Hot vs Cold Crypto Wallets: Technical Differences and Legal Implications in Insolvency

Introduction

The phrase “not your keys, not your coins” has become a mantra in the crypto community, underscoring the critical link between technical control of digital assets and legal ownership. When you store cryptocurrency, the type of wallet – hot or cold – determines who holds the private keys to your funds, which in turn can dictate your rights if a service provider goes bankrupt. Recent crypto exchange collapses have starkly illustrated that who controls the private keys can mean the difference between walking away with your assets or standing in line as an unsecured creditor. This article explores the technical differences between hot and cold wallets and analyzes their legal implications in insolvency. We will examine whether crypto assets are recoverable in a bankruptcy scenario (and under what conditions) and compare case law and regulatory guidance across the UK, US, and EU on ownership, asset segregation, and custodial responsibility.

Technical Differences: Hot vs. Cold Wallets and Key Custody

Hot wallets are cryptocurrency wallets connected to the internet – think of software wallets on your phone or an exchange’s online wallet. They are ideal for frequent transactions or trading because they allow quick access to funds. Hot wallets create the information needed to transact on the blockchain, including a public address (like your account number) and a private key (a secret “password” that authorizes spending). Because hot wallets are online, they offer convenience at the cost of security: if your private key is stored on an internet-connected device, it could be vulnerable to hacking. For example, a mobile app or web wallet stores your private keys online for ease of use, but once keys have been online, there’s always a risk they could be compromised.

Cold wallets, by contrast, are kept offline for maximum security. A typical cold wallet is a hardware device (like a USB stick or specialized hardware wallet) or even a paper with keys printed – any storage disconnected from the internet. Because the private keys never touch an online system, cold storage greatly reduces the risk of remote hacks. Cold wallets are favored for long-term holding of large crypto balances. The trade-off is convenience: to send funds from cold storage, you must connect the device or import the keys to an online environment (often transferring assets into a hot wallet for the actual transaction). In short, hot wallets prioritize accessibility, while cold wallets prioritize security.

Who holds the private keys? This is the crucial question that distinguishes custodial vs. non-custodial setups. In a non-custodial wallet, the user controls the private keys. Examples include using your own hardware wallet or a software wallet where you alone have the seed phrase. Here, you are effectively your own bank – no third party can access or freeze your crypto (though you also bear sole responsibility for safekeeping those keys). In a custodial wallet, a third party (such as a crypto exchange or custodian service) manages the wallet and holds the private keys on your behalf. For instance, if you keep coins on a major exchange like Binance, Coinbase, or Kraken, the exchange controls the keys to the wallet containing your funds. Custodial wallets are popular for their user-friendly experience – you can log in with a password and the service handles the blockchain interactions – but they require trust in the provider’s security and honesty. A useful analogy is that a custodial crypto wallet is more like a traditional bank account, whereas a non-custodial wallet is like holding cash in your own safe.

It’s important to note that “hot” and “cold” refer to connectivity, not necessarily custody. You can have a non-custodial hot wallet (e.g. a smartphone app where you hold your keys) or a custodial cold wallet (e.g. an exchange storing coins offline in a vault on your behalf). However, often hot wallets on exchanges are custodial (the exchange holds keys for many users in an online environment), while personal cold wallets are non-custodial (you hold your own keys offline). Ultimately, the private key holder has control: if you don’t hold your keys, you don’t truly hold your coins. This technical distinction sets the stage for very different legal outcomes if something goes wrong at the custodian’s end.

Legal Implications in an Insolvency Scenario

When a crypto exchange or custodian becomes insolvent, the question of who legally owns the assets in those wallets moves front and center. Insolvency law distinguishes between assets that are part of the company’s estate (available to pay general creditors) and assets that are held for someone else (which may be returned to customers outright). The technical setup – custodial vs. non-custodial – can determine which side of that line your crypto falls on.

If you hold your crypto in a non-custodial manner (your own cold wallet), insolvency of an exchange has no direct effect on your coins. Since you control the keys and the crypto is recorded on the blockchain at an address you control, those assets aren’t tied up in the exchange’s balance sheet at all. They are not the exchange’s property, and no liquidator can even access them without your keys. In this scenario, recoverability is straightforward: there is nothing to “recover” from the failed company – you already have your funds.

Contrast that with assets held in an exchange’s custodial wallet (hot or cold). Legally, two very different outcomes are possible, hinging on the nature of the custody arrangement:

Custodial as Trustee (Customer’s Property): In the best case for customers, the exchange is deemed to hold those crypto assets on trust for its users. The customers remain the beneficial owners, and the exchange is just a caretaker. If the exchange goes bankrupt, those trust assets should be ring-fenced and returned to customers, not used to pay the exchange’s debts. To achieve this, the relationship must be structured so that the equitable and beneficial interest in the crypto stays with the customer. In practical terms, that means clear terms of service and record-keeping that acknowledge the customer’s ownership, segregation of client assets from the firm’s own assets, and no unauthorized use of customer coins. Custodial as Debtor (Exchange’s Property): In a worse scenario, the exchange treats customer deposits like a bank treats depositors’ money – as an asset of the company with a corresponding liability owed to the customer. If the legal relationship is one of debtor-creditor (for example, the user lent the crypto to the platform or agreed the platform can use it), then upon insolvency the crypto in those wallets is considered property of the estate. Customers become mere unsecured creditors with only a claim for the value of their coins, rather than a right to the coins themselves. In modern corporate bankruptcies, unsecured creditors often recover only a small fraction of what they are owed (insolvency “quotas” are often pennies on the dollar or pence on the pound). Indeed, customers of several collapsed crypto platforms – from Voyager to Celsius – have faced the grim prospect of getting back only a small percentage of their deposits, if anything.

So what determines whether a custodial arrangement is a trust or a debtor-creditor relationship? Courts and regulators look at multiple factors: chiefly, the contractual terms between the user and platform, the platform’s actual practices in handling the assets, and how the assets are held (segregated or commingled). A recent analysis noted that courts focus on “(i) whether account agreements specify who owns the assets, (ii) whether the custodian can freely use the assets, (iii) whether the assets are maintained on a segregated or commingled basis, and (iv) who controls the private keys.” Each of these speaks to the core question of ownership. Let’s break them down:

Terms of Service – What do the contracts say? Many crypto platform user agreements explicitly address ownership of assets. If the terms grant the platform ownership or rights to use your crypto, that’s strong evidence of a debtor-creditor relationship. For example, in the Celsius Network bankruptcy, the court in early 2023 found that $4.2 billion of customer assets in Celsius’s interest-bearing “Earn” accounts belonged to the estate – largely because Celsius’s terms of use unambiguously stated that customers transferred “all right and title” in the coins to Celsius in exchange for yield. Customers were shocked by this outcome, but it was the direct result of what they had agreed to (likely buried in the fine print). By contrast, if the terms clearly state that title remains with the customer and the platform is just safeguarding on the customer’s behalf, that supports treating the assets as custodial property. A counter-example is BlockFi: in its 2023 bankruptcy, about $300 million of assets held in BlockFi’s “Custodial Omnibus Wallets” were deemed not property of the estate and were ordered to be returned to customers. The BlockFi terms of service had explicitly provided that “title to the cryptocurrency held in your BlockFi Wallet shall at all times remain with you and shall not transfer to BlockFi”. In other words, BlockFi’s contract treated those particular accounts as a storage/bailment service (a custodial relationship) rather than a loan to the platform – leading the New Jersey bankruptcy court to uphold customers’ ownership. Use of Assets – Does the platform leverage customer funds? If the custodian is free to deploy customer assets for its own purposes (for example, pooling and lending them out, as many crypto lenders did), it suggests the customers gave up ownership and only have an IOU. Traditional financial analogies apply: when you deposit cash in a bank, the bank can use it (lend it out) – you no longer own the specific dollars in the vault, you have a debt claim against the bank. Some crypto platforms operated similarly with customer funds, blurring the lines between custody and borrowing. If, however, the custodian cannot use the assets except to hold them for safekeeping, it looks much more like a trust or bailment. Regulatory guidance now strongly leans toward the view that a pure custodian should not be using customer coins for any purpose other than storage – to avoid even the appearance of a debtor-creditor relationship. For instance, the New York Department of Financial Services (NYDFS) stated in 2023 that a licensed custodian should only take possession of customer crypto “for custody and safekeeping purposes” and must not sell, lend, or hypothecate customer assets without instruction. Segregation – Are customer assets kept separate? Segregation (or lack thereof) is a powerful signal of how assets are held. If an exchange pools all customer coins in the same wallets (especially if commingled with the exchange’s own holdings), one might fear that the lines of ownership have been blurred. However, commingling doesn’t automatically defeat a trust – courts have recognized that even if assets are held in an omnibus wallet, they can be co-owned by customers or held in trust for them, provided the records are clear. For example, in Ruscoe v. Cryptopia (2020), a New Zealand High Court case, a crypto exchange had stored all of a given cryptocurrency in a single wallet for all customers (a pooled hot wallet). When that exchange went into liquidation (after a major hack), the court had to decide if the remaining crypto was property of the exchange or held for the users. The Cryptopia court concluded that the exchange’s crypto holdings were held on trust for the account holders, despite the pooled storage. Key to this decision were facts like: the exchange’s terms and conditions explicitly created a trust, the internal records tracked individual customer entitlements, and the exchange’s financial statements never treated those crypto assets as its own. In short, segregation can be achieved by meticulous accounting even if coins are in a common address. That said, clear segregation (separate wallets or accounts for each customer, or at least separating customer assets from the firm’s own assets) is the gold standard. Many jurisdictions are moving toward requiring this, as it provides clarity in insolvency. NYDFS’s guidance, for example, insists that custodians separately account for and segregate customer crypto from their own on either a per-customer or omnibus basis, and maintain detailed policies to enforce this. Similarly, proposed rules in the UK and EU mandate that client assets be held in segregated accounts to protect them if the custodian fails. Control of Keys – Who technically controls the wallet? This factor is somewhat intertwined with the above points. If the customer holds the private key (non-custodial scenario), there’s little doubt the asset is theirs – the platform never had dominion over it. But in a custodial scenario, the custodian controlling the keys does not automatically mean the custodian owns the assets (for example, Cryptopia held the keys but was deemed a trustee). However, courts do take note of who has the ability to unilaterally access or transfer the crypto. Exclusive control by the company, especially if combined with commingling and user permission for asset use, tilts toward the assets being considered company property. Conversely, if multi-signature setups or other arrangements limit a custodian’s unilateral control, or if control is only for the purpose of service to the customer, that can support a trust characterization. Ultimately, control of keys is often a practical question – if a liquidation happens, can the administrator even access separate wallets for each client? This is why regulators emphasize robust systems to ensure clients can retrieve their assets promptly in an insolvency scenario.

Recoverability of Crypto Assets in Bankruptcy

Whether crypto assets are recoverable in an exchange/custodian insolvency – and to what extent – depends on the above factors and how they are resolved legally. Broadly, we have two possible outcomes:

Assets are customer property (held in trust or bailment) – They should be returned 100% to the customers, outside the insolvency estate. In this scenario, customers effectively skip the creditor queue. For instance, where courts found a trust (Cryptopia) or where terms kept title with users (BlockFi Custody accounts), the administrators were directed to return the cryptocurrency to the users rather than liquidate it for the estate. Customers may still face delays to verify claims and match records, but they are made whole on those assets. It’s similar to how client funds in a stock brokerage are handled if the broker fails: the assets are segregated and simply distributed back to clients, not used to pay the broker’s creditors. Assets are part of the insolvent estate – They will be used to satisfy debts of the company, and customers become unsecured creditors sharing in what’s left. In a bankruptcy, secured and higher-priority claims (like taxes, employee wages, etc.) get paid first; unsecured customer claims typically rank alongside other unsecured liabilities. As noted, the average payout to unsecured creditors is often low (significantly below 100%). In the Celsius case, customers with Earn accounts are in this boat – their crypto turned into a claim for dollars, subject to whatever cents-on-the-dollar the bankruptcy plan delivers. Another infamous example is Mt. Gox, a Japanese exchange that collapsed in 2014: its users have been waiting for years and are expected to receive only a portion of their original bitcoin back (the Mt. Gox rehabilitation plan, still ongoing as of 2025, will return some coins and cash, but not the full amounts due to losses and appreciation of claims).

It’s worth noting that if fraud or mismanagement is involved (as alleged in cases like FTX), asset recovery can be even more complex. There might be a shortfall between what the exchange should have and what it actually has, due to hacking losses or misappropriation. Even if assets were supposed to be custodied for users, if the pot is missing funds, customers may not be made whole. Sometimes tracing and clawback actions can retrieve some value, but that goes beyond straightforward insolvency law into fraud litigation.

Also, unlike bank deposits or securities accounts, crypto holdings lack built-in insurance in many jurisdictions. In the UK, for example, bank balances are protected up to £85,000 by the Financial Services Compensation Scheme if a bank fails – but crypto is not (historically) a regulated financial product, so no such safety net applies. In the US, cash at banks has FDIC insurance and brokerage accounts have SIPC protection for securities, but digital assets on an exchange have no federal insurance if the exchange collapses. This makes the legal status of the assets in insolvency even more critical – there’s no backstop; the best hope is that the assets are legally yours and can be pulled out of the bankruptcy fire.

