Day: August 31, 2025

• For Love & Money is a column from Business Insider answering your relationship and money questions.
• This week, a reader helps watch her grandkids and wants to ask her daughter about moving in.
• Our columnist suggests establishing expectations and being prepared for whatever her daughter decides.
• Have a question for our columnist? Write to For Love & Money using this Google form.

Dear For Love & Money,

I care for my grandkids three to four days a week, and I’m tired of leaving my apartment at 5 a.m. to go to my daughter’s home to care for the kids. I rent a small apartment at a senior living building, but I’m not happy there. I feel it would be best for me to move in with my daughter and her family, making it more convenient for all of us.

I do not get paid for caring for my grandchildren, and I would pay my daughter rent. Should I ask my daughter to move in with her family to save money and help her care for my grandkids?

Sincerely,

Tired Grandmother

Dear Tired Grandmother,

As the saying goes, it doesn’t hurt to ask. I know it’s not quite as simple as that, though. My kids are quite a bit younger than your daughter, but I already struggle to imagine a future when the roles are reversed and I have to ask them for, well, anything. I’d imagine the whole thing feels awkward and complicated for you.

From your description, your request isn’t just reasonable — it’s a good idea. You’re helping your daughter’s family out with something as valuable as frequent and reliable free childcare, and this arrangement would help you out — and give you more time with your loved ones. However, asking someone to let you live in their house, inevitably shaking up their routines and family structures, is something they will likely need time to discuss and think through. Their answer might turn out to be no, which is also fair.

I’m sure it’s daunting to set yourself up for a potential “no”, but if you don’t ask, you won’t get a “yes” either. Instead, you’ll stay holed up in your small apartment, unhappy and only escaping when it’s time to schlep over to your daughter’s house at the crack of dawn a few times a week to babysit your grandkids.

At some point, you may start wondering why your daughter doesn’t recognize your sacrifice — your early mornings, your free childcare, driving back and forth, even as you grow older and more tired. You might start making comments, hoping she’ll hear the exhaustion and unhappiness lying in the subtext. When she doesn’t, resentment may start to creep in.

All the while, she might think you’re living your best life with your peers in your senior living complex, and that it’d be presumptuous to ask you to live with her because you might feel it carries an unfair expectation that you offer round-the-clock babysitting. She might notice your comments and wonder why you suddenly seem bitter about caring for your grandkids, when that’s not at all how you feel. The only way either of you will know what the other wants is if you ask her.

How you make your request will go a long way in keeping things from getting messy, no matter how your daughter responds. Assure her that you’ll understand and respect her answer, regardless of its content.

To honestly commit to this, you need to first establish boundaries based on robust self-awareness. Ask yourself, if she were to tell you no, how would you feel about waking up at 4:30 a.m. to be on your way to her place by 5? Faced with the harsh reality that your daughter wants your living situation and contribution to her life to remain exactly the same, how would you feel when she asks for help on a random date night after you’ve already given her four early mornings that week?

Conversely, if she says yes, how will you feel if your constant presence at home and nonexistent commute lead to her feeling more comfortable with seeing you as a default backup, all the time? If she expects you to cancel your Friday night plans with friends because her happy hour turned into an impromptu evening out?

To avoid resentment or miscommunication down the line, set expectations around your time that reflect your devotion to your family, as well as your own needs. This could look like giving your daughter a limited number of times you can commit to babysitting a week, establishing hours you’re open to babysitting, or requesting a specific amount of notice. It could be as simple as letting her know that she should always ask rather than assume you’re free to help.

You mentioned paying your daughter rent, but she may or may not feel comfortable accepting your money. Another option would be to offer her ways you’d be happy to help out around the house, to offset the additional work that will inevitably be brought on by adding another member to the household. This could look like helping out with chores or buying groceries.

Once you’ve figured out for yourself what you’d be comfortable with, talk to your daughter openly and honestly about why you’d like to move in and communicate the boundaries you think would help make for a smooth transition. Hear her out on any concerns she may have and give her time to think it over and speak with her family. But because you’ve been honest, without harboring resentment, you can feel confident that you’ll be able to respect her response. If she says yes, you won’t feel taken advantage of down the line; if she says no, you won’t resent her for it. You will be on the same page regarding your expectations, abilities, and your relationship to one another.

