If you fire people, you fire customers.

Host: The conference room smelled faintly of coffee and tension — that unmistakable scent of morning capitalism. Rows of windows overlooked the city skyline, where glass towers shimmered like modern temples of ambition. Below, traffic crawled — the pulse of commerce beating its predictable rhythm.

At the long table sat Jack, his jacket off, tie loosened, sleeves rolled. A spreadsheet glowed on the laptop before him, its cells full of numbers — cold, clean, merciless. Across from him, Jeeny leaned back in her chair, a quiet observer with a pen poised over her notebook.

A whiteboard behind them bore the words “Q3 Restructuring Plan.” Beneath it, bullet points: Reduce overhead. Increase profit margin. Streamline workforce.

The silence stretched, heavy and deliberate, until Jeeny spoke.

Jeeny: “Ferdinand Piëch once said, ‘If you fire people, you fire customers.’”

Host: Her voice was calm, but it carried a current beneath — not defiance, not accusation, but reminder.

Jack: (without looking up) “It’s not personal, Jeeny. It’s math.”

Jeeny: “Math that bleeds.”

Jack: (dryly) “You can’t balance sentiment. Only budgets.”

Jeeny: “You can’t build loyalty out of fear, either.”

Host: The clock on the wall ticked — steady, unfeeling — marking the seconds as if to say: decisions are due. Outside, the city carried on, unaware of the small moral battle unfolding in this air-conditioned arena.

Jack: “You think I don’t care? I do. But the board wants numbers. Survival means cuts.”

Jeeny: “Survival for who? The company? Or the conscience?”

Jack: “For both, if I can manage it.”

Jeeny: “Then start by remembering they’re not separate.”

Host: He finally looked up. His grey eyes — sharp, calculating — softened a fraction, as if she’d found the one thread of doubt he hadn’t tucked away.

Jack: “You sound like someone who’s never had to make this kind of decision.”

Jeeny: “And you sound like someone who’s forgotten who helped you build what you’re about to dismantle.”

Jack: “You think cutting thirty jobs is betrayal?”

Jeeny: “No. I think calling them numbers is.”

Host: The light from the window shifted, cutting across the table like a scalpel. Papers rustled in the small gust from the air vent — neat stacks of human consequence waiting for signatures.

Jack: (quietly) “You know, when I started this business, I promised myself I’d never become one of them. The kind of executive who sees faces as overhead. But the higher you climb, the blurrier people get.”

Jeeny: “Then climb down for a minute. Remember their names.”

Jack: “That’s not leadership. That’s indulgence.”

Jeeny: “No. That’s empathy. And empathy is the long game.”

Host: Her words landed like stones dropped into still water. The ripples moved through him visibly — small, but unstoppable.

Jack: “You think Ferdinand Piëch meant that metaphorically?”

Jeeny: “No. He meant it literally. When you fire people, you break the ecosystem. The ones you let go stop buying, stop believing, stop belonging. You don’t just lose labor — you lose faith. And faith is a brand’s most expensive asset.”

Jack: (leaning back) “Faith doesn’t pay rent.”

Jeeny: “Neither does mistrust. But it’ll bankrupt you faster.”

Host: The room fell quiet again. Outside, a cloud passed, dimming the light. The reflection of the city in the glass looked colder now, less alive — a mirror of all that efficiency destroys.

Jack: “You’re making this sound moral.”

Jeeny: “It is moral. Business always is. Every profit has a soul attached to it — you just decide how clean you want yours to be.”

Jack: “So what, I keep everyone and sink the company?”

Jeeny: “No. You lead like their futures depend on your humanity — because they do.”

Host: A pause. The tension between logic and conscience sat between them like a third presence, unseen but undeniable.

Jack: “You think loyalty still exists in this economy?”

Jeeny: “Loyalty’s not extinct. It’s just underpaid.”

Jack: “You’re good with words.”

Jeeny: “Words built this company before profit did.”

Host: He looked out the window — at the skyline gleaming with glass towers, each one housing thousands of people making the same impossible trade between ethics and economics.

Jack: “You know what scares me? If I don’t make the cuts, they’ll replace me with someone who will.”

Jeeny: “Then maybe the real courage isn’t in surviving the system. It’s in defying it.”

Jack: “And if defiance fails?”

Jeeny: “Then at least you failed as a human being, not as a machine.”

Host: The clock ticked louder now, as if time itself was demanding its verdict. Jack stood, walked to the window, and stared down at the streets below — at the people moving, crossing, living. Every one of them a customer, a worker, a name on someone’s spreadsheet.

Jack: (quietly) “You ever notice how cities look beautiful from above?”

Jeeny: “Distance always flatters power.”

Jack: (turning back) “You think there’s another way?”

Jeeny: “There always is. It’s just rarely the most profitable.”

Host: She stood too, walking to the whiteboard. With her finger, she erased the words “streamline workforce” and wrote instead: “Strengthen community.”

Jack: “You think that’ll please the board?”

Jeeny: “No. But it might save the company.”

Jack: “You mean reputation.”

Jeeny: “No. The spirit. Once that dies, the rest follows.”

Host: He looked at the board, then back at her. Something softened in him — not surrender, but recognition.

Jack: (softly) “You know, I used to think leadership was about control. Now I think it’s about listening to the people who remind you what control costs.”

Jeeny: “Then you’re already ahead of most.”

Host: The monitor on the wall blinked to life — graphs, projections, rising red lines of loss. Jack stared at it, then closed the laptop. The act felt heavier than it should.

Jack: “Maybe Piëch was right. When you fire people, you don’t just lose customers — you lose connection. And once connection’s gone, all you have left is math.”

Jeeny: “And math doesn’t love you back.”

Host: The light returned as the clouds parted, flooding the room again in bright, honest gold.

Jack: (smiling faintly) “You know, Jeeny, sometimes I think you’d make a terrible accountant.”

Jeeny: “And you’d make a wonderful human being — if you’d let yourself.”

Host: The two of them stood in the light — the blueprint of morality and market flickering between them. Outside, the city breathed — unaware that inside this glass tower, one small act of conscience was trying to remember its place in the machinery.

And as the day stretched forward, Ferdinand Piëch’s words echoed softly through the silence, finding their shape not in business theory but in truth:

That a company is not a building or a brand —
it is a gathering of souls in pursuit of purpose.

That every layoff is not just a number,
but a wound in the story of belonging.

And that true leadership is not measured
by how much you can cut to save,
but by how much you can keep
to remain whole.