What Is a Claim Worth When No One Has Counted It?
How American, Estonian, and Polish courts will calculate the losses of zondacrypto’s customers—and why the number on the screen isn’t the number on the judgment
Kancelaria Prawna Skarbiec · from the series “Where Is Your Money?”
I. How will you calculate the size of my loss?
The client who walks into the firm in April of 2026 to discuss zondacrypto almost always brings a printout. The page is fresh—the balance hasn’t moved in weeks, which is, in fact, why he has come—and he sets it down on the table with the particular precision of a man who expects the document to matter later. Then he asks three questions, almost always in the same order.
First: How will you calculate the size of my loss?
Second: Will I get my bitcoins back, or only money for them?
Third, often in a lower voice: The exchange rate on the app has been running well below market these past few weeks. Is that rate binding?
The client does not know that he has just asked the three most important questions in American bankruptcy law of the past decade, and in roughly the order the treatises take them up. The first was settled by the Second Circuit in 2011, in the Madoff case. The second divided judges in Delaware and the Southern District of New York in 2024, in FTX and Genesis. The third—who controls the timestamp, who sets the reference price—is a question to which the courts are still feeling their way, in a world where the exchange itself posts the quote and the account statement bears about the relationship to on-chain reality that a salami label bears to the animal.
The answers now circulating on the internet take the form of a calculation one could run on a phone during the commute: quantity times market price times some recovery rate. Multiply, multiply, multiply again.
None of those multipliers exists in law.
This essay is about what does exist, and in what order it emerges. The thesis I want to defend is not optimistic. For most of zondacrypto’s customers, the recovery rate measured in bitcoin and ether will be substantially lower than the rate measured in złotys; the mechanism of clawback—the reverse current that pulls money back from creditors who withdrew in the final months—may upend the position of people who today believe themselves safe; and the time in which all of this will be decided is counted in years, not months. I’ll take each of the three in turn, with some indication of where it comes from and how far it reaches.
II. The Whim of the Defrauder
Begin with the case in which the phrase I return to every week was first written.
In December of 2008, Bernard Madoff told his sons that what he had been running for more than thirty years had never been a brokerage, had never bought securities on anyone’s behalf, and had never produced a single one of the returns the monthly statements described. The losses he left behind were first estimated at fifty billion dollars, then sixty-five. Irving Picard, the trustee appointed by the Securities Investor Protection Corporation, was handed a task whose description was elementary and whose execution was not: pay customers what they were owed. The problem began at the point of establishing what they were owed.
There were two roads. One rested on a document the customer had received every month—the account statement. The other was arithmetic: deposits minus withdrawals, cash in minus cash out. The first gave customers what they had believed they had. The second gave them what they had actually lost.
Picard chose the second. The more enraptured customers—the ones who, over two decades, had reinvested their “gains” until their statements showed eight figures—demanded the first. The dispute climbed through Bankruptcy Court and the Second Circuit and onto the desk of the Supreme Court, which declined to hear it. Securities Investor Protection Corporation v. Bernard L. Madoff Investment Securities LLC, 654 F.3d 229 (2d Cir. 2011)—the ruling now defines, in the United States, how losses are measured in Ponzi schemes and in the slightly grayer territory of fractional-reserve fraud. To honor the account statements, the Second Circuit held, would produce the “absurd result” of “treating fictitious and arbitrarily assigned paper profits as real” and giving “legal effect to Madoff’s machinations” (id. at 235). Any method other than net investment, the court said, would allow the “whim of the defrauder” to control the unwinding of the fraud (id.).
The whim of the defrauder. I know of no better phrase in the entirety of American insolvency law. Madoff had written the numbers. Madoff had decided which customers would be, at the end of 2008, rich, and which would be poor. The figures on the statements reflected not reality but the will of the man who was lying. To accept them as a basis for payment would have been to allow the swindler, from prison, to make one last determination about how the remains were to be divided.
The trustee’s Eighteenth Interim Report, filed in November of 2017, shows what the principle yields in practice. By September of 2017, Picard had recovered or secured commitments to recover more than $12.7 billion—close to seventy-three per cent of the principal lost by claimants. By February of 2024, the figure had exceeded $14.5 billion; add to that the Madoff Victim Fund, administered by the Department of Justice and entirely separate from the estate, and the total recovery rate passed ninety-three per cent. No Ponzi scheme in history has been unwound so completely. The proximate cause of that outcome—and this is the sentence to underline—was the choice of the net-investment method, which permitted Picard to pursue the customers who had taken out more than they had put in.
