You need to set a tone at the top that inspires trust - and

Host: The boardroom was all glass and chrome, perched high above the sleeping city — a temple of ambition lit by screens instead of candles. The clock on the wall read 11:47 p.m., long past the hour when honesty usually grows quiet. Yet here they were, Jack and Jeeny, sitting across the long conference table like two nations negotiating peace after years of silent war.

The city lights below flickered like scattered data — beautiful, meaningless. The rain streaked the windows, blurring the skyline into an abstract painting of power and exhaustion.

Host: On the table lay a stack of reports, a few empty coffee cups, and one burning truth neither had yet dared to touch.

Jeeny: (softly, but firm) “Denise Morrison once said, ‘You need to set a tone at the top that inspires trust — and encourages open and honest two-way communication. So you hear the brutal facts, and you listen to the good news and the bad news — so that, in the spirit of continuous improvement, you can make changes.’”

(she looks across the table) “That’s what we’ve forgotten here, Jack. We’ve been managing a company, but not leading people.”

Jack: (leaning back, rubbing his temples) “You think I don’t know that? Every quarter it’s the same — reports, profits, spin. You start with truth, but the higher you climb, the quieter truth becomes. People stop telling you what’s real.”

Jeeny: “Because you trained them not to.”

Host: The words landed like a stone dropped into deep water — no splash, just weight. Jack’s jaw tightened, the sound of the rain outside suddenly louder.

Jack: (dryly) “So I’m the problem now.”

Jeeny: “No. You’re the mirror. The tone at the top reflects everything beneath it. When you lead with fear, people lie to survive. When you lead with trust, they tell you the truth — even when it hurts.”

Jack: “And what if the truth is ugly? What if it sinks morale, scares investors, fractures the team?”

Jeeny: “Then at least it’s honest. You can’t fix what you won’t face. You can’t improve a lie.”

Host: The air conditioner hummed, a low mechanical sigh that filled the silence. The city glow spilled over Jack’s face, cutting it in two — one side light, the other shadow.

Jack: (quietly) “You know what happens to leaders who invite brutal facts? They get devoured by them.”

Jeeny: “Only if they mistake accountability for attack. The best leaders don’t fear bad news — they turn it into direction.”

Jack: (leaning forward) “You’ve never sat in this chair, Jeeny. You don’t know what it’s like to hold everyone’s expectations in one hand and the company’s survival in the other. You think transparency saves you — but it exposes you.”

Jeeny: (calmly) “And hiding saves you? That’s not leadership, Jack. That’s crisis management on repeat.”

Host: She stood, walking slowly to the floor-to-ceiling window, arms folded, her reflection merging with the city lights — one small figure in a sea of glass and ambition.

Jeeny: “When Denise Morrison ran Campbell’s, she turned the company around not with slogans, but with truth. She faced the brutal facts of decline head-on — and invited her teams into the process. That’s what set the tone: vulnerability backed by vision.”

Jack: “You really believe vulnerability works in a boardroom?”

Jeeny: “It’s the only thing that ever has. People don’t follow power — they follow courage.”

Host: A rumble of thunder rolled outside, low and steady, like the sound of the world clearing its throat. Jack stood, pacing to the opposite end of the table, his footsteps echoing sharply against the marble floor.

Jack: “You know what courage looks like to shareholders? Results. Not tears. Not ‘honest conversations.’ They want certainty — even if it’s manufactured.”

Jeeny: (turning, eyes hard but sad) “And that’s exactly why trust is dying. Everyone’s performing confidence, no one’s feeling it. You’ve built a company full of actors reading from the same script — and you call it culture.”

Jack: (snapping) “And you think one meeting fixes that?”

Jeeny: (steady) “No. But tone does. And tone starts here — with you.”

Host: A flash of lightning lit the room for a moment — Jack’s face caught mid-thought, a portrait of fatigue and reflection.

Jack: (after a long pause) “You think if I stood in front of the team tomorrow and admitted I’ve made mistakes — that I’ve been too focused on numbers, too distant — they’d respect me more?”

Jeeny: “No. They’d finally believe you.”

Host: He sank back into his chair, the sound of rain softening, his eyes drifting to the window where the skyline blurred into streaks of light and storm.

Jack: (quietly) “I built this place from nothing. Every decision was survival. Every lie was protection. And now, the thing I built feels like a cage — one that locks from the inside.”

Jeeny: “Then stop being its warden.”

Host: She walked back to him, hands resting lightly on the back of a chair, her voice softer now.

Jeeny: “The best leaders don’t build walls; they build bridges — even if it means standing in the middle and getting hit from both sides.”

Jack: “And what if I don’t know how to start?”

Jeeny: “Start with silence. Then start with listening. Invite the brutal facts. Ask your people what’s broken — and don’t defend yourself when they answer.”

Jack: (half-smiling) “You make it sound easy.”

Jeeny: “It’s not. But it’s real.”

Host: The rain eased, the city exhaling after the storm. A faint glow of dawn began to brush the horizon — soft, tentative, like a truce.

Jeeny: (gently) “You always said leadership was about vision. Maybe it’s about hearing, too. Seeing without listening isn’t leadership — it’s blindness.”

Jack: “And if I lose control?”

Jeeny: “Then maybe you’ll finally gain connection.”

Host: He nodded slowly, his eyes distant, the first light catching in them — not yet hope, but something close. He picked up the report from the table, looked at it, then set it down again.

Jack: “Tomorrow morning, I’ll call an all-hands meeting. No scripts, no slides. Just… conversation.”

Jeeny: “Good. And when they speak — don’t interrupt. Even when it hurts.”

Jack: (half-smiling) “Especially when it hurts.”

Host: The camera pulls back, showing the two of them standing amid the vast, gleaming emptiness of the boardroom — the city awakening below, the storm giving way to clarity.

Host: And as the light floods in, Denise Morrison’s words hum softly through the scene —

Host: That leadership isn’t about command, but tone;
that trust is built not in victories, but in vulnerability;
and that the courage to hear the brutal facts
is the only way to write a future
that isn’t afraid of its own reflection.

Host: The rain stops.
The silence turns honest.
And in that fragile, golden quiet —
a leader is reborn.