isn’t about proximity; it’s about vision. You don’t need to stand in the mud to help people out of it.”

Host: The room filled with a tension that felt almost tactile, like static in the air. The faint hum of the city’s early traffic began below — the world already in motion while theirs had paused.

Jeeny: “Vision without empathy is blindness, Jack. You think generals lead wars from towers? The ones who do end up losing more than battles — they lose the trust of those who fight for them. Think of Ernest Shackleton — he led his men across Antarctic ice, starving, freezing, but he never left them. Not once. That’s what leadership means.”

Jack: (quietly) “And yet, how many Shackletons are left in our age of spreadsheets and quarterly reports?” He rubbed his eyes, staring at the floor. “People aren’t explorers anymore, Jeeny. They’re cogs — even the leaders. They just happen to sit higher in the machine.”

Jeeny: “Then maybe the leader’s job is to remind them they’re not.”

Host: Her words lingered, hanging like warm breath in cold air. For a moment, neither spoke. The office lights flickered as if reacting to the weight of what hung between them.

Jack: “You really believe that, don’t you?”

Jeeny: “I have to. Because I’ve seen what happens when leaders vanish. When they lead from comfort, not conviction. You remember last year — when the company almost folded? Everyone was terrified, rumors everywhere. But when you showed up at 2 a.m. with coffee and no answers, it mattered. You didn’t fix it that night, but you showed up. That was leadership.”

Jack: (sighing) “It was desperation.”

Jeeny: “No — it was humanity.”

Host: The silence stretched. The rain softened again, tapering into mist. Jack turned toward the window, where the first faint hint of daylight began to edge the horizon. His reflection looked older, thinner — but still standing.

Jack: “Maybe Murdoch’s right about one thing,” he said, almost to himself. “A company does lose something when its leader stops being human. But not because he stops working hard — it’s because he stops feeling what the others feel. You can’t inspire people with effort alone; you need empathy.”

Jeeny: (nodding) “Effort and empathy — that’s the equation. The head and the heart. Without one, the other collapses. A leader without vision is a wanderer. But a leader without compassion is a tyrant.”

Jack: “You really think compassion survives in the boardroom?”

Jeeny: “It has to. Or the boardroom becomes a battlefield.”

Host: Her voice had grown firmer now, pulsing with conviction. Jack leaned back, studying her, a faint smile ghosting across his face.

Jack: “You’d make a better CEO than half the people upstairs.”

Jeeny: “Not if it means twelve hours a day of losing myself. Leadership doesn’t mean obliteration. It means endurance — shared endurance. Working twelve hours beside people doesn’t mean you never leave; it means you never abandon.”

Host: A long pause settled, filled with the low hum of the building waking to life. Somewhere, an elevator bell chimed — faint, distant, like a reminder that the world outside still demanded motion.

Jack: “You make it sound noble again,” he said softly. “Maybe I just forgot what it used to mean.”

Jeeny: “Maybe you didn’t forget. Maybe you just got tired of carrying it alone.”

Host: He looked at her then — really looked. The lamplight carved faint shadows across his face, softening the edges of exhaustion into something almost peaceful.

Jack: “You know,” he said, “there’s this story about Murdoch during the newspaper strikes in London — he stood in the printing plant all night, ink on his hands, while his workers fought to get the press running again. He didn’t have to be there, but he was. Maybe it wasn’t just ambition. Maybe he understood what it meant to stand in the trenches.”

Jeeny: “Exactly,” she said, her eyes bright. “It’s not about the hours. It’s about the courage to be there when things fall apart. That’s when people decide whether to follow you — not when the lights are bright and the stock is up.”

Jack: “And if you fall?”

Jeeny: “Then they catch you — because you caught them first.”

Host: A faint smile spread across Jack’s face, slow and uncertain, but real. He reached for his coffee, now cold, and took a sip anyway. The rain had stopped completely.

Jack: “So, presence, not punishment. Empathy, not ego. Leadership as shared suffering.”

Jeeny: “No,” she corrected gently. “Leadership as shared meaning.”

Host: The first light of morning crept across the floor, painting the desks with gold. Outside, the city stirred, the endless cycle of ambition beginning again. But inside, the air felt lighter — like the first deep breath after a long storm.

Jack: “Then maybe tomorrow,” he said quietly, “I’ll start working twelve hours again — not for the company, but for the people.”

Jeeny smiled, setting her cup down. “That’s the only kind of work worth doing.”

Host: As the sun broke through the clouds, the office filled with light, warm and unflinching. Two figures stood in its glow — not boss and subordinate, not cynic and dreamer, but comrades in the same quiet war for purpose. And for a fleeting moment, the world — with all its noise, its greed, its endless race — seemed almost human again.