We will return to that thread, because it matters enormously to the self-understanding of anyone who managed, in the last several months, to pull money out of zondacrypto and is now feeling a certain relief.
III. Three Accounting Fictions
Not every crypto-exchange insolvency is the same kind of event. From the customer’s side they look identical: the balance glows, the withdrawal doesn’t work, the support page is silent. Legally, they are three different things, each with its own rules of settlement.
The first fiction—or, strictly, the absence of one—is the real-custody model. The exchange buys the cryptoassets on the customer’s behalf, holds them in segregated wallets, and its ledger corresponds to on-chain reality. When insolvency comes, it is operational: a hot-wallet breach, a lawsuit, a management error. The customer is an owner of specific coins, not a creditor; the claim sounds in replevin, not in debt. Recovery rates run above ninety per cent and the horizon is measured in months. Pure instances of this model are rare in the historical record; Coinbase Custody and a handful of European institutional custodians might qualify, were they ever to fail, but none of them has.
The second fiction is fractional reserve. The exchange buys some of the cryptoassets for customers and uses the rest operationally—lending to related parties, pledging as collateral, deploying in yield products, supplying market-makers. The ledger no longer matches the chain. So long as withdrawals are exceeded by new deposits, the model stays sealed; when the flow reverses—the panic run—the gap becomes visible. The American precedent here was set by the Bankruptcy Court for the Southern District of New York in Celsius: the court held that the “Accept” click-through in the terms of service had transferred title in the cryptoassets to the exchange at the moment of deposit. The customer was not the owner of her ethers—she was a general unsecured creditor with a dollar claim. Celsius paid that class seventy-nine per cent of its plan value; Voyager, about thirty-five; Genesis, seventy-seven per cent in kind; and BlockFi, which early filings projected would recover only a few cents on the dollar, has since announced intentions to pay nearly a hundred per cent of allowed claims denominated in dollars as of the petition date, a reversal made possible by its own claim against FTX appreciating on the secondary market. The range is enormous, and the median is a fiction; each case turns on the quality of the assets left in the estate and on what the trustee can drag back from third parties.
The third fiction is the pyramid. Customer deposits are not bought as cryptoassets at all; the ledger entry is an entry, and withdrawals are funded by the next customer’s deposit. QuadrigaCX is the cleanest crypto example on record: after Gerald Cotten’s death in India, Ernst & Young, the court-appointed monitor, determined that the cold wallets the exchange had advertised had been empty for months, and that Cotten had been routing customer funds through personal accounts. Recovery rate: about thirteen per cent. Horizon: five years and counting.
Which model fits zondacrypto will not be known with any confidence until the criminal investigation in Katowice—the one the Polish federal prosecutor’s office is conducting under file numbers whose publication the office would prefer I omit—runs its course. But on the public record so far, three facts point in one direction. The auditor for BB Trade Estonia OÜ, zondacrypto’s Estonian operating entity, issued a qualified opinion for 2023 on the ground that the exchange could not substantiate custody of cryptoassets worth a hundred and seventy-two million euros. The financial statements show loan receivables on the order of 93.6 million euros owed by a related party, unsecured. And the main hot wallet has been, according to on-chain analysis, drained by 99.7 per cent between August of 2024 and March of 2026. The three facts are consistent with the second model, the fractional-reserve one, possibly trending into the third toward the end. I say consistent, not dispositive. The investigative file, when it opens, may confirm, shift, or reverse the picture.
The procedural first steps are identical in all three models. That tempts one to assume that the outcomes will be, too. They will not.
IV. Why One Hundred and Nineteen Per Cent Means Twenty-Two
In October of 2024, the Bankruptcy Court in Delaware confirmed the reorganization plan of FTX. Creditors in the so-called convenience class—retail customers with claims under fifty thousand dollars—were to receive a hundred and nineteen per cent of allowed claim value. CNBC called it a triumph. The aggrieved customers of FTX were returning from the hyperbole. The first crypto bankruptcy in history to pay back more than it owed.
Then people started counting in bitcoins.
