You can't operate a company by fear, because the way to eliminate

Host: The office was quiet, wrapped in the amber light of a late evening. The city outside hummed faintly, its echo muffled by rain-streaked windows. On the long mahogany table, two half-empty cups of coffee sat beside a stack of reports, their edges curling with humidity. Fluorescent lights flickered overhead like tired eyes, watching the last conversation of the day unfold.

Jack leaned against the window, his grey eyes fixed on the blurred skyline, his jawline tight with restraint. Jeeny sat at the table, her fingers tracing circles on the surface, as if drawing thoughts into being. Between them, a tension hung — not of anger, but of truths unspoken too long.

Jack: “You know, Jeeny… Steve Ross was right. ‘You can’t operate a company by fear.’ Because once you start leading by fear, you start protecting yourself instead of building something real. And when people fear criticism, they stop moving altogether. They freeze.”

Jeeny: “But fear, Jack, isn’t always a prison. Sometimes it’s a mirror. It shows us where our limits are — where we’re afraid to look. I’ve seen leaders who used that fear not to paralyze, but to grow.”

Host: Jack turned, his reflection shimmering faintly on the glass, rain streaking through his silhouette. His voice was low, but sharp, like steel drawn slowly from a sheath.

Jack: “That’s poetic, Jeeny, but companies don’t run on poetry. They run on results. I’ve seen teams crumble because their managers tried to inspire rather than decide. They avoided conflict in the name of kindness, and what did that bring? Chaos. Missed deadlines. Mediocrity.”

Jeeny: “And I’ve seen the opposite, Jack. I’ve seen leaders who barked orders, who believed control was the same as leadership. They built empires, yes, but of silence — where people smiled in meetings and cried in bathrooms. Fear gets things done, but it also kills the soul that gets them done.”

Host: The air conditioner hummed, filling the pause. Outside, a flash of lightning split the sky, painting Jack’s face with a fleeting silver glow.

Jack: “You talk about souls as if we’re running a monastery, not a company. The world doesn’t wait for feelings. It rewards the ones who act, not the ones who hesitate. Ross understood that. He knew fear breeds inaction. The best antidote to fear isn’t emotion — it’s movement.”

Jeeny: “But what if the movement is blind? You call it progress, I call it panic. You say fear must be removed, I say it must be understood. Look at NASA in the 1960s — they were terrified of failure, but they didn’t silence the critics. They listened to them, even when it hurt. That’s how they reached the moon, Jack. Not by avoiding fear, but by turning it into fuel.”

Host: Jeeny’s eyes gleamed with conviction, her voice soft but unyielding. Jack’s brows furrowed — not in anger, but in conflict, as if her words had hit a hidden nerve.

Jack: “Fear as fuel, huh? Sounds romantic. But most people can’t handle that kind of heat. You give them fear, they’ll choose comfort every time. They’ll stop taking risks, stop giving honest feedback, stop trying. That’s what Ross meant. If you let fear rule, you create a company full of ghosts — people who show up, but aren’t really there.”

Jeeny: “And yet, those same ghosts, as you call them, were once humans who cared. Who dared. Until someone told them their mistakes were failures, not lessons. Fear doesn’t come from the criticism itself, Jack. It comes from how it’s delivered. A company can face hard truths without cruelty.”

Host: The clock ticked, its sound slow and deliberate, like a heartbeat counting down the distance between two minds. Jack exhaled, his breath fogging the window, a faint cloud that vanished as quickly as it formed.

Jack: “You’re talking ideals again. Out there, it’s different. If I don’t make the tough calls, we lose contracts, we lose clients, we lose jobs. Fear keeps people in line. It’s ugly, but it works.”

Jeeny: “It works… until it doesn’t. Until someone finally says they’ve had enough. Do you remember the Enron scandal, Jack? Everyone was so afraid of being the one to question the system. Fear silenced them. And that silence destroyed billions of dollars — and thousands of lives. That’s the real cost of a company built on fear.”

Host: The rain grew heavier, the sound like a thousand small fists against the glass. Jack’s hand tightened around his coffee mug, his knuckles whitening.

Jack: “And yet, Jeeny, look around. Companies still thrive on fear — not because it’s right, but because it’s efficient. The threat of loss is the only motivation some people understand.”

Jeeny: “No, Jack. The trust of being believed in is stronger. You think people work harder because they’re scared? No — they work harder because they believe what they do matters. Because someone sees them as more than a number on a spreadsheet.”

Host: A faint silence fell. The lights above flickered once more, dimming, as if listening. Jeeny’s voice softened, almost a whisper now, but each word carried the weight of her heart.

Jeeny: “You think fear keeps them moving. I think purpose does. Fear can make a company survive a quarter; belief can make it survive a generation.”

Jack: “And yet belief won’t save you when the numbers drop, when the boardroom starts to circle like vultures. Try talking about purpose when profits fall, Jeeny. I’ve been in those rooms. Fear may not inspire, but it protects.”

Jeeny: “Protects what? Your ego? Or your vision? Fear doesn’t protect — it isolates. It turns leaders into tyrants and employees into actors. Everyone performs, no one speaks.”

Host: The storm outside began to calm, the thunder rolling away into distant hills. Jack lowered his gaze, his voice quieter now, tinged with something close to regret.

Jack: “You talk like you’ve never been afraid, Jeeny.”

Jeeny: “I’ve been afraid every day, Jack. But I refuse to let that fear lead me. I’ve seen what it does. It makes good people small. It turns visionaries into administrators. And you — it’s turned you into someone who thinks fear is necessary.”

Host: Jack paused, his eyes finally meeting hers. For a moment, the tension softened. He saw not opposition, but reflection — a shared battle fought in different ways.

Jack: “Maybe… maybe fear isn’t the problem. Maybe it’s what we do with it. You’re right — it can teach, if we listen. But most of us… we don’t. We just want it to stop.”

Jeeny: “Then maybe that’s where leadership begins — not in stopping fear, but in giving people the courage to face it. Criticism doesn’t have to wound, Jack. It can shape.”

Host: The clock struck nine. The rain had stopped, leaving behind a city washed clean, its lights shimmering through a thin veil of mist. Jack smiled, faintly, the kind that comes from understanding, not victory.

Jack: “So — no fear, no comfort. Just courage, and a bit of pain.”

Jeeny: “That’s where creation lives. Between courage and pain.”

Host: The camera would linger here — on two faces caught between light and shadow, on the faint steam curling from forgotten coffee, on the city breathing again beyond the glass. In that quiet, the world seemed to whisper what both of them already knew:

That fear, left unchecked, kills action.
But absence of fear kills growth.

Between the two lies leadership — the kind that dares to be criticized, and still moves.

The lights dimmed to black. The rain began again — gentle, steady, cleansing.