The conflict had all the makings of a legal war: two pharmaceutical companies—once united by shared scientific vision and personal conviction—were now locked in a high-stakes dispute over intellectual property, reputational damage, and abandoned research. Their partnership, which had once produced a breakthrough drug to treat a rare genetic disorder, had collapsed following the sudden appearance of a new product patented by one side, prompting accusations of betrayal, infringement, and credit theft.

On the surface, it was about patents. But beneath that, it was about recognition, trust, grief, and the disillusionment that follows when a shared mission unravels. Both CEOs had built their companies on the motivation of helping loved ones suffering from the same rare disease. Their relationship was forged through science, but also through personal connection—a connection that had been ruptured, perhaps irreparably.

As the mediator, my task was not only to help them find legal and commercial clarity, but to help them navigate the emotional terrain that had made the conflict so painful—and so stuck.

We began in the usual way: separate meetings, private moments of truth-telling and strategy, space to let emotion be voiced without consequence. It was immediately clear that this was not just a business dispute. Both parties carried grief and disappointment, as well as a deep fear that the collapse of the relationship could derail work that had real impact on patients' lives—including their own loved ones.

Over the course of the sessions, I used a blend of techniques that focused not just on legal and financial positions, but on the emotional stakes and internal narratives each party was holding. I worked to name emotions that were often unspoken—frustration, betrayal, sadness, pride—and helped each side understand not just what the other was saying, but what they were feeling. At times, this meant slowing down conversations that were rushing into legal posturing, in order to surface what was really driving the positions beneath.

Throughout, I used coaching-style questioning to help each CEO step back and examine how their actions—and reactions—had contributed to the rupture. With the support of financial, IP, and regulatory experts, we addressed the objective dimensions of the case without becoming entangled in technicalities. These

voices were crucial, but I ensured they did not dominate the space or derail the deeper work of relational repair.

At a critical point, I created a space that had not existed in months: a closed-door conversation between the two CEOs, just the three of us at the table, without lawyers, experts, or documents. What happened in that room changed the direction of the mediation.

For the fi rst time, they spoke—not as adversaries, but as partners who had lost something valuable. They discussed the origins of their work, the hopes they’d carried, the pride they felt when their collaboration bore fruit. They also spoke of disappointment, of how assumptions and silence had fed the rupture. They acknowledged each other’s contributions. One admitted to having acted impulsively; the other, to having underestimated

the importance of visibility and recognition. They didn’t resolve everything in that room. But they began again.

In the days that followed, new ground was covered. The two sides reached a structured, detailed agreement that included financial compensation for royalties and damages, clarified rights and credit for past and future patents, and a revived research partnership—with clearer roles and safeguards.

But the real success was more than contractual. It was the reopening of a relationship—professional and personal—that had once been a source of energy, inspiration, and results. The agreement will allow their teams to return to research that may bring another vital medicine to the world. And, perhaps most meaningfully, it allows two scientists, and two people, to step back into the work that once connected them—not with naïve optimism, but with hard-earned trust.

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