In summary, crypto assets are recoverable in an insolvency only if they are legally recognized as the customer’s property (often via a trust or custodial arrangement that survives bankruptcy). Otherwise, customers are at the mercy of the bankruptcy process and likely to incur significant losses. This stark reality has prompted both industry and regulators to sharpen their approach to custodial structures. Next, we’ll look at how different jurisdictions are responding, through courts and new rules, to clarify ownership and protect investors.

Jurisdictional Perspectives: UK, US, and EU

United States

The United States lacks a comprehensive federal law on crypto custody and insolvency, so court decisions and state-level guidance have been key in setting precedents. The recent “crypto winter” bankruptcies gave U.S. courts their first opportunities to directly address who owns custodial crypto assets in bankruptcy.

As discussed, two landmark bankruptcy rulings in 2023 – Celsius and BlockFi – reached opposite outcomes based on their terms of service. In Celsius (New York), the court held that assets in Celsius’s interest-bearing accounts were property of the estate, due to the contract language granting Celsius ownership of deposits. In BlockFi (New Jersey), the court decided that assets in certain custody accounts were not estate property and should be returned to customers, because BlockFi’s terms preserved customer title. These cases underscore that, under U.S. law, the intent expressed in the customer agreement is paramount – traditional trust principles will be applied if the contract and circumstances indicate a custodial (trustee) relationship, while normal contract and property law will treat it as a debt if that’s what the customer agreed to.

Another case often cited in the U.S. context is Ruscoe v. Cryptopia, but that was a New Zealand decision. Still, U.S. courts take note of such cases, especially because there is scant domestic precedent. Cryptopia’s outcome (finding a trust for customers despite a pooled wallet) signals that courts can uphold customer ownership if provided a legal basis. U.S. bankruptcy law in fact recognizes that property held in trust by the debtor is not part of the bankruptcy estate (per Bankruptcy Code Section 541(d)). The challenge is proving the trust exists. With crypto, that means digging into the platform’s terms, marketing promises, and accounting practices. For example, if an exchange’s terms are silent on ownership, courts may then look to default legal principles and the overall relationship. Were the coins merely held by the exchange for safekeeping (implying a bailment or trust), or were they an asset the exchange could use? This analysis can be fact-intensive.

On the regulatory side, because there is no single federal regulator for crypto exchanges, we’ve seen leadership from states like New York. The NYDFS, which regulates virtual currency businesses in New York, issued guidance in January 2023 explicitly to protect customers in insolvency. This guidance requires that custodial institutions segregate customer crypto assets and not commingle them with the firm’s own. It also urges clear customer disclosures that the relationship is custodial (not a loan to the company). The NYDFS emphasized that the beneficial interest remains with the customer at all times, meaning the exchange should not have any ownership claim on the assets. Essentially, New York is mandating the trust-like model: the custodian is a bailee/trustee holding the coins for the user’s benefit. While NY’s rules apply only to licensed entities and New York users, they often set a de facto standard. Other states (and even federal agencies) pay attention to NYDFS’s stance given New York’s prominence in finance.

The U.S. Securities and Exchange Commission (SEC) has also weighed in indirectly. In 2022, the SEC’s Staff Accounting Bulletin No. 121 (SAB 121) told companies to list crypto assets held for customers on their balance sheet with a corresponding liability – treating them a bit like customer deposits. This was accounting guidance, but it caused an uproar in the crypto industry because of concerns it implied the assets are legally the company’s (since on balance sheet) and could increase capital requirements. By early 2024, the SEC rolled back parts of SAB 121, which many saw as a positive sign that regulators do not want to inadvertently push custodians into treating customer assets as their own property. Still, the regulatory framework remains a patchwork. Unlike the highly-developed rules for, say, stockbrokers (where customer assets must be segregated and are protected by law), crypto in the US is catching up via a mix of enforcement, guidance, and the lessons of bankruptcy courts.

Looking forward, U.S. policymakers are debating new legislation to govern crypto exchanges and custodians. Any such framework is likely to include requirements for customer asset segregation and perhaps even insurance or guarantee funds. But until that emerges, the safest course for U.S. crypto users is to read the fine print of any custodial service and consider keeping long-term holdings in self-custody. The recent bankruptcies have been a wake-up call that the default in insolvency is not favorable to customers unless special arrangements (like a trust) are in place.

United Kingdom

The UK’s approach to crypto custody in insolvency has been evolving rapidly, especially in light of high-profile failures abroad. Historically, crypto assets in the UK were not explicitly regulated or covered by investor protection schemes, which meant general property and trust law principles governed who owns what in a collapse. Two key questions arise under UK law: (1) Are crypto assets recognized as property? and (2) If so, can they be held on trust for users?

On the first question, the answer is now clearly “yes.” English courts have declared cryptocurrencies to be property (starting with cases like AA v Persons Unknown (2019) and confirmed in later rulings), and the UK Law Commission in 2023 recommended legislative clarification by categorizing crypto and similar digital assets as a new form of personal property. This means crypto can be the subject of ownership, trust, and bailment just like any other property right. So, legally, there is no barrier to saying “these bitcoins belong to Customer A” or “Exchange X holds these assets in trust.”

Thus, the crux becomes the second question: did the exchange hold the assets on trust or as part of its own estate? UK courts, much like those in other common law jurisdictions, look at the contract and conduct. Although the UK hasn’t yet had a major domestic crypto exchange insolvency case litigated to conclusion on this issue, British judges would likely apply the same reasoning seen in the Cryptopia case (NZ) or others. In fact, UK practitioners often cite Ruscoe v Cryptopia as persuasive authority. If the exchange’s terms say it is holding assets for you and the internal treatment supports that, a trust can be found. If the relationship looks like a debtor-creditor (such as a user agreement that speaks of loans or transferring ownership to the platform), no trust will arise (as illustrated by the contrast in Wang v Darby [2021] EWHC 3054 (Comm), where a crypto transfer arrangement was found not to create a trust because it was more akin to a contractual loan/exchange arrangement).

One notable international example often discussed in UK context is Celsius. Celsius had a UK entity and many UK customers. While the main proceedings were in the U.S., UK regulators noted that Celsius’s terms were governed by English law. Those terms clearly stated that crypto in certain accounts was the company’s property – a clause that, under English contract law, would be upheld as effective in stripping customers of ownership during the term of the arrangement. In other words, an English court likely would have reached the same conclusion as the U.S. court did for those accounts, given the contractual clarity that no trust was intended. This underscores that in the UK, just as elsewhere, the contract is king for determining ownership in insolvency, unless statutory rules say otherwise.

The UK is, however, moving toward statutory regulation of crypto custodians. In 2023-2024, HM Treasury and the Financial Conduct Authority (FCA) have been developing a new regime for cryptoasset businesses, which will bring exchanges and custodians into the regulatory perimeter. A major focus of this is safeguarding customer assets. The FCA has proposed rules to require that client cryptoassets be held on trust for the benefit of clients, with clear segregation from the firm’s own assets. This mirrors the long-standing principles in the UK’s Client Assets Sourcebook (CASS) that apply to securities and money held by investment firms. Under the draft rules (which as of mid-2025 are in consultation), a UK crypto custodian would have to: keep customer coins in segregated wallets or accounts, maintain accurate records of individual holdings, and acknowledge that those assets are not part of the firm’s property. In effect, if these rules go through, any UK-authorized crypto custodian that became insolvent would have its customer assets ring-fenced and returned to customers, much like how a stockbroker must return client shares. The FCA explicitly notes that holding assets on trust means they are “legally ring-fenced and returnable to clients rather than claims in the bankruptcy estate.”

It’s also notable that UK regulators want to eliminate ambiguity in customer agreements. The proposed rules would require clear customer disclosures and terms that establish the custodial nature of the relationship (to avoid situations like Celsius where terms gave the firm ownership). Until these rules are finalized, the UK is in a transitional phase: unregulated exchanges operating in or serving the UK might have very different terms and practices. UK customers therefore should diligence the status of any platform – for now, a foreign exchange could potentially subject them to foreign insolvency law (as seen with many UK users of FTX or Celsius forced to join overseas court proceedings). But the trend is toward harmonizing with traditional finance protections, meaning the UK is likely to soon mandate that “hot wallet” providers legally treat customer crypto as client assets rather than their own.

One more point on the UK: Unlike the US, the UK does not have an equivalent of FDIC/SIPC for crypto and likely won’t until crypto is fully under financial regulation. So, the first line of defense is ensuring the legal structure protects you. The insolvency of a custodian like an exchange can be devastating without that protection – as the Gateley legal article aptly warned, if a custodian becomes insolvent and your assets aren’t held on trust, you may end up recovering only a small percentage of your investment or nothing at all. That reality is driving the UK’s current regulatory reforms.

European Union

In the EU, the landmark development is the new Markets in Crypto-Assets Regulation (MiCA), adopted in 2023. MiCA is an EU-wide regulation that, among many other things, establishes rules for cryptoasset service providers (CASPs) – including exchanges and custodial wallet providers – with a strong emphasis on investor protection and insolvency safety. Although MiCA will fully come into force in 2024-2025, its requirements are already shaping practices.

Asset segregation and ownership protection are explicitly required under MiCA. Article 63 of MiCA mandates that CASPs “make adequate arrangements to safeguard the ownership rights of clients, especially in the event of the crypto-asset service provider’s insolvency.” In practice, this means firms must structure their custody so that client assets would not get pulled into bankruptcy proceedings. More concretely, Article 67(7) requires that providers hold client crypto in separate addresses or accounts from the provider’s own assets. The goal is to ensure that if a crypto company goes bust, customers have a “right of segregation” – a right to recover their assets in full because those assets are identifiable and were never meant to be the firm’s property. In many European jurisdictions, if an asset held by a failed company can be identified as belonging to a third party, that asset can be segregated out and returned to its owner, rather than used to satisfy creditors. MiCA effectively forces crypto custodians to set things up so that this principle will apply to their clients’ coins.

By introducing these requirements, MiCA draws inspiration from the traditional EU rules for safeguarding client assets in finance. For example, EU brokers under MiFID must segregate client funds/instruments and typically hold them such that they’re bankruptcy-remote. MiCA extends similar concepts to crypto. Client holdings must be legally and operationally segregated from the firm’s own to “insulate clients insofar as possible from the insolvency risk of the custodian”. Firms have to keep a register of client positions and maintain internal controls to prevent loss or misuse of assets. There are also liability provisions: MiCA will hold custodians liable for losses of crypto-assets in their custody unless they can prove the loss was beyond their control – which further incentivizes proper handling and security.

Major EU economies are already aligning their laws with MiCA’s approach. Germany, for instance, introduced a draft Future Finance Act (Zukunftsfinanzierungsgesetz) in 2023 to preemptively implement MiCA’s custody rules. German law will explicitly require that even in omnibus wallets, customers have individual entitlement to their share, and that all custodied assets are kept for clients in a way that grants them an Aussonderungsrecht (right of segregation) in insolvency. One caveat in the German approach (mirroring a consideration in MiCA) is that if a customer consents to the use of their assets (for example, allowing the platform to stake or lend them), that portion might not be segregated because the nature of the asset changed (similar in spirit to how an Earn account in Celsius functioned). This is an important nuance: if you opt in to programs where the custodian can use your crypto (even in Europe), you may be waiving your segregation protection on those assets.

Overall, the EU’s clear stance via MiCA is a welcome development for legal certainty. It means that any compliant EU crypto custodian should operate much like a bank or securities custodian in keeping customer assets distinct and returnable to customers if the business fails. There is still the question of enforcement and supervision – EU member state regulators will need to ensure firms actually do what MiCA says. But the framework is set to avoid another FTX-like scenario where a lack of segregation and misuse of funds led to customer chaos. The French regulator (AMF), among others, has highlighted that MiCA will require robust recording of client positions and segregation between custodian’s own and client assets, which will greatly clarify ownership.

It’s worth noting that MiCA does not cover every scenario (for example, truly decentralized custody or personal wallets are outside scope since it targets service providers), but for the centralized players, it creates a uniform rulebook across the EU. That harmonization should give investors more confidence – and in the event of a CASP insolvency in, say, France or Germany, one would expect a process where customers can assert ownership and retrieve their crypto (assuming it was properly segregated and still exists).

Conclusion

The divide between hot and cold wallets is more than a matter of cybersecurity – it’s a dividing line between different regimes of control and, consequently, different legal outcomes if trouble strikes. Technically, a hot wallet (online) versus a cold wallet (offline) might just be about convenience versus safety, but underlying that is the crucial question of custody: who holds the keys? If you hold your own keys (often the case with personal cold wallets or certain hot software wallets), you maintain direct ownership and control of your digital assets. If you entrust your keys to a third-party custodian (common with exchange hot wallets or custodial services), you must rely on legal and regulatory frameworks to protect your ownership.

