The Internet is a powerful way to make lots of money... But we

Host: The night hummed with the soft, electric pulse of the city — a restless constellation of screens, servers, and sleepless ambition. The boardroom on the 45th floor overlooked it all, a cathedral of glass and silence. Below, the streets glittered with the cold fluorescence of progress, while inside, the air smelled faintly of money, coffee, and quiet power.

Jack sat by the panoramic window, his tie loosened, his jacket draped carelessly over the back of the chair. His eyes — grey and reflective — caught the glow of the skyline as he scrolled through endless financial reports on his laptop. Across from him, Jeeny leaned on the polished table, her arms crossed, her expression somewhere between amusement and defiance.

On the screen between them glowed a quote in bold type:

"The Internet is a powerful way to make lots of money... But we are not going to buy Yahoo!" — Sumner Redstone

Jeeny: (smiling faintly) “I love that line. The arrogance, the certainty — it’s like a prophecy that forgot to include irony.”

Jack: “Prophecy? No. Pragmatism. Redstone was old-school — he understood the difference between a gold rush and a minefield. Everyone wanted to buy Yahoo; few had the discipline not to.”

Host: The lights from the city shimmered on the surface of the long table, reflecting them both — the pragmatist and the dreamer — in distorted, golden fragments. The faint hum of servers in the corner filled the space with mechanical stillness, like the quiet breathing of an empire asleep.

Jeeny: “And yet, look what happened. The ones who laughed at the Internet ended up being consumed by it. Those who thought it was just a new medium woke up in a new world.”

Jack: “He wasn’t laughing. He was cautious. Redstone knew media wasn’t about the machine — it was about control. The Internet decentralized everything, and he didn’t trust what couldn’t be owned. That’s not foolishness — that’s survival instinct.”

Jeeny: “Survival, sure. But survival’s a poor substitute for vision. You can’t lead a revolution by holding the door shut. The Internet wasn’t a threat — it was evolution. He stood on the shore and tried to tell the tide not to rise.”

Host: A faint breeze pressed against the glass, the low groan of the building blending with the far-off sound of the city’s pulse — car horns, distant chatter, the metallic whisper of late-night ambition. Jack turned, closing the laptop with a quiet click.

Jack: “Visionaries drown in their own optimism. Redstone built something real — networks, stations, movies, billions in profit. You can’t blame him for not wanting to gamble it all on dot-com dreams and digital dust.”

Jeeny: “But that’s exactly why he missed the truth. The Internet wasn’t a gamble — it was the new gravity. It didn’t ask for belief; it demanded adaptation. Redstone saw it as a tool. The visionaries saw it as a world.”

Jack: “And the world they built? Algorithms. Feeds. Addiction. Attention sold like stock. You call that vision? That’s capitalism on steroids.”

Jeeny: “It’s also connection, Jack. Expression. Voices that never had a microphone. For every algorithm that sells, there’s a human who finally got to speak. You can’t reduce the Internet to economics — it’s a mirror of everything human, for better or worse.”

Host: Her voice rose softly, filled with conviction, like the steady crescendo of a symphony built on hope. Jack looked at her — his lips tightening, his expression unreadable.

Jack: “You’re defending a machine like it’s holy scripture. The Internet was supposed to democratize power — instead it monetized attention. It turned people into products. You think Redstone was wrong for seeing that coming?”

Jeeny: “He wasn’t wrong. He was limited. He thought the Internet was something to buy, when it was something to join. That’s the difference between control and participation. The old titans bought empires. The new ones built networks.”

Host: A distant thunder rolled beyond the skyline, faint but certain. The city lights flickered as if acknowledging the truth between their words.

Jack: (dryly) “And now those networks are the new empires. Google, Meta, Amazon — digital monarchies pretending to be democracies. Redstone tried to own the medium; these guys own the message itself.”

Jeeny: “But at least they changed the architecture. They understood the world had shifted from ownership to access. The Internet didn’t kill capitalism — it just rewired it.”

Jack: “And corrupted it. Everything became about velocity — faster, louder, cheaper. The Internet turned art into content and journalism into clickbait.”

Jeeny: “And still, it gave us something no empire ever could: participation. The poorest person with a smartphone has more reach than Redstone’s entire studio once did. Power is no longer broadcast — it’s shared.”

Host: The rain began to fall against the window — thin streaks illuminated by city light, like static on a cosmic screen. The reflection of both their faces shimmered in the glass — one stoic, one luminous.

Jack: “You call that sharing? It’s chaos. Everyone’s talking, no one’s listening. Redstone might’ve been a cynic, but he understood one thing — control means coherence. Without it, you get noise.”

Jeeny: “Noise can become music, Jack — if you’re willing to listen for the pattern. The Internet isn’t chaos. It’s complexity. The difference is perspective.”

Jack: (leaning forward, voice low) “Perspective doesn’t pay salaries. Empires aren’t built on poetry.”

Jeeny: “No — they’re destroyed by it.”

Host: The room held its breath. The rain outside thickened, washing the city in blurred reflections. Jack’s jaw tightened, but his eyes softened, betraying something like admiration — or maybe defeat.

Jack: “You really believe idealism can outlast profit?”

Jeeny: “No. But I believe meaning can.”

Host: A long silence stretched between them — the kind of silence filled not with emptiness, but with understanding. Jack stood, walking toward the window. His reflection merged with hers in the glass, two silhouettes outlined by the ghostly shimmer of the city.

Jack: “Redstone wanted efficiency. Control. Predictability. Maybe that’s what makes the Internet so dangerous — it’s none of those things.”

Jeeny: “And that’s what makes it beautiful. It’s the first empire humanity built that no one truly owns — and everyone inhabits.”

Host: Jack turned, half-smiling now, his tone softer, almost reverent.

Jack: “So, what do you think he’d say today? Looking at all this?”

Jeeny: (pausing) “I think he’d still say it’s a powerful way to make lots of money.”

Jack: (laughing quietly) “But?”

Jeeny: “But maybe he’d finally realize — you can’t buy Yahoo… because Yahoo was never the point. The Internet doesn’t need owners. It needs believers.”

Host: The lights in the room dimmed to a gentle glow, their reflection blending with the city’s heartbeat beyond. The rain softened, and the distant thunder faded into the hum of servers — the eternal pulse of the networked world.

And there, amid the glow of commerce and connection, the echo of Redstone’s irony lingered like static in the air — a billionaire’s jest turned timeless truth:

That the Internet, for all its power to make and unmake fortunes, remains what it always was —
a mirror for the human will to connect, to create, and to question who truly owns the future.