On the date of FTX’s petition, in November of 2022, one bitcoin was worth roughly sixteen thousand dollars. Under the plan, claims were valued at the petition-date price. A customer who had held one bitcoin on FTX thus held an allowed claim of about sixteen thousand dollars. By the time the distribution arrived, in 2025, bitcoin was trading near ninety thousand. One hundred and nineteen per cent of sixteen thousand comes to nineteen thousand dollars. Nineteen thousand dollars, in 2025, bought about a fifth of a bitcoin. Real recovery, in the asset the customer had originally held: approximately twenty-two per cent.
The person reading that for the first time is entitled to a certain indignation. The mechanism is technical, as it should be, and yet the result is morally heavy. The legal explanation lies in a short provision: Section 502(b) of the Bankruptcy Code directs that claims be valued as of the petition date. The petition date is the moment the price list is frozen. Everything that happens afterward—appreciation in the underlying asset, inflation, a new futures market—is legally irrelevant.
For dollar-denominated securities this is, as a rough matter, fair. For assets whose price can quintuple between petition and distribution, it works rather like a shotgun with an unusually wide pattern.
The Second Circuit faced an analogous argument, in a different register, in In re Bernard L. Madoff Investment Securities LLC, 779 F.3d 74 (2d Cir. 2015). A group of Madoff victims sought time-based damages—an inflation adjustment between the date of deposit and the date of distribution. They pointed out that a dollar entrusted to Madoff in 1985 was worth dramatically less in 2015, and that the SIPA scheme, by ignoring that fact, imposed a second-order penalty on the victims of the longer fraud. The argument was morally intelligible and legally defeated. The SIPA scheme, the court held, disallows inflation adjustments “as a matter of law” (id. at 80), and an interest adjustment to net-equity claims “is impermissible under SIPA’s scheme” (id. at 83). The stability of the valuation date won out over substantive fairness.
For zondacrypto’s customers the implication runs two ways. First, if the proceeding unfolds under a regime that freezes the valuation at petition date—and the Estonian insolvency regime does—a customer holding one bitcoin today, at ninety-four thousand dollars, should prepare for the prospect that her claim will be fixed at whatever price prevails on the day BB Trade Estonia OÜ files for bankruptcy. If that day comes in May, with bitcoin at, say, seventy thousand, that is the figure that matters, not this morning’s. Second—and this is the subtler point—the form of satisfaction is a variable logically distinct from the date of valuation, and one worth fighting for in the opening pleading.
The distinction shows up in the split between Delaware (FTX) and the Southern District of New York (Genesis). In Genesis, Judge Sean Lane approved in-kind distribution where practicable, reasoning that creditors who had lent digital assets ought to receive digital assets back. Mt. Gox, more dramatic still, began distributing bitcoins ten years after its 2014 failure; creditors who had originally lost bitcoin at six hundred dollars were partially repaid in kind, with bitcoin at ninety thousand. The form of satisfaction did more for those creditors than any recovery rate could have.
The operational recommendation for a zondacrypto customer is simple. The first pleading—the criminal complaint coupled with an art. 46 § 1 k.k. motion, the Polish vehicle for damages within a criminal proceeding—should request satisfaction in natura for bitcoin and ether, on the ground that these are identity-bearing assets rather than generic claims. For stablecoins the distinction is largely academic, since they track the dollar by design. For BTC and ETH it may be worth multiples of the nominal recovery rate.
V. The Winner’s Paradox
Here is the part of the conversation that clients prefer not to have, because it sounds absurd and yet has already produced lawsuits, and will produce more, directed at people who today consider themselves fortunate.
Imagine two zondacrypto customers. Customer A showed up in 2022, deposited a hundred thousand złotys, never withdrew anything, and today holds a frozen balance worth about a hundred and fifty thousand. Customer B showed up in 2019, deposited fifty thousand, withdrew eighty thousand in 2024, and has thirty thousand still on the platform—also frozen. The ordinary moral intuition is that both are victims. Both acted in good faith. Both have lost access to part of what they entrusted. Whatever distinguishes them is a matter of timing, not character.
Under net-investment logic, as American case law has developed it, Customer B is a different creature from Customer A. Customer A is a net loser: she put in a hundred, has a hundred and fifty locked up, and has lost a hundred in real terms, with fifty on paper. Customer B is a net winner: he put in fifty, took out eighty, and is up thirty—a frozen balance of thirty does not cancel the fact that his cash-to-cash position is positive. In a system whose aggregate withdrawals exceeded its aggregate real reserves, the thirty thousand Customer B earned was, in substance, thirty thousand taken from Customer A.
