Naskar victims rush to court to freeze assets before funds vanish

In Campo Grande, a race is underway in the courts. Victims of the collapsed fintech Naskar are filing urgent lawsuits, not just to recover their money, but to freeze whatever assets remain before the company's partners can move them out of reach. The crisis has moved beyond police reports into a new, more desperate phase: the scramble to preserve evidence of what was taken.

The lawsuits name Naskar Instituição de Pagamento Ltda., Naskar Gestão de Ativos Ltda., 7Trust Finance Instituição de Pagamento S.A., Celcoin Instituição de Pagamento S.A., and the company's partners. The requests are specific and urgent: freeze financial assets through the Sisbajud system, restrict vehicles through Renajud, seize property, and even retain the passports of the defendants. The legal language is precise, but the underlying fear is simple: if the courts don't act fast, there will be nothing left to recover.

One retired woman from Campo Grande invested R$100,000 initially and says she had approximately R$107,000 held by the company. Another investor put in R$100,000 in June 2025 and had about R$38,500 blocked on the platform. Both were promised a return of 2 percent per month through a loan contract. They tracked their money through the Naskar app—deposits, withdrawals, statements, documents all visible on their phones. Then in May, when they tried to withdraw, they were told their assets were frozen. On May 8th, the app disappeared from the internet entirely. The website went dark. The company stopped communicating. The clients were left with screenshots and memories of money that had been there.

Luiz Afonso da Costa, an attorney representing victims, describes a pattern he's seeing in his office. People are arriving with different backgrounds and different reasons for having invested. Some understood markets. Others had simply saved money over years and wanted passive income. What unites them is that they trusted something that presented itself as safe. "Any person can become a victim in situations like this," he says, "because all evidence points to a structured fraud, with strong indicators of embezzlement and asset concealment." He notes that Naskar operated without proper registration from the Securities Commission or the Central Bank—a red flag that should have warned investors away, but one that many never saw.

The strategy now is preventive. The lawyers are asking courts to act immediately, before a final judgment that favors the victims becomes meaningless because there is nothing left to recover. One case reached a first-instance judge who denied the emergency request. The defense has appealed to the state court, arguing that the initial decision ignored crucial evidence: the loan contracts, proof of deposits, the app's removal from service, and the national attention the case has drawn. They're asking for a suspension of the lower court's decision—essentially, permission to freeze assets right now, before the case is fully decided.

Da Costa advises clients not to wait for the company to do the right thing. Register a police report. Preserve everything: contracts, transfer receipts, screenshots, chat histories. Move fast through the courts. "The main concern is that the company will try to escape responsibility by hiding its assets," he explains. The window is narrow. Once money moves, once accounts are emptied, once property is transferred to relatives or shell companies, the legal victory becomes hollow.

At least four people in Campo Grande have already filed police reports for fraud and embezzlement. The losses they reported, added together, exceed R$4 million—and that's only what made it to the police. The actual number of victims is likely much larger. The cases are still moving through the courts, and everything depends on how quickly judges act. The race is on.