I wonder if it’s this last part — your relationship — that makes you hesitant to ask if you can live with her and her family. It’s easy to mistake such practical solutions as exploitative because they aren’t wrapped in yards of emotional excess. But know this: it’s only a practical solution because of your mutual adoration. If you weren’t an incredibly generous and loving mother, moving in with your daughter wouldn’t make any sense for you. If your daughter weren’t a good, caring daughter, my guess is, you wouldn’t want to live with her in the first place.

Rooting for you,

For Love & Money

Looking for advice on how your savings, debt, or another financial challenge is affecting your relationships? Write to For Love & Money using this Google form.

• Evelyn Ramli transitioned from content creation to a corporate marketing job for stability.
• She found content creation lucrative but unstable, leading to insecurity and moral conflicts.
• Ramli enjoys the structured workday in marketing, though she sometimes questions her career switch.

This as-told-to essay is based on a conversation with Evelyn Ramli, a 22-year-old marketing specialist in Indonesia. It’s been edited for length and clarity. Business Insider has verified Ramli’s past and current job income.

For my first two years as a content creator, I saw it as a fun side hustle to do while in university. I posted TikTok and Instagram videos about video editing and fashion, and later transitioned to beauty when I found it to be the most lucrative.

But when I went full-time with content creation after graduating from my university in 2024, I realized it was only the “dream” life on paper. Sure, I was making a solid salary and got to work on my own terms, but I was insecure, anxious, and sacrificing my morals for a paycheck.

I decided to take a pay cut and switch to a corporate marketing job. I’m still not sure if it was the right decision.

I let go of my career ambitions to be a content creator and earned lots of money

I was studying English literature in the pursuit of becoming a writer or editor. Toward the end of my second year in university, I really let go of my academic performance in favor of sponsorship opportunities for my content.

I abandoned my dream because I felt creating content was a more creative and free path. When I first went full-time with content after graduating, I loved it. In a typical week, I’d attend four to eight brand events, do one to two days of content shooting, and do some video editing nearly every day. I received all sorts of free products, worked with brands I loved as a child, and met some of the most amazing people.

However, several months after cutting ties with my biggest brand sponsor due to opposing beliefs, I lost almost half of my income. After that, I was making about RM10,000 to 12,000, or between $2,300 and $2,800, each month.

It hit me that content-creating isn’t as stable as I thought it was

I started reflecting deeper on my content and realized it had grown into something completely different than the hobby it started as.

Almost all of my videos had become ads. I was chasing views, followers, brands, and money, but I wasn’t serving my audience or myself. I also started realizing that by representing beauty companies, I was inadvertently contributing to the message to young girls that they aren’t beautiful enough.

When I looked inward, I realized I had become insecure, anxious, and distant from my authentic self. I knew I needed to step away so I could really figure out who I am.

Why I decided to switch from content-creating to marketing

I figured I could always go back to content creation, but it may be difficult to enter corporate later on and try to explain my several-year career gap and lack of professional experience.

So, I decided to look for marketing jobs. It has similar aspects to content, which would allow me to continue some of the parts of creation that I love. I only applied to a few jobs on LinkedIn within a month before getting interviewed and later hired as a marketing specialist for an education company.

I didn’t mention social media as job experience because I wasn’t sure it counted. I relied more on my degree in English language and literature and work experience while in university to sell myself. In my current role, I’m making less than I would’ve if I had kept doing content creation.

I love the structure of a 9-to-5 because I feel like momentum builds momentum

When I was a full-time creator, I had so much free time that I struggled to actually get work done. There were some weeks when I rotted in bed for two days because I was wiped out from a huge event the night before.

I’m now enjoying the routine of getting dressed in a cute outfit and heading to the office to work with a great team. The structure even revived my passion for creating and my drive to challenge myself.

I’m still not sure I made the right decision

I think about everything I had — the events, products, and freedom — and feel crazy for giving it up. I miss it at times, but I have to remind myself that we always have a fonder view when looking back on things. I have to remind myself how hollow and unsatisfying being a content creator was.

I’ve realized now that a lot of things I did as a content creator were not what I wanted, but what society programs us to believe are enviable to other people. I’m now focusing on what makes me feel good.

If you are making a career pivot and would like to share your story, please email the editor, Manseen Logan, at mlogan@businessinsider.com.

Konrad “Koni” Steffen was in his favorite place on Earth when he disappeared in August 2020.

At 68, the pioneering scientist — who first sounded the alarm on how Greenland was raising sea levels across the globe — still seemed like a boyish adventurer as he stood in the middle of the ice sheet.

