Arst Avocats designed this mini-series to give you an inside look at a judicial reorganization procedure.
I've often been asked what a period of observation is like on a daily basis. The most honest answer is that it's nothing spectacular. It's like weeks repeating themselves, each with its own set of things to expect, hope for, or dread.
Monday. Marc's phone rings early. It's a supplier, an old-timer, one of those who were there even before things got complicated. He has an unpaid invoice from March, and he needs the money too. Marc wants to say yes. He's had a ten-year relationship with this man. I call him back as soon as Marc hangs up: "You can't. Not now, not in three weeks, not on the sly." Any debt incurred before the bankruptcy proceedings are frozen, without any practical exceptions—it's not a matter of ill will, it's an absolute prohibition, protecting equality among all long-standing creditors. Paying it anyway, even out of sympathy, even to salvage a ten-year relationship, would expose Marc to the invalidation of the transaction and, in the most serious cases, to criminal prosecution. It's not up to him to choose which of his former creditors deserves to be paid first. That choice is no longer his.
Wednesday. Marc has an idea: a machine that's been sitting idle for two years, at the back of the workshop, completely useless. Selling it would bring in some cash, quickly. He calls me, almost enthusiastic. I have to hold him back, again. It's not a routine management decision—selling a company asset, even an unused one, is beyond what he can decide on his own, even with the administrator's approval. It requires authorization from the supervising judge. We draft the request, we wait. It's never actually forbidden. It's just slower than the urgent need for cash would dictate.
Thursday brought good news at last. One of the two reliable clients, the one who was supposed to pay within two weeks—weeks ago, in fact—transferred the entire amount. It wasn't much on paper. But it changed everything in the moment. Marc sent me a message with just one word: "Finally."
On Friday, a letter arrived from the clerk's office, more administrative than alarming on the surface, but it served as a reminder of a deadline we'd somewhat forgotten amidst everything else: the deadline for filing claims is approaching in a few weeks, and the court will soon set the date for the two-month hearing—the one where it will review its authorizations and decide whether the observation period will continue. Marc reread the letter twice. "What does that mean for us, concretely?" Concretely, it means preparing, right now, what we can show the court that day: sound cash flow, loyal customers, and employees who haven't abandoned their posts. Nothing else, at this stage. The rest—the exact liabilities, any potential disputes—will come later, once the filing of claims is complete.
The bi-weekly meeting with the administrator, meanwhile, returns like clockwork: the cash flow is up to date, invoices are pending, decisions have been made, and what still needs to be finalized. It's never a surprise. It's almost reassuring, in the end—the only fixed appointment in a calendar that otherwise resembles nothing predictable.
That's what a marathon is. Not a single, spectacular event, like the opening hearing. A succession of refusals to pronounce, requests to draft, good news that is all too rare, and deadlines that silently approach.
And at this pace, it will last for weeks. But it's not a shapeless, featureless tunnel. First, there's the two-month hearing, which is fast approaching now. Almost simultaneously, the deadline for filing claims is coming to an end—only then will we know the exact extent of the company's liabilities, and not just the simple estimate we've been working with since day one. Then, if all goes according to plan, there will be further steps: the verification of liabilities themselves, claim by claim, the renewal of the observation period, and finally, at some point, we'll have to stop simply holding on and start building a plan.
Marc still can't see the light at the end of the tunnel. But that week, for the first time, he began to see its shape.
—
(Marc is a fictional, composite character.)
SEEN FROM THE INSIDE, a series about bankruptcy proceedings told in a concrete way.
Next episode: the two-month hearing.
By Morgan Jamet, Partner Attorney — Insolvency Law
Published on August 22, 2026
