Dark-suited guards admitted the man to the eightieth-story office. “I present Dressed-in-Goodwill,” one intoned. “Your ten-thirty.” Business Suit turned from her floor-to-ceiling window to face the supplicant. “You have two minutes.”
“Yes, CEO Business Suit,” said the man. “I come to beg for a revolution permit. I and many—”
“Revolution? That suggests faults are going unaddressed.”
“Yes, Business Suit. I and many others suffer great financial burdens. We have nothing but our debts, and—”
“All economic measures indicate great prosperity. Do you claim them false?”
“Only that they may not measure everything. Permit a revolution, and many may live better lives.”
“A revolt topples the ruling class. You suggest I have lost the mandate of the Free Market.”
Dressed-in-Goodwill bowed. “The Free Market clearly favors you, but—”
“Then my reign is just and right. Permit denied. Your two minutes are up.”
“Yes, great Business Suit.” Dressed-in-Goodwill bowed himself out. A personal assistant stepped in.
Business Suit smiled. “Offer him a job managing an economic revitalization program that he can’t refuse without feeling hypocritical, at a salary low enough he still feels righteous.” The PA bowed and left.
Satisfied, Business Suit turned back to her window and surveyed her perfect domain.