White snow stretched as far as the eye could see beneath a heavy gray sky. A breeze stirred up flurries. The only people for miles were his team: three young men huddling together close by. The only structure was his dilapidated camp comprised of two red hoop houses that he was still using even though they had recently collapsed due to extreme and rapid ice melt.

Koni held a data card freshly plucked from his weather station, a pole in the ice covered with solar-powered spinning gadgets and boxes that recorded precise data on Greenland’s snowfall, solar radiation, and temperature.

Once uploaded to his computer, it would provide the clearest picture to date of how rapidly and unpredictably our world is warming, helping scientists and policymakers see the future more clearly.

Koni called out as he strolled past his team: “I’m going to look at my data!”

Nobody ever saw Koni again.

Five years after his presumed death, researchers and leaders still mourn the loss of one of the founders of modern climate science. Through pioneering research methods and fearless adventurism, Koni became a close witness and powerful spokesperson on climate change. He knew Greenland’s ice sheet better than anyone — which is why his colleagues still puzzle over what happened on August 8, 2020.

Business Insider has assembled the most detailed account to date of that day, through translated police and military reports, and interviews with about two dozen of Koni’s relatives, peers, students, and admirers, including a statement from Al Gore. His children and crew shared with us never-before-seen photos of Koni’s life at Swiss Camp, the research enclave where he made discoveries that have shaped our understanding of the world.

Business Insider has also uncovered information that has never been reported publicly about what happened at Koni’s camp, the day he disappeared, and the ensuing search effort.

Koni’s story raises a harrowing question: As politicians and tech leaders set their sights on Greenland — and the rest of us watch fires and floods unfold — are we underestimating the dangers ahead?

‘It’s like a different planet’

Koni was working on the front line of the climate crisis, near Jakobshavn, one of the fastest-melting glaciers in the world.

Most of Greenland’s 56,000 inhabitants live on the fringes, where the ice sheet tapers off to bare earth. Koni operated more than 50 miles inland, where very few people venture.

For Greenlanders, “there’s a strong relation to the inland ice. There’s a strong respect. It’s a force that can mean life or death,” Anne Merrild, a professor at Denmark’s Aalborg University, who grew up in Greenland, told Business Insider.

Three times the size of Texas, the Greenland ice sheet is 680 miles wide and, on average, 1 mile deep. After Antarctica, it’s the largest mass of ice on Earth.

“It’s like a different planet,” Simon Steffen, Koni’s son and crewmember, said. “Like a white desert as far as you can see.”

The middle of the ice sheet is silent, except for the whistle of wind and the occasional pop of ice shifting deep below, Simon said. Temperatures can drop as low as -50 degrees Fahrenheit. On a really clear day at Koni’s outpost, the coastal mountains were just visible on the horizon.

Greenland is both a victim and a driver of planet-wide changes. Because temperatures are rising fastest at the poles, the ice sheet’s melt is an indicator of how rapidly the climate crisis is accelerating. It’s also the biggest contributor to sea level rise. Alone, it is projected to affect hundreds of millions of people this century, costing governments around the world trillions of dollars.

Koni uncovered climate change ground zero with maverick techniques

When Koni was a budding glaciologist in the 1970s, scientists still weren’t sure whether Greenland’s ice sheet was growing or shrinking.

Koni wanted to find out, definitively.

First, he pointed satellites at Greenland, but that didn’t provide a complete picture. So in March 1990, he said goodbye to his wife, Regula, their infant son Simon, and toddler daughter Anico, and jetted off to establish his basecamp on the ice sheet: Swiss Camp. The family got used to Koni spending each spring with this “third child” as he built weather stations across Greenland. For the first time, he combined detailed ground data with big-picture satellite observations of the ice sheet.

His bet paid off. Within a few years, Koni had transformed glaciology and climate science. He showed that the ice was receding, melting into the ocean because temperatures were rising.

“Coming up with a network to measure the climatology and the weather patterns in Greenland was a huge breakthrough,” Santiago de la Peña, a glaciologist who took classes from Koni at the University of Colorado Boulder, said. “He was extremely experienced, but he was also a bit of a maverick.”

Koni worked tirelessly, in a flurry of espressos and cigarettes — so many cigarettes that the canine tooth where he held them went yellow. People joked that he had antifreeze for blood, and his Arctic misadventures reinforced the reputation. He fended off polar bears, fell through sea ice into frigid Arctic waters, and survived an avalanche that broke his bones and left him stranded for more than 24 hours.

