Transparency, honesty, kindness, good stewardship, even humor

Host: The office was almost empty now, its fluorescent lights humming faintly above rows of desks and abandoned coffee cups. Beyond the glass walls, the city still pulsed — a river of headlights and brief human dreams cutting through the darkness.

Jack stood by the window, tie loosened, the glow of his phone reflecting in his grey eyes. Jeeny sat cross-legged on a table near him, her laptop closed, her hair falling softly over her shoulders. The day had been long — numbers, meetings, polite lies — the usual corporate masquerade.

Outside, a storm began to form — faint lightning far beyond the skyline, silent but certain.

Jeeny: “You ever think about what he said — John Gerzema — ‘Transparency, honesty, kindness, good stewardship, even humor, work in businesses at all times’? It’s strange how something so simple feels almost radical now.”

Jack: “Radical? No. Naïve, maybe. Businesses don’t run on kindness, Jeeny. They run on results.”

Host: Jack’s voice was low, steady, with that faint rasp that came from too much coffee and not enough sleep. Jeeny looked at him — calm, but her eyes carried a spark, the kind that refused to die quietly.

Jeeny: “And what are results worth if you lose your humanity in getting them?”

Jack: “Humanity doesn’t pay rent. The shareholders don’t clap for good intentions. You know that. You’ve been in those meetings.”

Jeeny: “Yes. And every time, I watch people lie a little, smile a little less, and call it strategy. It’s like we’re all performing some ritual to a god we stopped believing in.”

Host: The rain began, tapping lightly against the glass, a soft rhythm of confession. The city lights blurred into streaks — red, gold, and silver — like smeared memories.

Jack turned from the window, walked toward the table, and sat opposite her.

Jack: “Transparency and honesty are slogans now. Every company puts them on walls, but the moment it costs a deal, they disappear. Kindness? That’s a PR campaign, not a business model.”

Jeeny: “Then why do companies that truly practice them seem to last longer? Patagonia, for example. Or the ones that didn’t collapse in scandal because they actually cared about people instead of pretending to.”

Jack: “You mean the exceptions.”

Jeeny: “No, I mean the warnings. Every empire built on deception eventually rots from within — Enron, Theranos, FTX. The numbers looked fine until the truth did what truth always does.”

Host: The lightning outside flared, for a brief second painting both faces in white. Jack’s expression was thoughtful now, not cold — just tired of pretending not to care.

Jack: “You think kindness can survive competition? Look at this place. You think our CEO would stay up at night worrying about honesty when he’s got targets to hit?”

Jeeny: “Maybe he should. Because if he built something transparent enough, he wouldn’t need to worry about hiding anything. Kindness isn’t weakness, Jack. It’s long-term intelligence.”

Jack: “That sounds poetic. But the market isn’t poetic. It’s a battlefield.”

Jeeny: “Then we need better soldiers. Ones who fight for something more than quarterly returns.”

Host: Jack leaned forward, elbows on knees, fingers steepled beneath his chin. The rain outside thickened, its sound rising — a kind of percussion underlining her words.

Jack: “You really think honesty can compete with manipulation?”

Jeeny: “It doesn’t have to. It outlasts it.”

Jack: “You sound like you believe the world rewards goodness.”

Jeeny: “Not immediately. But inevitably.”

Host: The tension in the room deepened, but not with anger — with an almost electric awareness. The office felt larger now, filled with unspoken truths bouncing off the glass.

Jack: “You talk about business like it’s a moral organism. It’s not. It’s machinery. Systems. Incentives. People like to believe in honesty until a bonus depends on deceit.”

Jeeny: “And yet, those same people come home empty, no matter how full their wallets are. Don’t you see? Even profit needs meaning. Even leadership needs a conscience. Otherwise, it’s just manipulation with better lighting.”

Jack: “You make it sound like business can have a soul.”

Jeeny: “Maybe it can. If people like you stopped pretending it can’t.”

Host: The storm outside broke — a low, deep rumble of thunder shaking the windowpanes. A brief power flicker passed through the office, plunging it momentarily into darkness, before the emergency lights hummed back on — pale and steady.

Jack rubbed his temples. His reflection in the window stared back — a man successful on paper, hollow in practice.

Jack: “You know what honesty cost me once? A promotion. I told the board that the numbers were inflated. They didn’t thank me. They sidelined me.”

Jeeny: “Maybe that’s not what it cost you. Maybe it saved you.”

Jack: “From what?”

Jeeny: “From becoming like them.”

Host: Silence settled — heavy, raw. The hum of the air conditioner filled the absence of words.

Jack: “You think humor has a place in this world too?”

Jeeny: “Of course. Humor’s what keeps us from turning into machines. It’s perspective. The ability to look at absurdity and still smile. It’s humanity’s last grace in the face of greed.”

Jack: “You really believe laughter can survive corporate politics?”

Jeeny: “It’s the only thing that can cleanse it.”

Host: The clock on the wall glowed 11:42 PM. The night outside had swallowed the storm, leaving only soft drizzles and distant city murmurs.

Jeeny stood, stretched, walked toward the window beside him. The reflection of lightning played faintly across her eyes.

Jeeny: “Jack, it’s not about being perfect. It’s about being accountable. Transparency isn’t weakness — it’s the courage to say, ‘We’re not there yet, but we’re trying.’ That’s how trust begins.”

Jack: “And if people still take advantage of it?”

Jeeny: “Then they reveal themselves. Transparency doesn’t just show truth — it exposes deceit.”

Host: Jack smiled faintly — not out of mockery, but because something in her conviction felt disarming.

Jack: “You know, you talk like business is some living thing that needs healing.”

Jeeny: “Isn’t it? Businesses are made of people, Jack. If the people heal, so does the system.”

Jack: “And you think kindness can heal capitalism?”

Jeeny: “No. But it can humanize it. And that’s the first step toward changing it.”

Host: The rain slowed to a whisper. The sky outside cleared just enough to reveal the faint shimmer of the moon above the skyline — silver and indifferent, yet still shining through the glass towers.

Jack sighed, long and quiet, like someone finally setting down a weight.

Jack: “Maybe Gerzema was right then. Maybe these things — honesty, kindness, humor — don’t just ‘work in business.’ Maybe they’re what make it worth doing in the first place.”

Jeeny: “Exactly. Without them, business is just survival with better branding.”

Jack: “And with them?”

Jeeny: “It becomes creation. A place where work has soul, and people aren’t just resources.”

Host: The storm was gone. The streets below gleamed with rainlight, reflections of windows shimmering like fragments of truth.

Jeeny gathered her things, slinging her bag over her shoulder. Jack stayed by the window, watching the city’s pulse.

Jeeny: “You know, I think transparency isn’t about showing everything. It’s about hiding nothing.”

Jack: “That’s a fine line.”

Jeeny: “So is integrity.”

Host: She smiled — small, but real. The kind of smile that made silence warmer.

Jack: “You ever think we’ll work in a company that actually believes all this?”

Jeeny: “Maybe. But until then, we can still act like it’s possible. Change doesn’t need permission — just persistence.”

Jack: “You sound like a CEO already.”

Jeeny: “No. Just a believer.”

Host: They turned off the lights and stepped into the hallway, where their footsteps echoed softly. Behind them, the glass walls reflected two silhouettes walking side by side — one hardened by pragmatism, the other softened by conviction — both somehow changed.

Outside, the city stretched endlessly, each window a tiny pulse of ambition, deceit, or maybe — just maybe — kindness.

A single bolt of lightning split the horizon, followed by stillness.

And in that silence, something unseen shifted — a flicker of transparency in the dark machinery of the world.