Arst Avocats designed this mini-series to give you an inside look at a judicial reorganization procedure.
By Morgan Jamet, Partner Attorney — Insolvency Law
Published on August 22, 2026
Marc didn't sleep that night. He told me as he arrived in the courthouse parking lot, a little early, as always—as if he feared that being late alone could derail everything. "I reread the plan three times last night. I know it by heart, and yet I have the feeling I'm no longer sure if it holds water." I reassured him, but I knew full well that nothing I could say would erase the anxiety of the coming hours.
The trustee tallied the accounts, creditor by creditor, and sent them to me the day before the hearing. Almost all of them responded, or rather, many didn't—which amounted to tacit acceptance of the proposed payment deadlines. Only two creditors submitted comments, without any substantive objections. The URSSAF (French social security agency) gave its explicit agreement to the payment deadlines, as required by law. The bank, for its part, didn't even need to respond to the trustee's letter: its agreement, negotiated separately a few weeks earlier, already excluded it from this process.
In the hallway before the hearing, Marc barely spoke. He twisted his wedding ring around his finger, a gesture I'd never seen him make before. The administrator came by to greet us, file under his arm, almost relaxed—for him, this case had been solid for a long time. That wasn't enough to calm Marc. "And what if the court finds that eight years, with this bank operating outside the rules, isn't enough to convince them?" I have no guarantee to give him. I never have.
In the boardroom, the chairman opened with a statement of fact rather than a question: "Does the administrator confirm that the consultation with creditors was conducted properly?" He confirmed it, providing supporting documentation—including the statement of assets and liabilities, this time properly attached from the outset. He then outlined the plan: an eight-year term, the amount of the annual payments, and the revenue assumptions used, which were conservative rather than optimistic, as he himself had requested a few weeks earlier. The chairman nodded, revealing nothing else.
The supplier is there too—both the disputed creditor and the procedural monitor. He doesn't oppose the plan itself. He simply asks the court to acknowledge that his claim remains, to date, neither admitted nor rejected, pending his own decision on whether to bring the matter before the competent court. The presiding judge confirms: the plan incorporates this claim up to the disputed amount, without prejudging its fate—if it is ever rejected, the sums allocated for that purpose will simply be deducted from what remains due. This isn't new to Marc. It's the same rule that was explained to him months earlier, finally being applied in practice. He listens nonetheless, as if it were the first time.
This time, the prosecutor asks almost no questions. "The case is meticulously prepared, the creditors have been properly informed, and there is no obstacle to adopting the plan as presented." A brief sentence. Marc, next to me, holds his breath as if the next sentence will decide everything—which, in fact, is exactly the case.
The presiding judge looks at his assessors, one after the other, then directly at Marc, a silence that lasts barely two seconds and yet seems to stretch throughout the entire morning. "The court approves, in principle, the continuation plan for the company Établissements Dupont, for a period of eight years, according to the terms presented. The reasoned judgment will be served on you in the coming days." He adds, almost casually, what will nevertheless weigh on each of the next eight years: a ban on distributing dividends until the plan is fully implemented; the inalienability, for the period it specifies, of assets essential to the continuation of the business—the premises, the production equipment; and the obligation to report, at regular intervals, on the plan's implementation to a commissioner tasked with overseeing it, who will be none other than the receiver himself, in this new role. Constraints, not a complete liberation. But constraints that accompany an opportunity, not a punishment.
Marc doesn't move right away. Then, in the hallway, once the door has closed behind us, he turns to me and I see, for the first time since that first evening of the video conference, something completely unravel in his face. Not tears, quite. Almost. He places his hand on my shoulder, holds it for a moment, without a word. "It's okay, then. It's really okay." Yes. In principle, it's settled. The written judgment will formalize everything in the coming days, but the decision itself is made.
“Eight years with rules to follow, that’s no small thing,” I told him, so he wouldn’t leave with the idea that it was all over. “No,” he replied, “but it’s eight years where I know where I’m going. That’s already huge, compared to a year ago.” That wasn’t guaranteed that day, in that hallway. It is now, within the limits of what a court order can guarantee.
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*Marc and the situations described in this series are fictional, composites of cases encountered in practice. Any resemblance to a real situation is purely coincidental.*
Next episode — Season 1, Episode 17/17: “ Life Goes On ”
Morgan Jamet,
founding partner of Arst Avocats, advises business leaders on commercial law, insolvency law, restructuring, and business litigation.
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