In an insolvency scenario, this difference is night and day. Self-custodied assets remain yours – a bankruptcy trustee cannot touch what they can’t access or what isn’t on the company’s books. Custodied assets, however, live or die by the terms of the relationship: either they’re segregated and held for you (in which case you should get them back), or they’re part of the company’s pool (in which case you’re just another creditor). Recent case law across jurisdictions illustrates both outcomes, from customers successfully reclaiming assets that were held in trust, to customers left empty-handed when an exchange’s fine print handed ownership to the exchange.

The good news is that legislators and regulators are learning from the string of crypto bankruptcies. Jurisdictions like the EU and UK are baking in protective measures (segregation, statutory trusts, fiduciary duties) for custodians, and even U.S. regulators at state level are reinforcing the principle that “customer assets are customer assets” and must be treated as such. These measures – akin to the safeguards long present in traditional finance – are designed to ensure that a future exchange insolvency would be a contained event rather than a catastrophe for users’ holdings. They focus on clear ownership, proper segregation, and robust custodial practices so that clients can reclaim their coins even if the custodian fails.

For crypto investors and legal professionals advising clients, the takeaways are clear. Understand who holds the keys and under what terms. Read user agreements of exchanges or wallet providers – do they explicitly state that your assets remain your property? Do they allow the platform to use your assets for lending or other purposes? Are there representations about segregation or insurance? If such details are absent or unfavorable, recognize the risk you’re taking on. Alternatively, consider non-custodial options or custodians in jurisdictions with strong client asset protections.

In the end, technology gives us the tools to be our own custodian (cold wallets, hardware keys, etc.), but not everyone will use them for every asset. Trusting third parties is a convenience and oftentimes a necessity in the crypto ecosystem. The key is to do so with eyes open and, where possible, under the umbrella of laws that shield your ownership. Hot or cold, what truly matters is that when the music stops, your crypto is legally recognized as yours – and that is achieved by the right custodial structure, mindful legal agreements, and, increasingly, the backing of law and regulation across major jurisdictions.

Sources:

Investopedia – “Hot vs. Cold Cryptocurrency Wallets: Key Differences Explained” Reuters (Westlaw Today) – “Crypto ownership and custodial wallets: Owning without owning?” Gateley (UK law firm) – “Crypto Winter: Recovering your crypto-assets when insolvency strikes” Ballard Spahr (US law) – “NYDFS to Virtual Currency Custodians: Segregate, Don’t Integrate” Ashurst – “FCA Unveils New Rules for Stablecoins and Crypto Custody” (UK, 2025 proposals) Taylor Wessing – “Digital assets in insolvency – MiCA and the German Future Finance Act” Coinbase – “Hot vs cold crypto wallet: What’s the difference?” (educational) New Zealand High Court – Ruscoe v. Cryptopia Limited [2020] NZHC 728 (via Gateley analysis) U.S. Bankruptcy Court SDNY – In re Celsius Network LLC (2023); U.S. Bankruptcy Court DNJ – In re BlockFi Inc. (2023).

Freezing crypto wallets: Emergency interim orders.

Ex Parte Cryptoasset Injunctions: English Courts’ Trend and Exchange Guidance

Introduction

Cryptocurrency exchanges are increasingly facing urgent court orders issued ex parte (without prior notice) in the wake of crypto-related frauds and thefts. English courts have shown a willingness to grant freezing injunctions, proprietary injunctions and disclosure orders (such as Bankers Trust or Norwich Pharmacal orders) to assist victims of crypto-asset misappropriation . Strikingly, these powerful orders are often granted on minimal evidence – frequently relying on untested expert blockchain tracing reports that purport to link stolen assets to exchange wallets . This article examines the trend through key English cases, analyses the courts’ approach to urgency and the duty of full and frank disclosure, and discusses how misstatements or mistakes by applicants can lead to discharge of orders. It further emphasizes why exchanges should scrutinize the reliability of expert evidence (e.g. wallet attribution and blockchain tracing) and provides practical guidance on how exchanges should respond upon receiving such orders. The goal is an accessible yet detailed roadmap for crypto exchange owners, in-house legal teams, and compliance counsel to navigate this fast-evolving area of law.

Types of Ex Parte Orders in Crypto Litigation

English courts have adapted traditional interim remedies to the context of crypto-assets, often deploying them in combination at urgent without-notice hearings. The main types of orders include:

Freezing Injunctions (Mareva orders): These prevent a defendant from dissipating or dealing with assets up to a certain value. In crypto cases, courts have issued worldwide freezing orders against unknown fraudsters controlling misappropriated tokens . Exchanges may receive notice as third parties to effectuate the freeze on accounts, even if not named as defendants . Proprietary Injunctions: A form of injunction preserving specific assets claimed to belong to the claimant. English judges have readily deemed cryptocurrency to be “property” capable of being subject to proprietary claims . For example, in AA v Persons Unknown [2019], the High Court treated Bitcoin ransom proceeds as property and granted a proprietary injunction over 96 BTC traced to an exchange wallet . Proprietary injunctions in crypto cases often run in tandem with freezing orders, strengthening the claimant’s hand by asserting a property right in the digital assets. Bankers Trust / Norwich Pharmacal Orders: These are disclosure orders against innocent third parties who unwittingly became mixed up in wrongdoing. In crypto litigation, exchanges frequently receive such orders compelling them to disclose information about account holders and transaction history to aid asset tracing . The Bankers Trust order (from Bankers Trust v Shapira [1980]) is traditionally used to obtain confidential bank documents in fraud cases, and English courts have repurposed it to force crypto exchanges to provide KYC data and blockchain transaction records . A Norwich Pharmacal order (NPO) similarly requires a third party to divulge information to identify wrongdoers. In practice, claimants may seek either or both forms, depending on jurisdictional technicalities, to get exchanges to reveal who is behind particular wallets and where stolen crypto went .

These orders are commonly sought ex parte due to the acute risk that crypto-assets can be transferred or dissipated instantly. Courts recognize that giving notice to a suspected fraudster would likely cause the assets to vanish, defeating the purpose of the injunction. As a result, judges are prepared to grant interim relief within hours of an application in appropriate cases . However, proceeding without notice imposes rigorous obligations on applicants, as discussed later. First, we examine the evidentiary basis of these applications – and how relatively thin evidence has sufficed at the interim stage.

Minimal Evidence and Blockchain Tracing Reports

A notable feature of cryptoasset injunctions is the courts’ reliance on blockchain analysis evidence presented by claimants at the ex parte stage. Typically, a victim of crypto theft or fraud will submit a witness statement and an expert tracing report explaining how the stolen cryptocurrency was followed through the blockchain to a particular exchange or wallet. This evidence is often provided by specialist investigatory firms using blockchain analytics tools. While powerful, such reports are essentially untested hearsay from the claimant’s expert at the point of the without-notice hearing.

English courts have thus far been willing to accept this minimal yet cogent evidence to establish a good arguable case that the claimant’s assets can be traced to the defendant or to an exchange account. For example, in Ion Science Ltd v Persons Unknown (Butcher J, High Court, 21 Dec 2020), the claimants alleged they were induced into sending Bitcoin in a fraudulent ICO investment. Expert evidence in that case “suggested that the transferred Bitcoin or their traceable proceeds were deposited in accounts held by the Binance and Kraken cryptocurrency exchanges,” which formed the basis for seeking injunctions and disclosure . The court accepted this evidence and granted a proprietary injunction and worldwide freeze, even though the tracing analysis had not been challenged or cross-examined at that stage . Similarly, in AA v Persons Unknown [2019], consultants tracked a ransom payment through blockchain transactions to a specific exchange address, and the court relied on that tracing to grant a proprietary injunction over the Bitcoin remaining in that account .

The evidentiary threshold at a without-notice hearing is that there is a “serious issue to be tried” on the merits of the claim and a real risk of dissipation of assets . Detailed proof is not required at this interim stage. Judges often emphasize speed and pragmatism: the priority is to preserve the assets; disputes about ultimate ownership or the finer points of tracing can be dealt with later . In practice, so long as the claimant’s evidence shows a prima facie fraud and a plausible tracing of the proceeds into identifiable accounts or wallets, the courts will lean in favor of granting relief to prevent irreparable harm .

However, this approach means that exchanges can find themselves subject to court orders based on forensic assumptions that have not been fully tested. For instance, an expert might attribute a certain blockchain address to an exchange (labeling it as a deposit wallet for Exchange X), but this attribution might be erroneous or outdated. At the interim stage, the court usually has no contrary evidence and will proceed on the expert’s assertions. It is only later, if the exchange or defendant challenges the order, that the robustness of the tracing evidence is scrutinized. As discussed below, recent cases show that when exchanges do push back on shaky evidence or nondisclosure, injunctions can be varied or discharged . First, we turn to the key cases illustrating the courts’ developing jurisprudence.

Key Judicial Developments in Cryptoasset Injunctions

Several English High Court cases since 2019 have shaped the landscape of crypto litigation. These decisions demonstrate the courts’ readiness to innovate – from recognizing novel property rights in crypto to permitting unprecedented methods of service – all to ensure interim relief remains effective in the digital asset realm. Below we analyze the salient points from these leading cases and their implications:

AA v Persons Unknown [2019] EWHC 3556 (Comm)

AA v Persons Unknown was a landmark decision where the Commercial Court first clearly confirmed that cryptocurrency can be treated as property under English law . In this case (decision dated 13 December 2019), an English insurer had paid a Bitcoin ransom to hackers who encrypted an insured customer’s data. The insurer, as claimant, traced 96 of the paid bitcoins to an address on the Bitfinex exchange and urgently applied for a proprietary injunction to freeze those funds .

The court (Bryan J) granted the proprietary injunction and related disclosure orders, accepting that the Bitcoin were a form of property and thus capable of being subject to a trust or injunction . Notably, this was done ex parte and in anonymity (the case name is stylized to protect identities). The judge cited the UK Jurisdiction Taskforce’s Legal Statement on Cryptoassets and Smart Contracts, aligning with its reasoning that crypto-tokens are property in principle . This finding was crucial – it meant the claimant had a proprietary claim to assert, strengthening the case for an injunction.

The facts illustrated the typical use of minimal evidence: consultants had tracked the ransom payment on the blockchain to Bitfinex, establishing a link to that exchange . With that evidence, the court was satisfied there was a serious issue to be tried as to the claimant’s proprietary rights over the 96 BTC and that, if not frozen, they could be dissipated. As a result, a proprietary injunction and a Bankers Trust disclosure order were granted . The AA case is often cited as kicking off the modern trend of aggressive interim remedies in crypto disputes, indicating that victims of crypto-extortion or theft can indeed leverage the English courts for relief if they can trace the assets .

Ion Science Ltd v Persons Unknown (Butcher J, 21 December 2020)

In Ion Science (unreported in official law reports, Commercial Court, 2020), the court expanded on the principles from AA and demonstrated flexibility in serving proceedings out of the jurisdiction. Ion Science Ltd and its director were victims of fraud in an initial coin offering (ICO) – essentially, they were tricked into sending their Bitcoin to fraudsters on the promise of a fake investment . They sought a worldwide freezing order, a proprietary injunction, and disclosure orders against two cryptocurrency exchanges (Binance and Kraken) where the trail of the stolen Bitcoin ended .

Butcher J granted all the requested relief. Echoing AA, he found there was a serious issue to be tried that cryptoassets are property and that English law would treat them as such . One significant aspect of Ion Science was how it addressed jurisdiction and the location (situs) of cryptoassets. The court held that for the purposes of English law, a cryptoasset is located at the place of domicile of its owner . Since the claimants were based in England and suffered the loss in England, the judge was satisfied that England was the proper forum and that the English court could assume jurisdiction over the claim . This reasoning has been influential – it provides a solution to the thorny issue of where a borderless asset like Bitcoin is “situated” for legal purposes.

Furthermore, Ion Science underscored that English courts can permit service out of the jurisdiction on persons unknown, using the traditional framework for service out in cases of urgent injunctive relief . The claimants in Ion Science were allowed to serve the fraudsters outside England and also serve the foreign exchanges (in the Cayman Islands and US) with the disclosure orders. This set the stage for later cases that formalized new service gateways for such orders (as discussed below in LMN v Bitflyer).

The case is also known for being the first in which a third-party debt order in relation to crypto was reportedly granted , though that is beyond our scope here. For present purposes, Ion Science demonstrated the court’s willingness to combine multiple interim orders – freezing, proprietary, and disclosure – to maximize the chances of recovering stolen crypto. It did so on the basis of an expert’s unchallenged tracing report (linking funds to exchanges), exemplifying how minimal evidence can suffice when speed is of the essence.

Fetch.ai Ltd v Persons Unknown [2021] EWHC 2254 (Comm)

The Fetch.ai case (High Court, July 2021, Pelling QC) highlighted the court’s adaptable approach when cryptoassets are misappropriated through exploitation of exchange accounts. Fetch.ai, an English technology company, kept cryptocurrency tokens on the Binance exchange for trading . Unknown hackers obtained access to its account and sold its tokens at artificially low prices to accounts controlled by themselves, causing an estimated loss of $2.6 million to Fetch.ai . In response, Fetch.ai and a related party urgently applied for a suite of remedies: a proprietary injunction and worldwide freezing order against the fraudsters (persons unknown), and Bankers Trust / Norwich Pharmacal orders against Binance entities to reveal information about the fraudsters’ accounts .

