I'm well-travelled so I can see places coming up. I went to St.

Host:
The harbor air was thick with salt, heat, and the faint sound of steel drums rolling through the Caribbean dusk. The sunset spilled molten gold across the waves, turning the rippling water into liquid flame. At the far edge of the pier, the smell of grilled fish, diesel, and rum mingled with laughter from a nearby beach bar.

Jack stood leaning on a wooden railing, sunglasses perched on his head, gazing out at a coastline still marked by scaffolding, half-rebuilt roofs, and signs of survival. Jeeny, beside him, wore a white linen dress and a look of quiet curiosity — that expression she carried when observing beauty stitched together from brokenness.

Jeeny: [smiling faintly] “Mel B once said, ‘I'm well-travelled so I can see places coming up. I went to St. Croix in the West Indies at Christmas and it had been hit by a really bad tornado. Values there have gone down but I guarantee they will be up again in eight years. So I'll get in now while it's cheap as chips.’”

Jack: [grinning] “Ah, Mel B — always a mix of pop glitter and business grit. Only she could turn tragedy into an investment strategy.”

Jeeny: [playfully] “You say that like it’s a bad thing. Maybe she’s just being practical — hope with a profit margin.”

Host:
The breeze carried the soft scent of seaweed and the faint crackle of a bonfire starting on the beach. The light around them began to soften, the first stars flickering to life over the darkening horizon.

Jack: “You know, it’s fascinating — how some people see ruin and others see opportunity. Same landscape, same loss — different lens.”

Jeeny: “That’s vision, isn’t it? Not romantic, not naive — just resilient. She’s not dismissing what happened here; she’s betting on recovery.”

Jack: “Yeah. Seeing potential where others see wreckage — that’s the heart of entrepreneurship.”

Jeeny: “And maybe optimism too. Not blind hope, but strategic faith.”

Host:
The waves lapped softly at the dock below, rhythmic and patient — the island’s ancient metronome. A fisherman passed by carrying a bucket, nodding politely, his face lined by sun and storms.

Jack: [watching him] “You know, I think people like Mel B — the travelers, the risk-takers — they see cycles where most people see endings. That’s what she’s saying here: ‘It’s down now, but it won’t stay down.’”

Jeeny: “Because everything — people, places, economies — moves in seasons. Destruction and rebirth are part of the same rhythm.”

Jack: “Exactly. She’s reading the island like a market chart — but also like a story.”

Jeeny: “And the story of a place like this? It always begins with loss and ends with music.”

Host:
The music from the beach bar grew louder now — reggae floating through the warm air, filled with bass, laughter, and the hum of resilience.

Jeeny: “It’s interesting though — the way she says ‘cheap as chips.’ There’s humor in it. It’s not greed. It’s almost... cheeky optimism.”

Jack: [laughing] “She’s from Leeds. Everything sounds cheeky optimism when you’re British and buying real estate in paradise.”

Jeeny: “Still, it’s clever. There’s something admirable about people who can find opportunity in hardship — not by exploiting it, but by believing in its comeback.”

Jack: “You mean seeing value not just in numbers, but in potential.”

Jeeny: “Yes. It’s not about buying land — it’s about betting on life.”

Host:
The sky darkened fully now, the moon rising like a pale coin above the sea. The broken rooftops of St. Croix shimmered faintly under the night — fragile, yet unbowed.

Jack: “You know, it’s easy to mock optimism like that. But if nobody ever believed things could rise again, nothing ever would.”

Jeeny: [softly] “Exactly. Every investor, every artist, every builder — they’re all doing the same thing. Betting on renewal.”

Jack: “Even when the odds are against it.”

Jeeny: “Especially then. Because hope’s value goes up when everything else goes down.”

Host:
The bonfire on the beach flared, sending sparks into the dark. People gathered closer, clapping to the rhythm of a drum. The sound carried — laughter mingled with resilience, the language of those who’ve rebuilt before.

Jack: [thoughtfully] “You know, I like her confidence — the way she gives it a number: eight years. Not ‘someday,’ not ‘eventually.’ Eight years. That’s faith with a deadline.”

Jeeny: “It’s also realism. She knows recovery takes time. You can’t rush healing — whether it’s an island, a market, or a heart.”

Jack: “You sound like you’ve lived that line.”

Jeeny: [smiling softly] “We all have. You just need to decide whether you’re the type to wait for the comeback — or invest in it.”

Host:
The waves kept rolling in, steady as breath. The laughter drifted, the music softened, the night deepened. The world, even in its brokenness, felt full of motion — like something quietly beginning again.

Jack: “You think optimism like that is instinct or experience?”

Jeeny: “Experience. People who’ve seen enough cycles stop fearing the fall. They know it’s not the end — just the bottom of the curve.”

Jack: [nodding] “So wisdom is knowing when to buy faith cheap.”

Jeeny: [smiling] “And when to hold it until it appreciates.”

Host:
The camera would pull back now — the two of them silhouetted against the glowing Caribbean night, the sound of laughter and ocean rising together. The island stretched out behind them, both wounded and luminous, proof that even after devastation, beauty waits patiently for those who still believe in its return.

And as the waves rolled endlessly against the shore, Mel B’s words would echo — not as a business pitch, but as a human creed:

I see what’s broken,
but I also see what’s coming.
The winds hit hard,
but the island will rise again.
The world calls it risk —
I call it timing.
Because value isn’t measured
by what stands today,
but by what can stand tomorrow.
So I’ll get in now,
while it’s ‘cheap as chips,’
and wait —
for beauty to rebuild itself.