American bankruptcy law gives the trustee an instrument for this situation whose name is as blunt as its operation: clawback. Section 548(a)(1) permits the trustee to avoid transfers made with actual intent to defraud creditors. A doctrine has grown up around the provision, known as the Ponzi Scheme Presumption: if the court finds that the entity was running a Ponzi scheme, all payments to investors are, by default, treated as fraudulent transfers, because the entity was insolvent from inception. The burden shifts to the recipient, who must show good faith and value to survive under § 548(c). The statutory look-back is two years from the petition; state uniform fraudulent-transfer acts can extend it to six.
In Madoff, Picard filed thousands of such actions, targeting charitable foundations, hedge funds, and individual investors who had withdrawn above principal in the final two years. The largest settlements ran into the billions. The estate of Jeffry Picower, one of the great net winners, paid five billion dollars; JPMorgan paid 2.6 billion in 2014. Picard’s unprecedented ninety-three-per-cent recovery rate came, above all, from this source—not from some hidden reserve in the SIPA estate or the DOJ fund, but from the return of the winners’ winnings to the losers’ losses.
When Celsius and Voyager filed, thousands of customers who had withdrawn within the ninety-day preference window received demand letters, seeking the return of the funds. The paradox there is cruel in its geometry: the only way to have avoided the demand letter was to have left the money on the exchange—which is to say, to have lost it outright.
Estonian insolvency law—pankrotiseadus—differs from the American in detail but not in structure. Its avoidance instruments (the Estonian term is tagasivõitmine) operate with look-back periods that vary by the type of transaction, the relationship between debtor and counterparty, and the counterparty’s good faith. The specific statutory periods I will not quote here, not having verified them against the original Estonian; what the structure does establish, and what matters to the client, is this: a customer who withdrew during a period of publicly known insolvency—for zondacrypto, after March 10, 2026, when the withdrawal problems became widely reported, and a fortiori after April 16, when the CEO publicly acknowledged the absence of the reserve—was acting under circumstances that Estonian law classifies as the counterparty’s bad faith. In that category the look-back extends, and the defensive burden shifts.
Polish law, in the hypothetical scenario of a Polish proceeding—which for BB Trade Estonia is not the primary scenario—offers the skarga pauliańska under art. 527 of the Civil Code, a descendant of the Roman actio Pauliana. It requires three elements: injury to a creditor, the debtor’s awareness of the injury, and the recipient’s awareness. For the ordinary customer, who simply transferred her own money to her own account, the third element is hard to prove; the customer has no way of knowing the state of the exchange’s books or the depth of its fractional reserves. Polish practice has, accordingly, deployed the instrument mostly against related parties and against recipients of distributions that departed dramatically from market terms—not against ordinary retail depositors. The clawback risk to a Polish customer, under Polish law, is materially lower than it would be under Estonian or American law. This is a regulatory paradox rather than a systematic choice: the Polish insolvency code was designed for a world of ordinary contractual debt, not for systems in which customer payments fund one another.
Three practical consequences follow, and I offer them with care.
First: money withdrawn from zondacrypto in the last several months—particularly after March 10, 2026—is not yet recovered, in the economic sense of that word. It is an asset whose final status will be determined by a future bankruptcy proceeding of BB Trade Estonia OÜ, if one is opened. Treating it as safe and deploying it irreversibly—by consumption, by transfer to insolvent parties, by purchase of illiquid assets—materially increases personal exposure if the administrator later comes calling.
Second: keep the documentation. Every withdrawal of the last twelve months: dates, amounts, destination addresses, the correspondence with support. In a dispute with the administrator, that record is the good-faith defense.
Third: treat the amount withdrawn in the three-to-six-month window before March 10, 2026, as contingent. An asset that exists legally, but whose unrestricted enjoyment will be confirmed only after the look-back period runs.
None of these recommendations is a counsel of panic. They are information that the customer, reassured by the exchange’s statements, typically does not receive—and that bears directly on his financial position.
VI. The Second Front
There is a dimension of these cases that the press covers rarely, and that in Madoff produced the majority of the recovery: the liability of the financial institutions that made the fraud possible.