The High Court granted these orders. Judge Pelling QC treated the case as one of imaginative cryptocurrency fraud and readily applied established principles to the novel facts . Key points from the judgment include:

Crypto as Property / Choses in Action: The court implicitly affirmed that the crypto assets in question could be considered property (or a species of chose in action when held through an exchange account). Although not analyzed in depth in the short ex tempore decision, Pelling QC noted that previous cases (like AA and Ion Science) had already paved the way . Serious Issue and Risk of Dissipation: The judge found a serious issue to be tried on causes of action including breach of confidence (the hack involved misuse of private keys and confidential credentials), unjust enrichment, and a proprietary constructive trust claim . Given the fraudulent scheme and the unknown identity of the perpetrators, there was a clear risk that any remaining assets would vanish unless frozen . Worldwide Freezing Order Nuances: The Fetch.ai order was carefully structured to target the right classes of defendants. The court was “anxious to separate the different types of ‘persons unknown’” involved . Classically, English cases define categories of unknown defendants (e.g., the initial wrongdoers, secondary recipients, innocent third parties). In Fetch.ai, the freezing injunction was applied to the fraudsters and those who knowingly received the discounted crypto, but it expressly did not apply to innocent third-party purchasers who bought the assets at full value without notice of the fraud . This prevented overreach – ensuring that innocent market participants were not inadvertently caught by the order. Disclosure Orders against Exchange: The court issued a Bankers Trust order against Binance Holdings (the Cayman parent company) and a Norwich Pharmacal order against Binance Markets Ltd (the UK entity) . This reflected uncertainty over Binance’s corporate structure – the judge noted the group’s “opaque structure” made it challenging to pin down which entity held relevant information . By targeting both, the claimant ensured someone in the Binance group would have to cough up information. The orders compelled Binance to identify the fraudsters’ accounts, provide contact details, and transaction records – critical information for pursuing recovery. Permission for service out of the disclosure application was also granted, even though Binance Holdings was abroad, because the court followed Ion Science in finding a gateway for service out in these exceptional circumstances .

The Fetch.ai case underscored that English courts could effectively assist victims even when the fraud is executed entirely online and the perpetrators are anonymous. It also highlighted issues exchanges face: Binance was given notice of these orders and had to navigate compliance across its entities. The case prefigured later developments about exchanges’ potential liability (as constructive trustees) and showed the courts’ commitment to tailoring orders to avoid unfairness (i.e., not freezing assets of innocent parties). Ultimately, Fetch.ai demonstrated an enhanced approach to crypto fraud – combining existing tools (freezing, proprietary claims, disclosure) in one coordinated strike .

D’Aloia v Persons Unknown & Others [2022] EWHC 1723 (Ch)

If Fetch.ai showcased effective use of existing tools, D’Aloia v Binance & Others took a step further by introducing novel elements to the litigation arsenal. Fabrizio D’Aloia, an Italian national, was the victim of a sophisticated scam in which he was deceived into transferring substantial sums of cryptocurrency (around $2.1 million in USDT and $230,000 in USDC) to a fraudulent online brokerage that impersonated the brand of a legitimate company . When his account was frozen and the fraud became clear, D’Aloia traced the funds with the help of investigators (Mitmark) and found they had been dispersed to various private addresses and exchange addresses associated with several major exchanges (Binance, Poloniex, Luno, Bitstamp, etc.) .

In June 2022, D’Aloia applied to the High Court (Trower J) for urgent interim relief. The court granted an array of orders, notably: (1) a freezing injunction and proprietary injunction against the persons unknown (the fraudsters) and against the relevant exchange-held assets, (2) disclosure orders against the exchanges, and (3) permission to serve the proceedings by alternative means – including service by NFT airdrop to blockchain addresses .

Two aspects make D’Aloia particularly significant:

Exchanges as Constructive Trustees: D’Aloia advanced a legal argument that the misappropriated crypto assets, once deposited in the exchanges, were held on constructive trust for him by both the fraudsters and the exchange operators . In other words, he alleged the exchanges were involuntary bailees/trustees of his property since they controlled the wallets into which his stolen funds had been traced. Trower J held that there was a good arguable case for this proposition (at least against the major exchanges; one Binance entity was excluded as it didn’t actually hold the wallets) . This was a landmark acknowledgement. It opened the door for claimants to assert proprietary claims not just against the thief, but also against the exchange holding the assets – treating the exchange as a potential defendant if it has the stolen assets in its custody . The court relied on the trust “gateway” in the civil procedure rules to allow service out of the jurisdiction on this basis . This approach built on a prior case (Wang v Darby [2021] EWHC 3054 (Comm)) which had hinted crypto could be held on trust, though no trust was found on the facts there . In D’Aloia, by contrast, the facts supported an interim finding of a likely constructive trust. This finding put exchanges on notice that if they have notice of a claim that assets in their custody are stolen, they could risk liability if they facilitate their dissipation . The practical effect was that the injunction order explicitly bound the exchanges to freeze the identified assets, treating them effectively as constructive trustees who must preserve the trust property. Service by NFT: Perhaps the most headline-grabbing aspect was the court’s approval of service of court documents by way of airdropping an NFT to the blockchain wallets controlled by the fraudsters . Because the fraudsters’ identities and locations were unknown, D’Aloia sought an alternative service method to increase the likelihood of bringing the proceedings to their attention. The judge allowed service by two means: email (to addresses believed to be used by the scammers) and NFT drop into the wallets to which D’Aloia had sent his crypto . An NFT (non-fungible token) containing the court notice was created and sent to those wallet addresses. This made use of the immutability of blockchain – effectively “embedding” the notice of the lawsuit in the transaction history of the scammer’s wallets . The court was satisfied that this was an appropriate and innovative way to serve persons unknown in the circumstances, especially given the digital nature of the dispute. This order was the first of its kind in England and was widely publicized as a sign of the courts’ tech-savvy approach in crypto cases .

The D’Aloia case thus illustrates both substantive and procedural innovations: extending liability to exchanges as constructive trustees (increasing the pressure on exchanges to freeze and disclose) and embracing cutting-edge methods of service. For exchanges, D’Aloia’s constructive trust finding was something of a double-edged sword. On one hand, by being bound to comply with the injunction (as constructive trustees), exchanges reduce their risk of later being accused of “dishonest assistance” if they were to ignore obvious red flags . On the other hand, it raises the stakes – if an exchange were aware (or put on notice) that assets in an account are likely stolen, it could face future claims from victims if it lets those assets be withdrawn. The case thereby encourages exchanges to cooperate and freeze assets proactively when served, but also to be vigilant about such claims.

LMN v Bitflyer Holdings Inc & Others [2022] EWHC 2954 (Comm)

In late 2022, the High Court delivered another significant judgment in LMN v Bitflyer, underlining the English courts’ commitment to assisting crypto fraud victims even when that means reaching across borders. LMN (an anonymized claimant, believed to be a crypto exchange or platform) had suffered a hack in which millions of dollars’ worth of cryptocurrency were illicitly transferred out of its wallets . LMN’s investigators traced those funds to addresses at several foreign cryptocurrency exchanges. However, LMN could not identify the perpetrators without information from those exchanges .

LMN applied for third-party disclosure orders (Bankers Trust orders) against six overseas exchanges, including Bitflyer, Binance, Coinbase, Kraken, KuCoin, and Luno (all incorporated outside England). The relief sought was essentially to compel each exchange to provide details of the accounts that received the stolen crypto and related transaction information . The challenge was not only to meet the test for a disclosure order, but also to establish jurisdiction over foreign non-parties.

Mr Justice Butcher granted the orders in full, marking a few important firsts and confirmations:

Extensive Information Orders: The court required each exchange to hand over extensive KYC information (customer identities, documents) and transaction records for the accounts implicated by LMN’s tracing analysis . The orders were broad but tailored to what was needed to track the stolen assets. The judge was satisfied that the standard Bankers Trust criteria were met – namely, (i) a realistic claim that the stolen property belongs to the claimant, (ii) a real prospect that the information sought would lead to locating or preserving those assets, and (iii) the order was no wider than necessary . Here, LMN showed a good arguable case that whoever holds its misappropriated crypto does so as a constructive trustee for LMN (echoing the approach in D’Aloia) . This constructive trust assertion strengthened the basis for disclosure by framing the exchanges as holders of the claimant’s property (albeit innocently). New Service-Out Gateway: This case was the first to use a newly created provision in the Civil Procedure Rules – Gateway 25 in Practice Direction 6B – which had come into force in 2022 to specifically facilitate service out of the jurisdiction for information orders in fraud cases . Gateway 25 allows a claim or application for disclosure to be served on a foreign entity where it seeks information about: (i) the true identity of a defendant or potential defendant, and/or (ii) the whereabouts of the claimant’s property . LMN’s application fit squarely within this gateway: they needed the exchanges to identify wrongdoers and trace the property. Butcher J’s judgment confirmed that this new rule is available and apt for crypto cases . He found that the three general conditions for service out were satisfied: there was a serious issue to be tried on the merits; the claim fell within a PD6B gateway (the new gateway for disclosure); and England was clearly the appropriate forum given that the victim was based in England and the losses were suffered there . Jurisdiction and Forum: Consistent with earlier cases, the court took the view that English law applied and England was the proper forum because the claimant was an English company, the hack occurred on its systems (presumably in England), and the losses were sustained in England . This mirrors the logic of Ion Science and Fetch.ai regarding lex situs and forum.

The LMN decision is a powerful precedent for victims of crypto-hacks: it shows that an English court can compel even non-UK exchanges to divulge information, provided the legal criteria are met and the proceedings are properly served. For exchanges, it serves as notice that they may be subject to English orders even if they have no physical presence in the UK, especially now that clear service gateways exist. Practically, many exchanges complied with such orders voluntarily in the past; LMN formalizes the process and makes it harder for an exchange to refuse cooperation without risking enforcement actions. It’s worth noting that while compliance may not be directly enforceable abroad without further steps, a major exchange will usually comply to avoid being seen as uncooperative or to avoid jeopardy if they have any UK nexus.

In summary, these key cases – from AA through LMN – collectively illustrate an expanding toolkit for claimants and a judiciary that is responsive to the unique challenges of crypto disputes. The theme is clear: urgency and innovation. Courts will move swiftly to grant relief (freezing assets, ordering disclosure, even permitting novel service methods) to prevent crypto-assets from slipping away, while striving to maintain fairness (through careful definition of defendants and upholding duties of disclosure).

Urgency, Full & Frank Disclosure, and Risk of Discharge

One recurring aspect in all these cases is the urgency with which the courts act. Judges have explicitly recognized that in crypto matters, delay can be devastating – digital assets can be transferred across the globe in seconds, potentially beyond reach. Thus, courts are prepared to list hearings on very short notice. In Fetch.ai, for example, the court convened and granted relief within a day of the application to stop further dissipation of assets . Likewise, AA, Ion Science, D’Aloia and LMN were all heard urgently and without notice to the defendants. The judicial approach to urgency is to assume the risk of dissipation is both high and imminent in crypto fraud cases, which generally satisfies the requirement of demonstrating urgency for an ex parte application.

However, with great power (obtaining drastic orders in secret) comes great responsibility. Applicants have a stringent duty of full and frank disclosure at without-notice hearings. This means they must disclose to the court all material facts, including those that might be unfavorable or raise possible defenses for the absent defendants. Courts have not hesitated to emphasize this duty in crypto cases. If a claimant fails to meet the obligation – whether by omission, oversight, or misstatement – the resulting order can be set aside at the return hearing and the claimant can face heavy costs.

A vivid illustration is Piroozzadeh v Persons Unknown & Others [2023] EWHC 1024 (Ch), a case in which Binance (as a respondent) successfully applied to discharge an interim proprietary injunction that had been obtained against it without notice . Piroozzadeh, the claimant, alleged he was defrauded of a large sum of money (including 870,000 USDT stablecoins) which he traced to deposit addresses on Binance . He obtained an ex parte proprietary injunction requiring Binance to preserve the USDT in those accounts. At the return date, Binance challenged the injunction on multiple grounds – importantly, that the claimant had not presented the full picture to the judge initially .

