The app worked fine until it didn't, and then the company vanished.
Em Campo Grande e em todo o Brasil, investidores que confiaram suas economias à fintech Naskar se viram diante de um silêncio repentino: aplicativo fora do ar, escritórios fechados, saques bloqueados. A empresa operava sem autorização do Banco Central ou da CVM, prometendo retornos mensais fixos que atraíram médicos, empresários e famílias inteiras. O colapso, que pode ter lesado mais de um bilhão de reais em todo o país, levanta uma questão antiga sobre a fronteira entre a promessa de prosperidade e a arquitetura da fraude.
- Um otorrinolaringologista perdeu dois milhões de reais depois que a Naskar bloqueou saques e desapareceu sem aviso — levando consigo anos de poupança.
- Ao menos quatro vítimas em Campo Grande registraram boletins de ocorrência com prejuízos combinados superiores a quatro milhões de reais, enquanto investigações em múltiplos estados apontam para perdas que podem chegar a um bilhão.
- A empresa nunca teve autorização do Banco Central nem da CVM para captar recursos de investidores — operava inteiramente à margem da regulação financeira brasileira.
- Escritórios em São Paulo, Brasília, Curitiba e Rio de Janeiro foram fechados de forma coordenada, sugerindo não uma crise de liquidez, mas um desaparecimento planejado.
- Uma firma americana chamada Azara Capital anunciou a aquisição da Naskar e prometeu auditorias, mas as investigações policiais por fraude e estelionato seguem abertas e o dinheiro permanece inacessível.
No fim de maio, um médico de Campo Grande foi até a delegacia com uma pasta de documentos — extratos bancários, contratos, capturas de tela do aplicativo — e um prejuízo de dois milhões de reais. Ele havia investido na Naskar, uma fintech que prometia retornos mensais de dois a dois e meio por cento. O saldo no app crescia. Até que parou. Os saques foram bloqueados, o aplicativo saiu do ar e os escritórios fecharam sem qualquer comunicado.
Ele não estava sozinho. Outros três moradores de Campo Grande registraram ocorrências contra a Naskar Instituição de Pagamento Ltda., descrevendo o mesmo roteiro: investimento realizado, rendimentos exibidos na tela, acesso cortado de repente. Um segundo médico perdeu mais de 500 mil reais. Um casal de empresários viu 1,36 milhão sumir. Outro empreendedor perdeu 129 mil. Juntos, os quatro acumulavam prejuízos superiores a quatro milhões de reais.
O colapso da Naskar não foi um fenômeno local. Em maio de 2026, a empresa estava sob investigação em vários estados brasileiros, com estimativas de perdas totais que poderiam chegar a um bilhão de reais. A sede oficial em São Paulo havia sido abandonada meses antes de a crise se tornar pública, e escritórios em Brasília, Curitiba e Rio de Janeiro foram fechados simultaneamente. Uma firma americana, a Azara Capital, anunciou a aquisição da empresa e prometeu auditorias — mas o comunicado da própria Naskar já admitia inconsistências em seu banco de dados.
O que tornava a situação ainda mais grave era o que os reguladores encontraram: nem o Banco Central nem a CVM tinham qualquer registro da Naskar como instituição autorizada a captar recursos de investidores. A empresa operava inteiramente fora da supervisão regulatória, recebendo o dinheiro de pessoas que acreditavam estar fazendo aplicações seguras e legítimas. Para as vítimas — profissionais de saúde, empresários, famílias com economias acumuladas — a perda tinha um sabor específico: não era o risco natural do mercado, mas a sensação de ter sido deliberadamente enganado e depois abandonado. As investigações continuavam. O dinheiro, por ora, permanecia inacessível.
A doctor in Campo Grande walked into a police station in late May with a problem that had consumed his thoughts for weeks: two million reais, gone. He had invested the money in Naskar, a fintech company that promised steady monthly returns of around two percent—higher if you had more than two million to put in. The app showed his balance growing from 1.397 million to just over two million. Then the payments stopped. The app went dark. The company's physical offices closed without notice. When he tried to reach someone, anyone, he got only generic messages about technical difficulties.
He was not alone. By late May, at least four people in Campo Grande had filed police reports against Naskar Instituição de Pagamento Ltda., describing the same pattern: money invested, promises of fixed returns, access suddenly cut off. Together, their losses exceeded four million reais. A second doctor reported losing 503,700 reais. A couple of business owners said they had invested 1.36 million jointly and could no longer access it. Another entrepreneur lost 129,300 reais. All told the same story—the app worked fine until it didn't, and then the company vanished.
Naskar's collapse was not a local phenomenon. By May 2026, the fintech was under investigation across multiple Brazilian states, with reports suggesting total losses might reach one billion reais. In early May, a major American investment firm called Azara Capital announced it was acquiring Naskar and would conduct audits and review individual cases. The company's own statement acknowledged it had found inconsistencies in its database and was running an internal audit. But the damage was already visible: the company had abandoned its official headquarters in São Paulo's Vila Olímpia months before the crisis became public, and had simultaneously shut down offices in Brasília, Curitiba, and Rio de Janeiro.
What made the situation more troubling was what regulators found when they looked. Neither Brazil's Central Bank nor the Securities Commission—the CVM—had any record of Naskar as an authorized institution to collect investor funds. The company had been operating in the shadows, taking millions from people who believed they were making safe, regulated investments. The otolaryngologist who filed the report in Campo Grande brought documentation: transfer receipts, bank statements, contracts, screenshots from the app, email exchanges. He was asking police to investigate fraud and embezzlement.
The pattern across the country was consistent enough to suggest this was not a technical failure or temporary liquidity crisis. Investors reported that the app would display their balances correctly, show their monthly earnings being reinvested, and then simply stop working. Withdrawal requests were rejected. Support channels went silent. Physical locations closed. It was the architecture of a disappearance, methodical and complete. For the people who had invested their money—doctors, business owners, people with savings to deploy—it was a particular kind of loss: not a market downturn or a bad investment decision, but the sense that they had been deliberately misled and then abandoned. The investigations were ongoing, but the money, for now, remained inaccessible.
Notable Quotes
The company left off making promised payments and began blocking withdrawals and rescues— Police report filed by the otolaryngologist in Campo Grande
Naskar initiated an internal audit process after identifying inconsistencies in its database— Naskar statement to G1
The Hearth Conversation Another angle on the story
Why would someone invest two million reais with a company that wasn't even registered with the Central Bank?
The app looked legitimate. It showed real numbers, real growth, consistent returns. Most people don't check regulatory databases before investing—they see proof of concept on their phone.
But two percent a month is unusually high for a safe investment, isn't it?
It is. But when you're shown that your money is actually growing that way, month after month, the skepticism fades. The proof seems to be in the account.
How did they get away with it for so long?
They didn't need long. They collected millions, showed enough returns to keep people reinvesting, then closed the doors. By the time people realized they couldn't withdraw, the company was already gone.
What happens to the investors now?
They have police reports and documentation. But the company has no registered assets, no regulatory oversight, and apparently no intention of reappearing. Recovery will be difficult, maybe impossible.
Is this a new kind of crime?
The method is old—promise returns, take deposits, disappear. What's new is the scale and the speed. An app can reach thousands of people in weeks. A fintech can operate without the infrastructure that would normally make a company traceable.