He was a “tough as nails Arctic cowboy,” said Jason Box, Koni’s protégé. His unorthodox approach drew devoted apprentices, seeking adventure and discovery.

When he wasn’t advising students or collecting data, Koni traveled the world on an all-consuming campaign to make people see the catastrophe of the planet’s melting ice. He met with global leaders, spoke at conferences, led research centers, and co-authored a report of the Intergovernmental Panel on Climate Change. He would also bring film crews, friends, and politicians deep into the ice sheet to see its demise for themselves.

Koni welcomed guests to Swiss Camp with fondue and a bottle of wine in one of the red hoop houses, the kitchen tent. Then, he would occasionally trek visitors across the ice sheet on a hair-raising tour of the scariest signs of the climate crisis.

“It was really quite remarkable,” Nancy Pelosi, a US Representative and former Speaker of the House, who visited in 2007, told Business Insider in an interview this year, reflecting on her trip to see the ice melting up close. “It was: You either are paying attention to this or you are not.”

When Al Gore visited Swiss Camp in 2017 to film his climate documentary, “An Inconvenient Sequel,” Koni took the former vice president to a nearby area where rivers of meltwater gouged the surface of the ice. The scientist instructed the politician to step over a gash in the ice, so he could look down into what’s called a moulin, where the rushing blue meltwater bored a deep hole as wide as an armchair.

“That would be a hole you don’t want to step in, right?” Gore asked half-jokingly as they walked toward a much larger, roaring moulin. Koni didn’t laugh, responding simply: “Yes.”

Greenland was changing — fast

By the time Gore visited, the ice sheet was becoming dangerously unpredictable.

“One of the things that has stuck with me over the years after visiting Swiss Camp was how dangerous Koni’s line of work was becoming,” Gore told Business Insider.

A major escalation came in 2019, two years after Gore’s visit and the year before Koni’s disappearance. That spring, a visiting researcher breathlessly ran up to Derek Houtz, a childhood friend of Simon’s who had become one of Koni’s climate-science mentees. The researcher said he had stepped into a crevasse — a crack where the ice pulls itself apart. Crevasses can be several feet wide and hundreds of feet deep. In extreme cases, they reach the bottom of the ice sheet, a 1-mile drop.

Derek doubted that. There had never been crevasses near Swiss Camp — just a baby one they’d uncovered while drilling new support beams into the ice the previous spring. For years, he and Simon spun snowmobiles around the station for fun or drove hours across smooth ice, checking on other weather stations and chasing each other across the awesome landscape. They sometimes passed through crevasse fields on these longer journeys — in fact, on one such trip that season, Simon’s snowmobile had tipped backward into a crevasse. He accelerated away, feeling rattled. Derek and Koni laughed it off. Crevasses were part of life on the ice, but not at Swiss Camp.

Nevertheless, Derek grabbed a shovel and trudged to where the man pointed — until he was plunging into the snow. He clung to his shovel, which had landed flat, bridging the crevasse to form a lifesaving pull-up bar. His legs scrambled for purchase on the icy walls beneath.

“We were studying climate change. We just did not expect to see it expressed so visibly in that short of time in that spot,” Waleed Abdalati, another mentee, who succeeded Koni as director of the Cooperative Institute for Research in Environmental Sciences at the University of Colorado, told Business Insider.

The US National Science Foundation, which was coordinating the group’s flights, wasn’t satisfied with Koni’s team’s ad-hoc solution — shoveling away all the snow that concealed the crevasse and, when they found it ran right under Simon’s tent, setting down a large piece of plywood to bridge the gap. The NSF sent a helicopter to retrieve everyone from the camp early.

The final trip

Koni flew into Swiss Camp with Simon and Derek on August 5, 2020, just three days before he disappeared. This trip was going to be his final goodbye to Swiss Camp before retiring, retreating to the Alps, and handing over his network of weather stations to Jason.

But that wasn’t the only reason Koni and his team were antsy as their helicopter flew over the ice sheet. This final visit was a technical challenge on a few levels.

For one thing, they usually went in the spring, after the harsh winter and before the major thaw. This time, COVID lockdowns forced them to go there after a full summer’s melt, when the ice was trickier.

The day before they arrived, they received a photo from a film crew that had passed by. Swiss Camp, despite being designed to withstand fluctuating ice and snow levels, had fully collapsed.

More important, though, were the crevasses. Satellite imagery, which they had checked a few days before leaving, revealed the situation had deteriorated even further. Now there were three crevasses slicing past Swiss Camp.