Trower J (who heard the return hearing) discharged the injunction against Binance and awarded indemnity costs against the claimant . The judgment (as reported) highlighted several points relevant to full and frank disclosure :

Notice vs Non-Notice: The court questioned whether it was even appropriate to name Binance as a defendant and seek an injunction against the exchange itself without notice . In many cases, a freezing order is made against the asset-owner (fraudster) and then served on an exchange as a third party to enforce. Here the claimant went a step further by making Binance a respondent. If doing so, the claimant needed to justify proceeding ex parte against the exchange and explain any possible defenses Binance might have – which was not adequately done . Material Non-Disclosure: One crucial fact was that the USDT, once deposited into Binance, was likely mixed in a central pooled wallet (per Binance’s usual operations) . This means the specific USDT tokens originally traced were no longer identifiable – the customer’s balance is a debt from Binance, not segregated coins. The claimant’s initial application apparently did not explain this clearly to the judge. This omission was material because if assets have been mixed or dissipated already, an injunction freezing “those assets” serves no purpose . An applicant must candidly inform the court if, for example, an exchange uses omnibus wallets or if there’s a question as to whether a proprietary asset still exists in traceable form. Failing to do so breached the duty of candor. Potential Defenses: Binance argued, and the judge accepted, that the claimant had not addressed potential defenses in the ex parte application – for instance, that Binance could contend it was not a constructive trustee at all once funds were in its pooled accounts, or that damages would be an adequate remedy against a solvent exchange . Had these points been raised initially, the court might have been more circumspect in granting an injunction against the exchange. The duty of full and frank disclosure required the claimant to raise these counterpoints, even though they undermined his case.

The upshot is that the injunction was set aside entirely, leaving the claimant to rely on other routes (like freezing orders against the fraudsters themselves, and third-party disclosure). The penalty for nondisclosure was severe: not only lost the injunction but also had to pay £90,000 in costs to Binance .

This outcome sends a strong message. For claimants: do not cut corners on your disclosure obligations. If you know of facts or legal issues that the judge should weigh – like delays in bringing the application, alternative remedies, technical details of how an exchange operates, or any innocents who might be affected – you must inform the court. Otherwise, you risk losing the very relief you urgently obtained and damaging your credibility in the eyes of the court (not to mention incurring costs).

For exchanges and respondents: a granted ex parte order is not the end of the matter. If there are grounds to believe the order was improperly obtained – e.g., key facts were omitted, evidence was misrepresented, or the legal basis is flawed – you have the opportunity at the return date (or via an interim application) to challenge and potentially discharge the order. Courts will carefully scrutinize whether the draconian without-notice relief was justified and whether the claimant played fair in obtaining it. The Piroozzadeh case is likely the first of many where exchanges push back against overbroad or ill-founded injunctions, helping calibrate the system so that only genuinely meritorious orders survive.

In sum, English judges balance urgency with fairness: they will act fast to freeze crypto assets, but they also expect absolute candor and accuracy from applicants. Misstatements, omissions, or undue overreach can lead to an injunction being unwound. This reinforces the importance of robust evidence and transparent lawyering in ex parte crypto applications – and it empowers exchanges to call out deficiencies rather than assuming they are helpless under an order.

Questioning Expert Evidence: Wallet Attribution and Tracing Reliability

Crypto exchanges served with freezing or disclosure orders should not passively accept all assertions made in a claimant’s evidence. Given that much of the court’s initial decision may rest on a single expert report or investigative affidavit, there is ample room to scrutinize the reliability of that expert evidence, especially regarding blockchain tracing and wallet attribution.

Some considerations for exchanges include:

Accuracy of Wallet Attribution: Often, tracing reports will claim that certain blockchain addresses belong to a particular exchange (e.g., “Address 0x123 is a deposit address on Binance”). Exchanges should verify these claims against their own records. Chain analytics databases, while advanced, are not infallible; cases have occurred where addresses were mis-tagged or outdated. If an order is premised on the idea that “stolen funds are sitting in your exchange account X”, the exchange’s internal data might reveal that account X received those funds from a different source or that the address in question isn’t actually one of the exchange’s wallets. If an exchange finds a discrepancy, it should raise it with the claimant’s lawyers or the court promptly – this could narrow or eliminate the order. For example, if Exchange Y can show that the flagged address isn’t operated by them, the basis for including Exchange Y in the proceedings falls away. Tracing Gaps and Assumptions: Blockchain tracing can be complicated by factors like mixers, privacy coins, or simply incomplete data. An expert might assume that because funds went from address A to B to C (with C being an exchange wallet), the holder of C is in possession of the original funds. But what if there were intermediate hops the expert missed, or if address B was wrongly assumed to belong to the fraudster? Exchanges can question whether the tracing truly leads to their platform or if the claimant might have leapfrogged over some steps. In LMN v Bitflyer, the tracing stopped once funds hit the exchanges; it was then assumed the exchanges’ customer accounts held the loot . While likely true, the exchanges are entitled at the return hearing to ask, for instance, whether any portion of the funds had already moved on from their platform by the time of the order. If the stolen crypto was quickly withdrawn or converted, an exchange might argue the injunction is too late or should be modified. Untested Methodologies: Different experts use different methodologies (heuristic clustering, address tagging, etc.). Without cross-examination or disclosure of the expert’s techniques, there may be unknown error rates. An exchange could consider asking the court for permission to file evidence in response at the return hearing, perhaps from its own blockchain analytics expert, to highlight any potential flaws. While courts at the interim stage won’t demand a full trial on these issues, a well-founded critique can influence whether an injunction is continued or whether additional safeguards are added (like requiring the claimant’s expert to meet with the exchange’s expert to reconcile discrepancies). Mixing and Pooling Issues: As seen in the Binance case (Piroozzadeh), one critical factual point was the pooling of assets . Many exchanges operate omnibus wallets – multiple customers’ crypto are co-mingled. A tracing report that simply identifies a deposit address on an exchange might mislead one to think the specific coins are still there, when in reality they’ve been swept into a master wallet. Exchanges should be ready to explain their wallet infrastructure to the court. If the subject assets are pooled, the exchange can argue (as Binance did) that a conventional proprietary injunction is ineffectual or ought to be limited to the fiat/traditional assets of the fraudster (or converted to a monetary freezing order). At the very least, the order should be drafted clearly about what exactly the exchange must freeze (e.g., not “freeze 100 USDT in address X” when address X is just a conduit, but perhaps “prevent any transfers out of the account credited with X amount”). Chain of Custody and Identifiers: Exchanges receiving disclosure orders should pay close attention to how the order identifies relevant accounts or transactions. If an order lists specific transaction hashes or wallet IDs, the exchange should verify they correspond to its own data. There have been instances where applicants, in haste, provided a wrong digit or a mistaken account number. Challenging those errors is important – compliance with an order that is based on incorrect data could either be impossible or might lead to freezing the wrong person’s account, which brings liability risks. An exchange can apply to court to correct or clarify any such issue.

In essence, exchanges can and should question the reliability of the evidence against them. Courts do not assume infallibility of expert reports; they simply have little choice at ex parte hearings but to go on what is presented. By the time of a return hearing, however, the court expects a more complete picture. Indeed, the duty of full and frank disclosure includes drawing attention to potential limitations in the evidence . A diligent exchange, through its counsel, can assist the court by providing a more balanced view.

This is not to say exchanges should adopt an overly adversarial stance when truly faced with clear evidence of fraud. The goal is accuracy and fairness. If an exchange’s own investigation corroborates the claimant’s story (e.g. the account identified does have suspicious funds from the timeframe), it may choose not to contest the factual basis, and instead focus on cooperation or negotiating order terms. But if the evidence is shaky, the exchange’s skepticism is warranted and can prevent unjustified orders from remaining in effect.

Finally, questioning expert evidence is also a matter of developing the law. As more crypto cases progress, we may see courts issue guidance on acceptable standards for blockchain evidence. For now, exchanges play a role in indirectly testing these standards by highlighting when an emperor of blockchain analysis has no clothes.

Responding to an Ex Parte Order: Guidance for Exchanges

From the moment a cryptocurrency exchange is served with an English court order (be it a freezing injunction, proprietary injunction, or disclosure order), the clock is ticking. Exchanges must navigate a tightrope: comply swiftly to avoid contempt, yet assess the order’s scope and their options to possibly challenge or modify it. The following guidance outlines how exchanges should respond:

1. Act Immediately – Do Not Ignore the Order: Upon receipt (which might occur by email, mail, or even an NFT airdrop in novel cases), the exchange should promptly acknowledge the order. Time is often “of the essence” – some orders may require action within hours or by the next day. The first step is to halt any dissipation of the identified assets. This usually means freezing the relevant customer account or wallets internally . Even if the order is not from your home jurisdiction, do not assume it can be ignored. English courts assert authority via these orders, and failure to comply could lead to serious consequences if the exchange or its officers are ever within reach of the English jurisdiction. Moreover, non-compliance could damage the exchange’s reputation for cooperating with law enforcement and courts.

2. Read and Understand the Order’s Terms: Carefully review the order with legal counsel. These orders can be lengthy and technical (often following standard High Court forms). Key points to identify include: the penal notice (which warns of consequences for non-compliance), the exact assets or accounts to be frozen, the scope of any disclosure (what information must be provided, by when, and to whom), any prohibitions on informing the customer (commonly, freezing injunctions have a clause forbidding tipping off the account-holder), and the date of the return hearing or deadline to respond. Make sure to note any geographic scope – e.g., is it a worldwide freezing order or limited to England and Wales? – and whether there are exceptions (like allowing the account-holder to make limited withdrawals for living expenses, which sometimes appear in freezing orders for individuals).

3. Engage Legal Counsel (UK counsel if needed): In-house legal teams should involve external counsel experienced in civil fraud and crypto cases. If the exchange has U.K. counsel on standby, contact them immediately. They can help interpret the order, communicate with the claimant’s lawyers, and prepare for the return hearing or any application to vary. Given the complexity and high stakes, having a knowledgeable solicitor and/or barrister is critical. They can also advise on jurisdictional issues – for example, if the exchange is not U.K.-based, whether to contest jurisdiction or simply comply without submission to jurisdiction (a nuanced decision).

4. Ensure Internal Compliance Teams Are Coordinated: The legal team should coordinate with the compliance, risk, and technical departments. Freezing an account might require steps by an operations team; pulling transaction logs and KYC documents for disclosure likely involves the compliance or fraud department. It’s important to involve a single point of contact or project manager (often a senior compliance officer or the “legal escalation officer” discussed later) to manage the internal response. All steps taken should be documented (time-stamped), as these records may be needed to demonstrate the exchange’s good-faith compliance or to defend against any allegation of contempt.

5. Freeze First, Then Communicate: If the order includes a freezing injunction affecting assets on the exchange, implement the freeze immediately on the specified accounts/wallets . Do this prior to informing the customer or any external party, as the order likely mandates no notice to the account holder (to prevent a tip-off). Once frozen, the exchange can internally secure the assets (some exchanges even transfer the crypto to a secure cold wallet for the duration, if permitted, to avoid any accidental transfers). After securing the assets, the exchange (through counsel) can then communicate with the claimant’s lawyers to confirm compliance. It’s often prudent to send a formal letter or email: e.g., “We acknowledge receipt of the order dated X and confirm that Account #12345 holding 2 BTC and 50 ETH has been frozen in compliance with paragraph Y of the order.” This builds a record of cooperation.

6. Assess Grounds to Vary or Discharge: With counsel, examine if there are reasons to challenge the order. Possible grounds:

The order may be too broad or unclear. For example, it might freeze “all assets up to £10M” of a defendant when only a specific crypto amount is at issue – an exchange might seek to limit it to identifiable crypto assets. The order might impose unrealistic deadlines for disclosure (e.g., produce all documents within 48 hours). If that is not feasible, the exchange should consider applying to court for an extension or variation, rather than rushing and risking incomplete compliance. Jurisdictional protest: If the exchange has no U.K. presence, it might reserve the right to contest jurisdiction. Exchanges sometimes comply without prejudice to jurisdiction (meaning they don’t concede the English court’s authority over any substantive dispute by complying with the interim order). This can be tricky – advice of counsel is key here. Material nondisclosure or mistake by claimant: As discussed, if you suspect the order was obtained on a false premise or missing key facts (e.g., they didn’t mention that the account was already frozen by you earlier, or they misidentified a wallet), you might apply to discharge or vary the order sooner than the return date. Generally, such an application should be made promptly once the issue is known.

Crucially, any decision to challenge the order must be made in compliance with the order until changed. Unless and until the court amends it, the exchange should not unfreeze assets or withhold information unilaterally. Instead, file an application and get the court’s decision. In the interim, comply as best as possible.

7. Prepare the Disclosure (if ordered): Many crypto injunctions come paired with disclosure orders compelling the exchange to reveal information about the account in question (holder’s identity, KYC documents, transaction history, etc.) . Treat customer data carefully and follow the order exactly – deliver the information in the manner required (often by affidavit or witness statement from an officer of the exchange). Make sure to redact anything not required (the order usually limits what must be disclosed). Also consider data privacy laws – compliance with a court order is typically a lawful basis for disclosure under GDPR or other privacy regimes, but ensure your legal team is comfortable that the disclosure sticks to what is necessary and ordered. If multiple exchanges are involved in a case (like in LMN), there may be coordination or similar requests; handle yours independently but be aware of the broader context.

