Those at the top would do better with a smaller share of a

Host: The city pulsed beneath a thick veil of smog and neon light, the kind of urban heartbeat that never truly rested. The streets hummed with the late-night traffic of ambition — black sedans, delivery trucks, electric scooters weaving through the arteries of capitalism’s favorite child.

From the window of a glass tower, the skyline looked almost holy — a constellation of commerce built on glass and debt. Inside, in an office far above the sleeping city, Jack and Jeeny sat across from each other at a long boardroom table, surrounded by blueprints, data charts, and the ghostly reflection of themselves in the floor-to-ceiling windows.

The clock on the wall read 11:42 p.m. The world below never stopped, and neither did they.

Jeeny: (closing her laptop) “Robert Reich once said, ‘Those at the top would do better with a smaller share of a booming economy that elicits a positive politics than they will do with an ever-larger share of an anemic economy that fuels the politics of anger.’”

Jack: (leaning back in his chair) “Ah, Reich — the man who thinks conscience can compete with profit margins.”

Host: His tone was wry, but his eyes — cold and silver under the fluorescent light — betrayed the fatigue of a man who’d spent too long defending his cynicism.

Jeeny: “He’s not wrong, though. You can’t build prosperity on resentment. When too few own too much, even the winners lose.”

Jack: (smirking) “You think the winners see it that way? Ask the man who owns the penthouse below us if he’d trade ten million for a friendlier democracy.”

Jeeny: “Then maybe that’s the tragedy. We’ve built an economy that rewards short-term gain over long-term survival. Reich’s right — inequality isn’t just unjust, it’s unstable.”

Jack: “Unstable is fine, as long as it’s profitable.”

Host: The air hummed with tension — the kind that only money and morality can create. Outside, the faint glow of a billboard across the street displayed an ad for a luxury watch, its slogan unapologetic: “Time is power.”

Jeeny stood, walking toward the window, her reflection merging with the glittering skyline. Her voice softened but sharpened in meaning.

Jeeny: “You ever think about what happens when too many people decide the system isn’t worth saving? When the middle starts to crack? History’s full of it — revolutions, collapses, chaos.”

Jack: “History’s also full of people promising fairness and delivering famine.”

Jeeny: “Because fairness isn’t a promise — it’s a balance. And balance doesn’t come from charity. It comes from structure. Reich isn’t talking about morality; he’s talking about math.”

Jack: (tilting his head) “Math?”

Jeeny: “Yes. You can’t run a society where half the people can’t afford to live in it. That’s not capitalism — that’s cannibalism.”

Host: The rain began tapping against the glass — slow, rhythmic, like a warning knocking politely before it turned to thunder.

Jack stared at the city, watching the cars crawl along the freeway like lines of data in an endless algorithm.

Jack: “You talk like everyone’s equal in this game. They’re not. Some people build, others survive. That’s how the world’s always been.”

Jeeny: “Then why pretend civilization means progress? If all we’ve done is polish the hierarchy.”

Jack: “Because it works.”

Jeeny: “No, Jack. It lasts — that’s not the same thing.”

Host: Her reflection in the glass looked like a ghost arguing with his — two halves of a philosophy staring each other down. The sky outside flashed faintly with lightning, illuminating the truth between them.

Jeeny: “Reich’s warning isn’t about economics. It’s about emotion. You can’t feed people slogans when they’re starving for dignity. The anger you see out there — that’s not politics. That’s grief.”

Jack: “Grief for what?”

Jeeny: “For the lie. The one that says hard work always wins, that the ladder goes up forever. But now they see the ladder’s missing half its rungs — and the people at the top keep pulling it higher.”

Jack: (quietly) “Maybe they earned it.”

Jeeny: “No one earns a system. They inherit it.”

Host: The rain grew heavier now, streaking the glass like tears tracing the face of the skyline. Somewhere below, a siren wailed — a sound equal parts warning and lament.

Jack folded his arms, staring at the reflections — the city lights now blurred, refracted by the rain.

Jack: “You think sharing fixes anger?”

Jeeny: “Not sharing — investing. When prosperity is collective, stability is too. Reich isn’t asking the rich to give more — he’s warning them what happens if they don’t.”

Host: The lights flickered once, briefly, as thunder rolled across the horizon. The world outside shimmered like a living organism — pulsing, restless, ready.

Jeeny: “You’ve seen it, Jack. The outrage, the riots, the politics of resentment. It’s not ideology. It’s physics. Pressure builds, then it breaks. Reich’s saying: release the pressure while you still can.”

Jack: (half-smiling) “You make it sound noble. It’s not nobility that drives reform — it’s fear.”

Jeeny: “Then maybe fear’s the only thing left that can teach compassion.”

Jack: “You can’t teach compassion through policy.”

Jeeny: “Maybe not. But you can destroy cruelty through design.”

Host: Her words hung in the air, deliberate, unwavering. Jack looked at her — truly looked — and for a brief moment, the weight behind his practiced detachment faltered.

Jack: (after a long silence) “You know, I used to believe markets were like nature — self-correcting, efficient, inevitable. But lately, it feels more like they’re mirrors. Reflecting our greed back at us.”

Jeeny: “They are mirrors, Jack. That’s why Reich’s quote matters — it’s not just economic advice; it’s a moral equation. The more we take, the less we build.”

Jack: “So what, then? You think the powerful should sacrifice for stability?”

Jeeny: “No. They should invest in it. Because a society that thrives is safer, saner, and more profitable in the long run. What’s the point of being rich in a broken world?”

Host: The rain slowed, the storm easing into a whisper. The city lights below seemed softer now, less like gold, more like embers.

Jack rubbed his temples, sighing — a sound halfway between surrender and thought.

Jack: “Reich said they’d do better with less. Maybe he’s right. But greed’s an old addiction. We don’t give it up because it hurts others — we give it up when it finally hurts us.”

Jeeny: “And that’s exactly what’s happening. The anger isn’t random — it’s the sound of the foundation cracking.”

Host: A long silence filled the room. The only sound was the faint ticking of the clock and the rain easing off the glass.

Jeeny turned, looking back at him with eyes that held both urgency and grace.

Jeeny: “Progress isn’t measured by how much we gain, Jack. It’s measured by how much we share without losing our humanity.”

Jack: (softly) “And what if it’s already gone?”

Jeeny: “Then we rebuild it. Together. Before the anger burns down what’s left.”

Host: The camera drifted outward, through the glass, past their reflections, into the vast sea of light that was the city — luminous, fragile, trembling on the edge of its own brilliance.

Below, traffic kept flowing, commerce kept breathing, and somewhere between the skyscrapers and the streets, the question lingered — not about wealth, but about wisdom:

Would we rather live in a world of abundance divided, or one of fairness shared?

The rain stopped. The city exhaled.

Fade to black.