Madoff did not run his scheme in a vacuum. For more than twenty years, every flow of BLMIS money passed through a single account—the so-called 703 Account—at JPMorgan Chase. In his 2011 opposition memorandum, Picard described the bank’s role in a sentence worth quoting in full: Madoff needed a bank that was willing to assist in the daily operation of a Ponzi scheme on an unprecedented scale: to routinely enable billions of dollars to bounce back and forth between BLMIS and its customers with an evident lack of legitimate business purpose, to overlook the lack of securities trading, to decline to inquire into or report fictitious account activity, and to cloak the whole enterprise in the respectability of a renowned financial institution.
The heart of the complaint was an internal JPMorgan memorandum in which the bankers had, among themselves, considered the possibility that Madoff was running a Ponzi scheme. The phrase they used—Picard quoted it in Amended Complaint ¶ 119—was that there is a well-known cloud over the head of Madoff and that his returns are speculated to be part of a Ponzi scheme. We know, we suspect, we watch. The same memorandum contained a cost-benefit analysis: the bank had calculated that the fraud would have to exceed three billion dollars before it meaningfully dented the bank’s own balance sheet. Only when the bank concluded that its own exposure had grown uncomfortable did it quietly redeem its positions, leaving its clients in the line of fire.
Picard sued on several independent theories: knowing participation in a breach of trust, aiding and abetting fraud, aiding and abetting breach of fiduciary duty, aiding and abetting conversion, unjust enrichment, and fraud on the regulator—the last a reference to JPMorgan’s duties under the Bank Secrecy Act, and specifically its failure to file a suspicious-activity report. The bank argued, among other things, that it had lacked actual knowledge, possessing only grounds for suspicion; the trustee replied with the doctrine of conscious avoidance, which American law treats as the equivalent of actual knowledge. The matter settled in 2014 for approximately 2.6 billion dollars, combined across regulatory penalties and a separate Justice Department action.
This is the second front, the one zondacrypto has not yet reached. It will.
BB Trade Estonia OÜ banked somewhere; it used specific payment processors; during the critical years it was audited by a firm that, on the public record, observed discrepancies between declared custody and reality and nevertheless signed opinions that allowed the business to continue. Each of those actors—bank, processor, auditor—is a potential defendant in the kind of action Picard pressed against JPMorgan. The predicate is knowing participation or conscious avoidance; the evidentiary material for building such a case is being generated now, in the Katowice investigation.
The individual customer cannot bring this action himself. It is an instrument in the hands of the trustee or administrator, not of any given creditor. What matters—and this is the point most often missed—is that status as a recognized victim must be established before any such action arrives. The creditor who shows up after the decision will find the estate already divided. Hence, among other reasons, the importance of the first pleading, at the point in time when nothing seems to be happening.
VII. The Trade in Hope
One more detail from the Stanford case. In January of 2025, when the SEC formally closed its action against Allen Stanford, the receiver, Ralph Janvey, had recovered more than 2.5 billion dollars for the victims—roughly a third of the 7.2 billion dollars in fraudulent certificates. For the clients who had remained in the receivership for fifteen years, this meant a recovery of around thirty-five per cent. For others, it meant nothing.
The second category existed because there was a secondary market.
While the case dragged on, year after year, hedge funds specializing in distressed debt bought Stanford claims from victims at small fractions of face value—in the early years, ten to twenty cents on the dollar. A client who in 2012, needing cash and looking at a fifteen-year-old case with no end in sight, sold a claim with a face value of a million dollars for sixty thousand lost, in 2024, a distribution of three hundred and fifty thousand. This is not an abstract story; the Times in October of 2024 profiled more than a dozen families who had written to the receiver saying that, had they known the case would in fact end, they never would have sold.
The same dynamic played out in FTX. FTX claims traded in 2023 at ten to fifteen cents on the dollar. The holders received, in 2024, a hundred and nineteen per cent in U.S. dollars. The sellers lost what was left on the table.
Zondacrypto is not yet at the stage where a secondary claims market exists, but it will get there. The market tends to appear with the first hard evidence that the proceeding will be long—which, in practice, means within a few to a dozen months. The offers will be many, and each will sound reasonable against the uncertainty with which the client leaves his lawyer’s office. Twenty cents on the dollar seems absurd until the uncertainty has lasted two years. After two years, it starts to sound like deliverance.