8. Avoid Contempt – Be Meticulous: Contempt of court is a real risk if an exchange does not obey the terms. This could include not freezing when required, tipping off the user contrary to the order, or delay in providing information. The safest course is strict compliance. If something is impossible to do literally (say the order asks to freeze “crypto assets” and the account has already been emptied), document that and immediately inform the claimant’s solicitors and/or the court. Usually, the order will have a provision allowing variation by agreement with the claimant’s side or by returning to court. It’s far better to proactively explain a difficulty than to let time pass and be accused later of non-compliance. Even perceived foot-dragging can be dangerous – in one case, an exchange that took too long to respond might be criticized for enabling dissipation. Therefore, treat deadlines as hard deadlines; if you truly cannot meet them, seek an extension from the claimant’s lawyers or the court ahead of time.

9. Plan for the Return Date (if you are a party): Often the ex parte order will have a return date (a hearing where the court reconsiders the order with all sides present). If the exchange has been named as a defendant or respondent (like Binance was in D’Aloia and Piroozzadeh), it should participate in that hearing. Through counsel, the exchange can present its position: whether it consents to the order continuing, seeks variation, or outright opposes it. The exchange should use the period before the return date to gather any evidence or arguments in support of its stance. For example, if arguing to discharge, compile the facts that were not disclosed or have changed; if you’re mainly concerned about cost of compliance, perhaps seek an undertaking from claimant for costs. If the exchange is not named as a defendant but just a third-party, it might not formally attend, but it can often provide a letter to the court updating on compliance.

10. Maintain Open Communication with Stakeholders: Throughout this process, it’s wise for the exchange to keep a log of all actions (as discussed later) and maintain open lines of communication with the claimant’s legal team. Sometimes, cooperation can yield flexibility – claimants might agree to slight deadline extensions or clarifications if the exchange is acting in good faith. Also, internally communicate with management about the implications – for instance, freezing a large account could have business impacts; leadership should be aware and supportive of legal compliance taking precedence.

Following this guidance helps an exchange navigate the immediate turbulence of receiving an ex parte order. The overarching principle is: comply first, then (if needed) contest – never the other way around. By promptly securing assets and information, the exchange avoids the worst-case scenario of being in contempt. By then thoughtfully evaluating the order, the exchange can decide if it must fight any portion of it. Many exchanges ultimately find that working under the supervision of the court and cooperating with claimants is preferable to a reputational battle. Yet, as seen, they are within rights to challenge orders that overreach or are founded on error.

Next, we turn to proactive measures exchanges can implement so that when such an order arrives, they are not caught flat-footed.

Internal Protocols and Best Practices for Exchanges

The surge in crypto-related court orders means exchanges should prepare in advance for the possibility of being on the receiving end of an injunction or disclosure order. Here are practical internal recommendations for exchanges to handle these situations efficiently and compliantly:

Establish a Litigation-Response Protocol: Every exchange should have a written protocol for responding to legal orders and law enforcement requests. This playbook should outline the steps to take when an injunction or court order is received. It would cover points like: who must be notified immediately (e.g., General Counsel, Head of Compliance), how to verify the authenticity of the order (checking that it is sealed by a court, etc.), and what preliminary actions to take (such as checking whether the affected assets are on the platform). The protocol ensures that even junior staff know not to shrug off or mishandle an order. Given the time-sensitive nature of ex parte injunctions, the protocol should require that any such communication – whether from a law firm or directly from a court – is treated as urgent priority. Appoint a Legal Escalation Officer or Team: Identify a specific individual (or committee) responsible for handling urgent legal orders. This legal escalation officer could be, for example, the Head of Legal or Compliance. They will coordinate the response across departments. Having a clear owner avoids confusion – employees who receive the order will know exactly to whom they should send it immediately. The escalation officer’s duties include assessing the order, liaising with external counsel, and ensuring that the required internal actions (freezing accounts, gathering documents) occur promptly and correctly. Essentially, this person becomes the quarterback for the crisis, ensuring nothing falls through the cracks. Maintain External Counsel on Standby: Time is of the essence, so having relationships with external counsel (solicitors) who are experienced in U.K. crypto litigation is invaluable. Rather than scrambling to find a lawyer after an order arrives, an exchange should pre-engage counsel or at least identify who they will call. The counsel can even help design the aforementioned protocol. They should be familiar with freezing injunctions, disclosure orders, and the specifics of blockchain asset cases. In a crunch, they can rapidly review an order and advise on compliance or challenges. For global exchanges, it might be wise to have both U.K. counsel and local counsel (in the exchange’s jurisdiction) to work in tandem – the former for the English law aspects, the latter for any local law limitations (for instance, if complying with the order might conflict with local privacy laws, etc., you’d need to navigate that carefully). Train Key Staff and Simulate Scenarios: Conduct training sessions for customer support, compliance, and legal teams on what to do if they receive a court order. Many exchanges have automated systems for law enforcement requests, but a High Court injunction is a more delicate matter. Role-play scenarios: e.g., “London law firm emails an injunction at 5pm on Friday – what do you do?” This helps staff recognize the seriousness and handle it correctly. Some exchanges run mock drills similar to cybersecurity incident drills. The more prepared the team is, the less likely they’ll panic or err in real events. Implement Technical Measures for Rapid Freezing: Ensure that the exchange’s technical infrastructure allows for quick freezing of accounts or specific assets. This might involve having a back-end tool where a compliance officer can flag an account and instantly suspend all withdrawals. The faster and more granular the control, the better – sometimes you might need to freeze just certain assets or a certain amount (to comply exactly with an order’s terms). Work with your IT/security team to have these capabilities. It’s also prudent to have after-hours contacts for tech support, since injunctions don’t always arrive 9-to-5. Preserve Detailed Logs of Compliance Actions: From the moment an order is received, document everything. This includes logs of who received the order and when, when it was escalated, when the account freeze was executed (timestamp), what was frozen (e.g., “froze account #XYZ, which at time of freeze held 1.234 BTC and 50 ETH”), and when/how disclosure was provided. Also keep copies of any communications with the claimant’s lawyers or the court. These records serve multiple purposes: they protect the exchange by showing diligent compliance (vital if later someone alleges contempt or delay), and they help internal review of the incident to improve future responses. In complex cases, it might be wise to have someone draft an internal timeline of all events. If the court later asks for an explanation of compliance or if the exchange needs to explain to a regulator, these logs will be invaluable. Ensure a Mechanism for Notifying Affected Customers (When Permitted): While initial orders usually forbid tipping off the customer, at some stage that restriction may be lifted (for instance, after a return date or if the order lapses). The exchange should have a plan for how to lawfully and delicately handle the customer relationship. This includes template communications to inform a user that their account is frozen due to a court order (once it’s allowed). Customer support should be briefed to handle inquiries from the user whose funds are frozen, as they will inevitably contact the exchange if they notice an account block. The support team must know what they can or cannot say. Being prepared avoids ad hoc, inconsistent messaging that could risk a breach of the order or harm reputation. Review Insurance and Financial Reserves: Compliance with court orders can incur costs (legal fees, operational burden) and, in worst cases, an exchange might face liability (say if it’s later found to have wrongfully released funds or for being a constructive trustee). Exchanges should review whether their insurance (such as professional liability or cyber insurance) covers legal compliance costs or errors in this context. At minimum, be financially ready to post security or cover legal expenses – for example, sometimes a court might require a non-party’s costs to be paid. In Piroozzadeh, the claimant had to pay Binance’s £90k costs , but had Binance not won, they would have borne their own costs. An exchange should treat this as part of the cost of doing business in a high-risk industry and budget accordingly. Foster Relationships with Law Enforcement: Many crypto fraud cases also involve law enforcement investigations. While separate from civil orders, having a channel of communication with police or investigative agencies can be useful. Sometimes, an exchange might receive parallel requests (a court order from the victim’s civil case and an information request from police for a criminal case). Handling these consistently and lawfully is important. Goodwill with authorities can also mean they alert you if they are aware of an order coming (not always, but if, say, a victim first went to the police, the police might inform an exchange liaison).

By implementing these internal measures, exchanges can move from reactive to proactive. Instead of scrambling when an order hits, the team will have a blueprint to follow. This not only reduces the risk of errors but also demonstrates to courts and customers that the exchange is responsible and competent in legal compliance. Given the trend of increasing litigation, such preparedness is fast becoming a standard part of operational resilience for crypto businesses.

Conclusion

The evolving English case law on cryptoassets makes one thing plain: the courts are determined to ensure that the traditional remedies of injunctions and disclosure adapt to the digital age. For crypto exchange operators, this has translated into a growing number of ex parte orders landing at their doorstep – sometimes at odd hours, often with sweeping obligations, and usually founded on evidence that has yet to be tested. Exchange legal teams and compliance officers must therefore be well-versed and well-prepared to handle these situations.

We have seen how English judges, through cases like AA, Ion Science, Fetch.ai, D’Aloia, and LMN, are pushing the boundaries of interim relief: recognizing crypto as property subject to injunctions, allowing worldwide service against anonymous fraudsters, considering exchanges as constructive trustees of stolen assets, and even embracing blockchain-based service by NFT . Alongside this judicial ingenuity comes an insistence on procedural fairness – especially the duties of urgency and full disclosure. Claimants have been reminded (at pain of costs and discharge) that they must approach the court with candor and rigor, presenting all material facts including those that affect exchanges or third parties .

For exchanges, the key takeaway is that vigilance and proactivity are the best response. Question the evidence – you are entitled to ensure that an order freezing assets on your platform is grounded in accurate information. Work with the court and claimants – prompt compliance and open dialogue can protect your interests while fulfilling legal obligations. And invest in internal systems – a robust response plan and team can turn a potential fire drill into a managed process.

In a broader sense, this trend also underscores a maturing market: crypto businesses are no longer operating in a wild west separate from traditional law. They are squarely within the reach of courts and must conduct themselves with the same level of legal discipline expected of banks or other financial institutions. By adhering to the guidance above – from scrutinizing blockchain reports to keeping meticulous compliance logs – exchanges can not only avoid the pitfalls of these orders (like contempt or unnecessary liability) but can also play a constructive role in the resolution of crypto disputes. After all, an exchange that responsibly freezes illicit funds and provides timely disclosure is aiding in the fight against crypto fraud, bolstering the industry’s reputation as a safer environment for all.

English courts are likely to continue refining their approach as new fact patterns emerge (for instance, disputes involving DeFi platforms or NFTs). But the direction is set: ex parte relief in crypto cases is here to stay, and it will often be swift and sweeping. Exchanges, armed with knowledge of the case law and a solid action plan, can ensure that they respond professionally and effectively – protecting their operations while respecting the rule of law. In the high-stakes intersection of cryptocurrency and litigation, preparation is the best antidote to panic, and cooperation the best strategy to navigate the storm.

Sources:

AA v Persons Unknown [2019] EWHC 3556 (Comm) (Commercial Court) . Ion Science Ltd v Persons Unknown (unreported, Butcher J, 21 Dec 2020) . Fetch.ai Ltd v Persons Unknown [2021] EWHC 2254 (Comm) (Pelling QC) . D’Aloia v Persons Unknown & Others [2022] EWHC 1723 (Ch) (Trower J) . LMN v Bitflyer Holdings Inc & Others [2022] EWHC 2954 (Comm) (Butcher J) . Piroozzadeh v Persons Unknown & Others [2023] EWHC 1024 (Ch) (Trower J) . Herbert Smith Freehills, “High Court sets aside interim proprietary injunction against Binance” (Litigation Notes, May 2023) . Eversheds Sutherland, “Developing Crypto Caselaw – Exchanges as constructive trustees… and service by NFT” (Sept 2022) . Taylor Wessing, “Disputes Quick Read: information orders against crypto exchanges following hack” (Jan 2023) . Fieldfisher, “Fetch.AI case enhances English courts’ approach to crypto fraud” (Aug 2021) . Linklaters, “Ion Science – traditional approach to governing law and jurisdiction for cryptoassets” (March 2021) . Norton Rose Fulbright, “Freezing of cryptocurrencies in fraud (Part 2)” (Feb 2020) .

Fraud and hacking in crypto currency transactions.

In The Beekeeper (2024), the core wrongdoing is a highly recognisable piece of online fraud. Retired teacher Eloise Parker is targeted by a phishing‑style tech support scam: a fake computer warning leads her to call a bogus helpline, she is persuaded to grant remote access and follow instructions which result in her life savings – including over $2 million from a charity fund she controls – being transferred out of her accounts. When she realises everything has gone, she takes her own life, and her neighbour Adam Clay responds by hunting down the call‑centre operation behind the scam. 

If you transpose that scenario into a UK setting, the conduct is very familiar. The scammers’ lies about who they are and what they’re doing would fit comfortably within fraud by false representation under section 2 of the Fraud Act 2006. Their use of remote access tools, spoofed screens and fake online interfaces to get into the victim’s banking and email accounts would almost certainly amount to unauthorised access to computer material and potentially unauthorised acts with intent to impair under sections 1–3 of the Computer Misuse Act 1990.    Once the funds are moved through layers of accounts, or converted into other assets, the usual money‑laundering provisions under the Proceeds of Crime Act 2002 would also be engaged.