Given the danger, Koni invited no guests and only brought his closest apprentices: Jason, Simon, and Derek. All these years, the four men had walked freely, with visitors in tow. Now they were alone and wore harnesses.

Upon landing, they patrolled the entire camp area, anchored to the helicopter with harness carabiners in case they stepped too close to a crevasse. They stuck ice probes into the ground to feel for any additional hidden fissures. Finding nothing, Koni marked a safe perimeter around camp. Nobody would be allowed to leave without being harnessed to an anchored line. They pitched their tents in the safe zone.

Koni disappeared without a sound

What happened on August 8 is not entirely clear — but this is what Business Insider has learned.

Everyone agrees it started with breakfast, a slow morning in the dome they’d set up to replace the askew red tent. Koni was in high spirits that morning, Simon said.

Simon remembers snow blowing outside, lowering visibility, but not quite a whiteout. In Jason’s memory, shared with the police, it was snowing heavily.

They started work around noon — Simon and Jason building a new weather station; Koni and Derek trudging 100 meters to the old weather station to retrieve its data card. Derek came back to help Simon and Jason, and Koni continued into camp.

Hours passed.

Around 2 p.m., Simon’s camera battery died, and he went to his dad’s tent to ask for a spare. He called toward the tent in Swiss German: “Papi!” There was no response. Koni must have been taking his afternoon nap, Simon thought. He knew better than to disturb him. Back to the weather station.

Simon checked his watch at 5 p.m. He returned to the tent to wake his father, pulled back the opening, and saw an empty cot inside.

Panic set in as Simon ran back to Derek and Jason, yelling, “Koni’s not in his tent!”

They stared at each other for a moment. They all had the same thought. Without a word, they began scrambling to harness up and run to the giant, open crevasse near camp. They yelled into it. One of them called emergency services on the satellite phone. They punched holes in the snow covering other crevasses and yelled into those, too. They called again. They found Koni’s harness in the storage tent. They probed the snow around camp in case he had collapsed somewhere.

After five hours of this, a Sikorsky S-61 helicopter arrived with two police officers, three search-and-rescue staff from the fire department, and an ice-climbing expert. The crew belayed the climber into openings in the crevasses, where he scanned for broken icicles, scrapes, or other signs that someone had fallen in.

By 2 a.m., under the Arctic sun that never sets in the summer, the crew had found no sign of Koni.

When the rescue team returned the next morning, Jason, Derek, and Simon were re-probing the snow they’d thoroughly overturned the day before. At their request, the ice climber descended deeper into the big hole in the biggest crevasse. He saw a floor of thin ice about 20 meters down, with a hole about the size of a person. Underneath, the crevasse was filled with water.

The aftermath

In the five years since his dad’s disappearance, Simon has run through every explanation his mind can conjure.

Maybe Koni couldn’t see very well. Maybe he was depressed. Maybe he was going to the latrine, dropped the data card, and carelessly lunged after it.

Then there was the incident a few nights before, when Simon and Derek awoke to the snow-crunching footsteps and scuffling sounds of what they were certain was a polar bear, but found no footprints or traces of an animal in the morning. Maybe, Simon sometimes thinks, there is truth to Greenlandic folklore, warning that ghost-like spirits — the “qivittoq” — stalk the ice sheet, capturing lost souls.

Koni’s body was never found.

The rescue team spent the rest of the day lowering a metal hook into the crevasse, trying to fish something out. They found nothing. The ice climber said it was too dangerous to send in a diver, and he determined the water was too murky for a GoPro.

“I wish we could really know what happened,” Simon said. “But in the end, it doesn’t really matter. He ended up disappearing on the Greenland ice sheet because the Greenland ice sheet has been completely changed and deformed, and morphed from what he was used to.”

In the five years since Koni’s disappearance, Greenland has become one of the most geopolitically important places on Earth. The melting Arctic sea ice surrounding the island is opening new shipping and military routes, which has stoked the expansionist appetite of Donald Trump and Silicon Valley tech investors. Reuters recently reported that they are pitching to turn Greenland into “a libertarian utopia.”

In some ways, Koni’s death was an anomaly. In others, a warning.

“He confronted the reality of this crisis every day. It was that reality that spurred him to be an ambassador for action,” Gore told Business Insider. As more of us find ourselves on the front lines, he added, “We must come together and transform the despair we feel about the climate crisis into action.”

Koni lived and died on the front lines of a dangerous future that’s rushing toward us all: The world we knew is melting away.