A second category of offer is worse. These are not investors buying claims for long-horizon return; they are entities offering “guaranteed recovery,” “compensation only upon recovery,” “international procedures,” “advance payment for court costs.” The FBI and Europol treat them as a distinct category of fraud—recovery scams—a second wave that strikes people already once defrauded. The verification principle I would ask every reader of this essay to commit to memory is this: if the party is contacting you with an offer, rather than you contacting them, it is a scam. Real attorneys, prosecutors, and administrators do not solicit clients. Anyone claiming to be the bankruptcy administrator for BB Trade Estonia OÜ, or an “authorized representative of the criminal proceedings in Katowice,” or “an international recovery coordinator,” and asking for any kind of payment, is a fraudster. Please send the correspondence to counsel before replying.
VIII. What does this mean for the client?
What, then, does this mean for the client who opens his zondacrypto app in April of 2026 and sees a balance he cannot move?
It means, first, that the number on the screen is not a claim. It is an assertion by the company. The claim will be calculated by a proceeding whose first question will be how much the customer actually put in and took out, not how much the company recorded as his balance.
It means, second, that in conditions of sustained appreciation in bitcoin and ether, the gap between nominal recovery and real recovery, measured in the underlying asset, may be substantial—and that the form of satisfaction (cash at petition-date price versus coin in natura) is a procedural variable worth fighting for at the outset.
It means, third, that the people who managed, in the last several months, to withdraw from zondacrypto are not safely ashore. They are in what bankruptcy law calls the zone of insolvency. Their withdrawals—especially after March 10, 2026—are conditional assets, not closed ones.
It means, fourth, that there is a second front—claims against the banks, payment processors, and auditors of BB Trade Estonia OÜ—that in the most spectacular historical cases (Madoff, Stanford) produced the majority of the recovery, and that in zondacrypto has not yet opened.
And it means, fifth, that a realistic nominal recovery rate, on the public record and the neighboring case law, sits somewhere between twenty and forty per cent; that the horizon to a first meaningful distribution runs from eighteen to thirty-six months; and that the discount between nominal and real recovery in BTC and ETH, depending on the valuation date, starts at twenty per cent and grows from there. These are estimates, not promises. Any of the three parameters can shift in either direction, as the Katowice investigation develops, as the Estonian proceeding (should one be opened) takes shape, and as the crypto markets respond to further stages of the zondacrypto crisis.
The first question a prudent client should ask his lawyer today is not How much will I get back? It is: What real recovery rate, in BTC, ETH, and stablecoins, can I realistically expect, on what horizon, in what form of satisfaction—and what are the three things, in the coming weeks, that could change that answer? To that question, unlike the first, a useful answer can be given.
The thesis at the end is humbler than the one clients come in with. It says that in cases of this kind nothing substitutes for procedural action, nothing accelerates the settlement mechanisms, and no one guarantees recovery—but that earlier action secures a better position than later action, and no action secures nothing.
The balance on the app is somebody’s assertion. The claim begins the moment you start behaving like a creditor.
Robert Nogacki – licensed legal counsel (radca prawny, WA-9026), Founder of Kancelaria Prawna Skarbiec.
There are lawyers who practice law. And there are those who deal with problems for which the law has no ready answer. For over twenty years, Kancelaria Skarbiec has worked at the intersection of tax law, corporate structures, and the deeply human reluctance to give the state more than the state is owed. We advise entrepreneurs from over a dozen countries – from those on the Forbes list to those whose bank account was just seized by the tax authority and who do not know what to do tomorrow morning.
One of the most frequently cited experts on tax law in Polish media – he writes for Rzeczpospolita, Dziennik Gazeta Prawna, and Parkiet not because it looks good on a résumé, but because certain things cannot be explained in a court filing and someone needs to say them out loud. Author of AI Decoding Satoshi Nakamoto: Artificial Intelligence on the Trail of Bitcoin’s Creator. Co-author of the award-winning book Bezpieczeństwo współczesnej firmy (Security of a Modern Company).
Kancelaria Skarbiec holds top positions in the tax law firm rankings of Dziennik Gazeta Prawna. Four-time winner of the European Medal, recipient of the title International Tax Planning Law Firm of the Year in Poland.
He specializes in tax disputes with fiscal authorities, international tax planning, crypto-asset regulation, and asset protection. Since 2006, he has led the WGI case – one of the longest-running criminal proceedings in the history of the Polish financial market – because there are things you do not leave half-done, even if they take two decades. He believes the law is too serious to be treated only seriously – and that the best legal advice is the kind that ensures the client never has to stand before a court.