Cryptocurrency “hacking” in the UK often looks very similar in method, even if the end product is different. Many crypto cases start with the same kind of social engineering seen in The Beekeeper: phishing emails, fake investment platforms, cloned exchange websites or “support” chats that trick victims into revealing wallet seed phrases, private keys or two‑factor authentication codes, or into installing remote access software. Technically, that behaviour is still charged as fraud (false representations about the nature of the service or investment) combined with Computer Misuse Act offences for accessing or interfering with computer systems and data without authority.    The fact that the target is a crypto‑exchange account or self‑custody wallet, rather than a high‑street bank account, doesn’t give rise to a wholly new species of offence.

The main difference lies in the rail the criminals use to move and disguise the proceeds. In The Beekeeper, the stolen money passes through conventional accounts controlled by the scam network; in many UK cases today it is quickly converted into cryptoassets and pushed through mixers, cross‑chain bridges and multiple wallets to frustrate tracing.    But for English law, cryptoassets are treated as a form of property capable of being stolen or fraudulently obtained, and dealing with them as “criminal property” will engage the same money‑laundering offences as fiat. In that sense, the film’s call‑centre fraud is simply the analogue precursor of modern UK crypto hacking: both rest on social engineering, unauthorised access and rapid digital movement of value, even if Jason Statham’s remedy bears little resemblance to what actually happens in the Crown Court.

Recent Cryptocurrency Fraud Court Cases (2019–2025)

United Kingdom – Civil Cases

AA v Persons Unknown [2019] EWHC 3556 (Comm) – In this landmark case, an insurer paid a Bitcoin ransom after hackers infected its insured client’s systems with malware and demanded $950,000 in BTC for a decryption key . After payment, the insurer traced about 96 of the 109.25 BTC ransom to an address linked to the Bitfinex exchange . The High Court recognized Bitcoin as “property” and granted a proprietary injunction and disclosure order against Bitfinex, treating the exchange as constructive trustee of the ransom proceeds . This allowed the insurer to freeze the assets and compel information identifying the hackers, illustrating how ransomware attackers stole crypto by extorting victims and laundering the proceeds through exchanges .

Ion Science Ltd v Persons Unknown (High Court, 21 Dec 2020, unreported) – A UK company fell prey to a fraudulent initial coin offering (ICO) scheme. Scammers posing as a Swiss investment firm “Neo Capital” induced the claimant’s director to transfer about 64.35 BTC (≈£577k) as an “investment,” even persuading him to give them remote access to his computer to execute the transfers . In reality, “Neo Capital” was fictitious, and the funds were swiftly moved offshore. The High Court granted a worldwide freezing order and Bankers Trust disclosure orders against two cryptocurrency exchanges (Binance and Kraken) where the stolen Bitcoin was traced . The case shows crypto can be stolen by classic investment scams: the fraudsters convinced the victim to invest in a fake crypto venture, then siphoned his Bitcoin to exchange wallets under their control.

Fetch.ai Ltd v Persons Unknown [2021] EWHC 2254 (Comm) – Here, unknown hackers breached the claimants’ cryptocurrency accounts on Binance and carried out unauthorized trades. In a 12-second window, the fraudsters sold roughly $2.6 million of the claimants’ crypto to an unknown buyer at undervalue without permission . By effectively “baiting” a quick sale to themselves or an associate, they drained the victim’s holdings. The Commercial Court responded with robust interim relief: it divided the defendants into categories (the perpetrators; those who received assets at a discount; and any innocent third-party recipients) . It then issued a proprietary injunction and a worldwide freezing order to freeze the misappropriated assets, and granted Bankers Trust and Norwich Pharmacal orders compelling Binance to disclose information to help identify the wrongdoers and trace the funds . This case highlights how exchange accounts can be compromised and crypto assets swiftly sold off, and how courts freeze assets and gather information even when the ultimate buyer might claim to be a bona fide purchaser.

Danisz v Persons Unknown & Huobi Global [2022] EWHC 280 (QB) – An individual investor (SD) was lured by a social media advertisement into putting £27,000 worth of Bitcoin into an online crypto investment program called “Matic Markets” . The value of her Bitcoin rose, but when she attempted to withdraw funds, the platform refused and cut off communication. An expert traced SD’s Bitcoin and discovered it had been secretly transferred out of Matic’s wallet without her knowledge . Some of the stolen BTC ended up in a wallet on the Huobi exchange . The High Court granted an urgent proprietary injunction and a worldwide freezing order against the scammers to prevent further dissipation, and a Bankers Trust order requiring Huobi to disclose customer identity and transaction data for the destination wallet . This case is a clear example of a “pig-butcher” investment scam, where fraudsters create a fake trading platform that accepts deposits and then absconds with the cryptocurrency instead of honoring withdrawal requests.

D’Aloia v Persons Unknown & Ors [2022] EWHC 1723 (Ch) – Mr. D’Aloia was duped by a clone online brokerage: a scam website masquerading as a legitimate U.S.-regulated trading platform . Over time he was induced to transfer ~£2.5 million in USDT (Tether) stablecoin to wallets controlled by the fraudsters . After the fraud came to light, he traced the funds through multiple blockchain addresses, ultimately finding some of his USDT had been cashed out via accounts on a Thai crypto exchange (Bitkub) . The court treated the unknown scammers as proper defendants and, in an innovative step, allowed service of court documents via NFT airdropped to the fraudsters’ wallet to notify them . D’Aloia obtained interim freezing injunctions and later pursued a constructive trust claim against the exchange that held part of the loot. Although his claim against the exchange (Bitkub) was later dismissed due to insufficient tracing evidence , the case demonstrated how fraudsters built a fake investment portal to steal crypto deposits, and it set a precedent for using blockchain technology itself (NFTs) to reach anonymous thieves .

Jones v Persons Unknown [2022] EWHC 2543 (Comm) – A British investor, Mr. Jones, was persuaded by fraudsters to transfer 90 BTC (worth several million pounds) into what turned out to be a fake online investment platform . Blockchain analysis revealed his Bitcoin had moved into a wallet on the Huobi exchange . When neither the scammers nor Huobi responded in court, the judge entered a default judgment and made a novel order: Huobi was deemed a constructive trustee of the 90 BTC and was ordered to deliver up the stolen cryptocurrency back to Mr. Jones . Huobi complied by transferring 98 BTC (the principal plus interest and costs) to an English wallet, deducting the sum from an internal account belonging to a third-party (Kyrrex) . (Kyrrex later tried and failed to overturn the judgment .) The fraudulent conduct at the heart of the case was a classic phony investment scam – the scammers created a sham trading platform to convince the victim to send them Bitcoin, which they then routed through an exchange . This judgment was significant in confirming that even a crypto exchange (if holding stolen assets) can be ordered to return stolen coins as constructive trustee .

Tulip Trading Ltd v Bitcoin Association & Ors – (High Court [2022] EWHC 667 (Ch); Court of Appeal [2023] EWCA Civ 83) – Tulip Trading, a company controlled by Dr. Craig Wright, claimed it lost access to Bitcoin worth around $4 billion due to a hack. Unknown persons hacked Dr. Wright’s home network in early 2020 and stole the private keys to two Bitcoin addresses holding approximately 111,000 BTC . With the keys gone, Tulip was effectively deprived of its Bitcoin (the thieves could move or sell the funds). Unable to identify the hackers, Tulip took the unprecedented step of suing 16 Bitcoin core developers, arguing that since they maintain the Bitcoin software, they owed fiduciary or tortious duties to introduce a software “patch” to help restore Tulip’s stolen coins . The High Court initially struck out the claim, but in 2023 the Court of Appeal held there was a “serious issue to be tried” on whether developers might owe a limited duty in such circumstances . Central to the case is the nature of the fraud: a cyber-intrusion and theft of cryptographic keys. The hackers’ breach meant Tulip’s Bitcoin was irretrievably taken, exemplifying how control of crypto can be lost through hacking even without the protocol itself being compromised. (The case now proceeds to trial on the developers’ duties, but it underscores the massive stakes when billions in crypto are stolen by anonymous attackers.)

LMN v Bitflyer Holdings Inc & Ors [2022] EWHC 2954 (Comm) – LMN, a U.K.-based cryptocurrency exchange, suffered a serious hack in 2020, resulting in “millions of dollars’ worth” of various cryptoassets being illicitly transferred out of LMN’s customer wallets . The thieves siphoned the assets through numerous transactions; however, LMN’s forensic experts traced the stolen crypto to deposit addresses at six international exchanges (including Bitflyer and others) where the funds had landed . Because the wrongdoers were unidentified, LMN sued the exchanges’ holding companies to obtain information. The High Court (Butcher J) embraced the new CPR 6.36 service gateway for fraud, allowing LMN to serve out of jurisdiction, and granted extensive disclosure orders (Bankers Trust orders) against the foreign exchanges . The exchanges were compelled to hand over KYC records and transaction details for accounts linked to the hack . This enabled LMN to pursue the ultimate perpetrators. The fraud itself was a straightforward exchange hack: attackers breached LMN’s security and stole digital assets directly from the exchange’s wallets, then attempted to hide by spreading the loot across multiple trading platforms. The case demonstrates the English courts’ willingness to assist victims in tracing and recovering crypto by piercing through exchange anonymity when hackers strike .

United Kingdom – Criminal Case

R v Zhimin Qian (Southwark Crown Court, 2025) – Qian Zhimin, a Chinese national, was prosecuted in the UK as the mastermind of a massive Ponzi scheme that operated in China and laundered its proceeds through Bitcoin. Between 2014 and 2017, Qian’s company defrauded approximately 128,000 investors in China, raising roughly ¥40 billion (≈£5.5 billion) with false promises of high returns . About ¥6 billion (£840 million) of the victims’ money was siphoned off by the conspirators and used to purchase over 61,000 BTC, which Qian held to conceal the funds . She fled to London with these Bitcoin. In 2021, Scotland Yard seized Qian’s crypto stash (worth over $6 billion by 2025) – the largest cryptocurrency seizure ever . Qian pleaded guilty to money laundering and was sentenced in 2025 to 11 years 8 months’ imprisonment . The fraudulent conduct in this case was a colossal Ponzi investment scam: Qian’s operation conned victims into investing in a fake wealth scheme, then converted a chunk of the fraud’s fiat proceeds into Bitcoin to hide and later cash out. This cross-border scheme underscores how cryptocurrency is used to launder the fruits of fraud on a vast scale – in Qian’s case, turning billions from a pyramid scheme into anonymized digital assets.

International Cases – Criminal

United States v. Peraire-Bueno (S.D.N.Y. indictment 2024) – Brothers James and Anton Peraire-Bueno (MIT-educated developers) were charged in the US with a first-of-its-kind crypto fraud that exploited the mechanics of the Ethereum blockchain. Prosecutors alleged the brothers spent months planning a “high-speed bait-and-switch” attack on automated trading bots . In April 2023, they executed a 12-second sequence of malicious transactions that lured rival traders’ bots into a trap and drained about $25 million in cryptocurrency from those victims’ accounts . Specifically, the pair discovered a vulnerability in MEV-boost (software used by Ethereum validators) and manipulated block validation to include a deceptive bundle of trades . They made a trade that appeared highly profitable to algorithmic bots, tricking the bots into biting; but the trade had a hidden payload that redirected value to the brothers’ own accounts at the moment of block confirmation . Essentially, they tampered with blockchain consensus to pickpocket other traders. The case went to trial in late 2025. While the first jury deadlocked (resulting in a mistrial) , the prosecution vividly illustrated a new form of crypto fraud: exploiting smart-contract and blockchain protocols to outwit victims’ software and steal crypto without traditional “hacking” of accounts. (US authorities intend to retry the case, underscoring its importance in drawing the line between aggressive trading and criminal fraud.)

United States v. James Zhong (S.D.N.Y. 2022 conviction) – Zhong pulled off one of the largest Bitcoin thefts on record by exploiting a vulnerability in the Silk Road dark web marketplace. In September 2012, the then-22-year-old discovered that by rapidly sending withdrawal requests to Silk Road’s Bitcoin wallet (using a bug that allowed multiple withdrawals for a single deposit), he could trick the system into paying out far more Bitcoin than he put in . Using a series of dummy accounts and a “double-click” exploit on the withdrawal button, Zhong stole approximately 50,000 BTC from Silk Road in a matter of days . (At the time, those coins were worth only around $600k; by 2021 their value exceeded $3.3 billion.) Zhong then hid the coins for nearly a decade, moving them through mixing services and stashing the keys in devices (even a single-board computer concealed in a Cheetos popcorn tin) . He was finally caught in 2021 when agents traced some blockchain clues and raided his Georgia home, finding 50,676 BTC. Zhong pleaded guilty to wire fraud for the 2012 theft , and in 2023 he was sentenced to one year in prison. This extraordinary case of fraudulent asset appropriation hinged on technical manipulation of a crypto platform: Zhong didn’t con a person, but rather exploited a software flaw to make Silk Road’s system erroneously transfer him vast amounts of Bitcoin .