• Big Law is lavishing money on software to give clients faster, smarter legal service.
• Many millions are funneled toward the Big Two in legal tech: LexisNexis and Thomson Reuters.
• It is unclear whether startups can move fast enough to pry budget from incumbents.

There’s never been more money in legal software — or more ways to burn it.

Ask LexisNexis. Founded in 1973, the company sells a legal research platform that lawyers use to draft and analyze documents. Its parent company, Relx, posted $1.2 billion in revenue for the legal segment in the first half of this year, buoyed 9% year-over-year by firms paying up for its “intelligent” new tools.

“Law firms are spending more money on technology than they ever have,” said Sean Fitzpatrick, chief executive of LexisNexis’ North American group. The question is where those dollars go next.

The duopoly LexisNexis shares with Thomson Reuters, which also provides accounting and media services, is no longer unchallenged. Startups are muscling into the same budget line, promising next-gen alternatives. And Vlex, a distant third in the legal research race, has agreed to a $1 billion sale that would bundle its tools into a legal ops platform many lawyers already live in.

Spending is soaring, competition is swarming, and for the first time in a long time, the outcome isn’t obvious.

“What we’re seeing is a new era of competition,” Thomson Reuters chief executive Steve Hasker told analysts on a recent earnings call, citing “a bunch of startups” and newly energized incumbents. He insisted Thomson Reuters has the edge: proprietary data and a “single integrated solution” that combines content and workflows.

Breaking up a duopoly

LexisNexis and Thomson Reuters invested billions over decades to create comprehensive, searchable, citation-linked databases. The duo’s early head start created a moat that’s almost impossible for new entrants to breach.

In 2022, OpenAI released GPT-3.5, a set of models that could understand and produce plain language and code. At the time, David Wong was two years out of Facebook and settling into his role as chief product officer of Thomson Reuters. It didn’t take long to connect the dots between what large language models could do — retrieve information and produce written work — and what his company sells. “That’s what all of our products do,” Wong told Business Insider.

Suddenly, the threat felt existential. “If Thomson Reuters doesn’t do something with this tech to either enhance or replace our products,” Wong recalled, “others will, and we’ll be obsolete.”

Thomson Reuters moved fast. It acquired Casetext, an early mover in automating legal workflows. It pulled veteran machine learning researchers out of the lab, said Joel Hron, the chief technology officer of Thomson Reuters, and put them to work on shipping product. And the company doubled the size of its applied research group to 260 people.

Its legal segment, the largest of its three main businesses, is growing healthily. Legal “organic” revenue, which strips out factors like acquisitions and divestitures, grew 8% for two straight quarters.

If you can’t beat ’em, join ’em

Big Law is lavishing money on software.

It’s yet to be seen whether legal-tech startups — unburdened by legacy code and built on the latest models — can shift spend away from the incumbents, or if total budgets will simply expand.

Fitzpatrick, for his part, doesn’t see any of the new entrants as a serious threat to LexisNexis. “To be successful, you’re not going to be able to differentiate on technology alone,” he said over Zoom.

The bull case for LexisNexis and Thomson Reuters is that even if firms buy new tools, their legal research subscriptions are nonnegotiable.

Law is an industry built on precedent. Judges, law schools, and citation norms all orbit around Lexis and Westlaw. As the former litigator Shlomo Klapper put it, “If it’s not in Wexis, it doesn’t exist.”

If any startup is positioned to challenge “Wexis,” it’s Harvey. The company, with backing from venture capital giants, wants to make an operating system for law. This year, Harvey’s roadmap has been all about meeting lawyers where they work — inside systems like iManage, LexisNexis, and even ChatGPT. It’s now piloting a feature that allows customers to search Lexis content directly inside the Harvey interface.

Fitzpatrick described the LexisNexis-Harvey relationship as symbiotic. “Most firms are going to want both,” he said.

Winston Weinberg, who briefly worked as a lawyer before starting Harvey with research scientist Gabe Pereyra, believes the pie is expanding. Law firms are becoming more like tech firms, and chief innovation officers are becoming “more like CTOs” in terms of having to build, buy, and manage large tech stacks.

In February, Relx joined Harvey’s $300 million Series D through its corporate venture arm, Rev Ventures. Four months later, it increased its Harvey stake in another $300 million funding round.

The fund typically backs early-stage data and analytics startups across industries, but this bet signaled something more strategic. That LexisNexis, half of the duopoly, is keeping its friends close and its fastest-growing frenemies closer.

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