R v Cameron Redman (Ontario Superior Court, 2023) – A Canadian teenager, Cameron Redman, was convicted for a SIM-swap heist that stole cryptocurrency now valued at $37 million. On 22 February 2020, Redman hijacked the mobile phone number of a Los Angeles-based crypto investor by tricking the phone company into a SIM card swap . With control of the victim’s number, Redman intercepted SMS-based two-factor authentication codes and breached the victim’s online wallets. He then drained 1,547 BTC and 60,000 BCH (Bitcoin Cash) from the victim’s accounts – worth about $37 million at the time . After stealing the coins, the youth laundered them through hundreds of micro-transactions and multiple exchanges to obscure the trail . He was eventually caught by a joint investigation involving an on-chain analyst (who linked him to subsequent social media hacks) and Canadian police. In 2025, Redman – then an adult – was sentenced to 12 months in prison and ordered to pay restitution . This case typifies the “SIM swap” fraud vector, wherein criminals seize control of a victim’s phone number to bypass security and thereby steal large sums of cryptocurrency. The fraudulent conduct was essentially identity theft and unauthorized access: Redman impersonated the victim to the phone carrier, then used that access to breach crypto wallets and transfer out digital assets .

U.S. v. Nicholas Truglia (S.D.N.Y. 2021 plea) – Another notable SIM-swap case involved Nicholas Truglia, who was part of a ring that targeted wealthy crypto holders. Truglia and co-conspirators fraudulently ported victims’ phone numbers and then used the access to steal over $20 million in cryptocurrency from just one victim, blockchain investor Michael Terpin . Truglia helped launder the proceeds by using his own Binance account to convert and transfer some of the stolen coins . In a related civil suit, a California court entered a $75.8 million judgment against Truglia for the theft . Criminally, Truglia pleaded guilty to wire fraud conspiracy in New York and was later sentenced to 18 months in federal prison . The scheme exemplified how fraudsters social-engineer mobile providers and then raid victims’ crypto wallets, with Truglia brazenly boasting online about his illicit gains (which he spent on luxury watches, cars, and nights out) . Both the Redman and Truglia cases show that while the technology is cutting-edge, the core fraud – stealing credentials to misappropriate assets – remains an age-old story of theft, only now the “loot” is digital currency.

Each of these cases paints a piece of the larger narrative of cryptocurrency fraud in recent years. From Ponzi schemers and exchange hackers to deceitful investment platforms, protocol exploits, and SIM-swapping identity thieves, the courts have grappled with novel facts but a common theme: fraudsters prey on trust and technical gaps to separate victims from their cryptoassets. In response, courts in the UK and internationally are adapting traditional legal remedies to this new landscape – freezing wallets worldwide, compelling exchanges to divulge information, recognizing crypto as property, and even permitting service via blockchain – all in service of the fundamental goal of undoing the fraud or at least holding the perpetrators to account . The above cases, taken together, form an analytical chronicle of how cryptocurrencies have been stolen through fraudulent conduct and how the legal system is evolving to meet the challenge. Each scenario differs in method – whether by deception, extortion, code manipulation, or identity theft – but all underscore that while the technology is new, the law’s ultimate task remains age-old: tracing “what has become of the property” and providing justice for those defrauded.

Why Lord Devlin described the jury as ‘the lamp that shows that freedom lives.’

Trial by Jury: A History of Liberty’s Final Safeguard

London, 1670 – A tense hush fell over the courtroom at the Old Bailey. Twelve men – a jury of ordinary Londoners – sat gaunt and unyielding after two nights locked up without food, water, or heat. They had been imprisoned by a furious judge for defying his instructions. The jurors had refused to convict two Quakers, William Penn and William Mead, accused of unlawful assembly under the Conventicle Act, an oppressive law barring religious gatherings outside the Church of England . The evidence was clear that Penn and Mead had preached to a crowd in Gracechurch Street; in the judge’s eyes, they were guilty. Yet the jurors believed the law itself was unjust. In a final dramatic moment, the jury again delivered its verdict: Not Guilty . The judge, incensed, fined each juror for contempt and ordered them back to prison until the fines were paid . But one stubborn juror, Edward Bushel, refused to be silenced. He sought a writ of habeas corpus to challenge his imprisonment. The result was a landmark ruling by Chief Justice Sir John Vaughan, who held that jurors cannot be punished for their verdicts. The jury’s decision was its own – a principle that established what we now know as jury independence . This defiant episode, later immortalized as Bushel’s Case (1670), would echo through history as a triumph of the jury’s role as a safeguard of liberty.

“no tyrant could afford to leave a subject’s freedom in the hands of 12 of his countrymen.”   Authoritarian rulers understood that an independent jury stood in the way of oppression.

This gripping tale is just one chapter in the long history of trial by jury. From its medieval origins in England to its enshrinement in American democracy, the jury has evolved into what one English judge famously called “the lamp that shows that freedom lives” . The idea that twelve ordinary citizens can stand as the final protection against unjust laws and government overreach is a cornerstone of the Anglo-American legal tradition. How did this institution come to hold such a crucial place in our concept of justice and democracy? To answer that, we journey back to the jury’s origins under English common law and trace its development as the ultimate guardian of liberty.

Medieval Origins: From Ancient Customs to Magna Carta

The concept of community judgment has deep roots, reaching back to ancient and medieval practices. Long before the jury as we know it, societies experimented with collective decision-making in disputes. As early as the 5th century BCE, for example, ancient Greeks convened large citizen juries – sometimes hundreds of men – to decide legal cases . Closer to home, Anglo-Saxon England had its own proto-jury customs. The Danes who settled in England brought with them the habit of convening groups of local men (often twelve in number) to investigate crimes and swear to findings on oath . In the 10th century, King Æthelred the Unready issued a decree at Wantage requiring twelve leading thegns of each district to investigate accusations without bias – a foreshadowing of the jury, though these early “juries” were self-informing, meaning the jurors themselves gathered evidence rather than receiving it in a trial .

The Norman Conquest of 1066 brought new momentum to the idea. The Normans had used sworn inquests in Normandy and soon applied similar methods in England. By the 12th century, the institution began taking a more recognizable shape under the reforms of King Henry II. Henry II, eager to improve royal justice, issued the Assize of Clarendon (1166) and other edicts that made use of juries of local men. He established the practice of using a “grand assize” – a jury of twelve knights – to resolve land disputes, moving away from violent trial by combat . He also created early grand juries to report crimes in each area to travelling judges (known as justices in eyre) . At this stage, jurors were not impartial strangers but people from the community who were expected to know the facts or investigate them. Importantly, if the grand jury accused someone of a serious crime, the accused would be sent to trial by ordeal – a supernatural test of guilt.

A turning point came in 1215. In that year, two events converged to transform English justice. First, the Catholic Church forbade clergy from participating in trial by ordeal, effectively ending the practice . Without the religious sanction of ordeals, English courts needed a new way to determine guilt. The solution was to have juries – which until then had mainly accused suspects – take on the role of deciding guilt or innocence at trial. Second, in June 1215, English barons compelled King John to seal the Magna Carta, the “Great Charter” of liberties. One of its most famous clauses (Article 39) proclaimed that “No free man shall be … imprisoned or dispossessed … except by the lawful judgment of his peers or by the law of the land.” . This clause enshrined the principle that the government could not punish a person except through due process, which for serious offenses came to mean judgment by a jury of one’s equals. Although phrased in feudal terms (“peers” meaning social equals), this promise is often seen as a foundational guarantee of trial by jury. The legacy of Magna Carta’s jury principle would resonate for centuries, profoundly influencing both British and American views on the rights of the accused .

In the generations after Magna Carta, trial by jury gradually solidified as the standard mode of deciding criminal cases in England. The old trials by ordeal or combat disappeared. Juries became separate bodies of twelve local freemen, taking an oath to render a true verdict based on evidence. By the Late Middle Ages, the basic framework of the petit jury (trial jury) and grand jury was established. Crucially, unlike decisions by royal judges or officials, a jury’s verdict represented a collective judgment of common people. This made the jury a buffer between the accused and the power of the state. By the 17th century, as one legal historian notes, the right to trial by jury was “pretty well established in English common law” and regarded as “a fundamental right and an essential safeguard against arbitrary rule” . Juries were by then entrenched as a check on monarchial authority – but it would take dramatic clashes in that century to prove just how vital and independent this check could be.

“The Lamp That Shows That Freedom Lives”

As political and religious conflicts roiled England in the 1600s, juries often found themselves at the heart of the struggle between authority and liberty. Rulers who sought to silence dissent encountered an inconvenient truth: a jury of citizens might refuse to convict no matter what the authorities decreed. This power – sometimes praised as the people’s “nullification” of unjust laws – made juries a critical shield for individual rights. The English experience in this era cemented the jury’s image as, in the ringing words of later jurist Lord Devlin, “more than an instrument of justice and more than one wheel of the constitution: it is the lamp that shows that freedom lives.”

Lord Devlin’s warning was clear: “no tyrant could afford to leave a subject’s freedom in the hands of 12 of his countrymen.”   Authoritarian rulers understood that an independent jury stood in the way of oppression. In the Stuart period, monarchs like Charles I and James II tried to suppress this safeguard – whether by manipulating juries, using intimidation, or bypassing juries altogether with courts like the Star Chamber. Yet time and again, English jurors demonstrated a stubborn streak. Bushel’s Case in 1670, recounted earlier, was one such instance, where jurors suffered to uphold their conscience. Another famous example came in 1688 with the Trial of the Seven Bishops. James II prosecuted seven Anglican bishops for seditious libel when they petitioned against his decree on religious toleration. The judges in that trial were split and leaned on the jury to toe the line. But after a night of intense deliberation, the jury boldly returned verdicts of Not Guilty . When news of the bishops’ acquittal spread, London erupted in cheers. The verdict was seen as a victory of the church and people against a tyrannical royal policy – so much so that it helped spur the Glorious Revolution shortly after, toppling James II from the throne . Historians note that this was one of the first major instances of a jury openly defying the government’s will and “nullifying” an unjust law . The lesson was not lost on the American colonists, who later celebrated the bishops’ case as a shining example of popular justice triumphing over a king’s edict .

Across the Atlantic, the American colonies eagerly adopted the English jury tradition, seeing it as a birthright of Englishmen. Colonial juries often clashed with royal governors, refusing to enforce unpopular laws like trade duties and censorship. In one celebrated case in 1735, a New York jury saved a printer named John Peter Zenger from the clutches of British authority. Zenger had been charged with seditious libel for publishing articles critical of the colonial governor. At the time, under English law, truth was no defense to libel – in fact, admitting the publication was enough for conviction, and judges instructed juries only to consider the fact of publication, not the justness of the law. During Zenger’s trial, the judge duly told the jury to focus narrowly on whether Zenger printed the offending material . Andrew Hamilton, Zenger’s brilliant defense lawyer, implored the jurors to see the bigger picture: “It is not the cause of one poor printer,” he thundered to them, “It is the cause of liberty.” The jurors got the message. Despite the judge’s instruction, they took only a short time to return a verdict of Not Guilty, sparking applause in the courtroom . This astonishing acquittal – effectively ignoring the letter of the law – did not formally change British jurisprudence (indeed, English courts continued to reject truth-as-defense in libel for decades). But the Zenger trial became a legend. It galvanized early American opinion about free expression and the protective power of juries. Many years later, Founding Father Gouverneur Morris would dub Zenger’s case “the germ of American freedom, the morning star” of liberty in the New World . The case, as the New York Courts historical society observes, “reinforced the role of the jury as a curb on executive power.”

By the late 18th century, the jury was firmly embedded in the constitutional fabric on both sides of the Atlantic. The newly independent United States wrote the jury right into its founding documents. The U.S. Constitution of 1787, followed by the Bill of Rights (1791), guaranteed jury trials in criminal cases (Sixth Amendment) and in civil cases at common law (Seventh Amendment). The framers of the Constitution – deeply influenced by English common law and their own colonial experiences – viewed the jury as a crucial democratic institution. As one modern scholar notes, “To the framers, the jury was a fundamental part of our democracy and a check on potential government overreach and abuse.” John Adams, reflecting the consensus of the Founding Fathers, wrote that “representative government and trial by jury are the heart and lungs of liberty. Without them we have no other fortification against being ridden like horses, fleeced like sheep, worked like cattle, and fed and clothed like swine.” In England, too, the right to jury trial in serious cases became seen as part of the “ancient liberties of Englishmen,” protected in the evolving British constitutional system. Even as the British Parliament gained supremacy after the Glorious Revolution, juries remained a vital check on the executive and a symbol of popular sovereignty in the courts.

Juries Against Unjust Laws: Examples Through the Ages

The true power of the jury to protect liberty is most dramatically illustrated when jurors openly reject the enforcement of laws they perceive as unjust. History provides striking examples – in both England and America – of juries that stood up to legal authority in the name of conscience or common sense.

One of the earliest we have noted was Bushel’s Case (1670) involving William Penn. In freeing Penn and Mead, those London jurors set a precedent that jurors could follow the “voice of justice” rather than the strict letter of the law. Indeed, Bushel’s Case “established what we now know as jury independence”, affirming that a jury’s role is not to simply rubber-stamp the government’s charges . The Trial of the Seven Bishops (1688) further proved that even venerable church leaders were not above being defended by the common folk against royal overreach – the jury’s bold verdict was hailed as a triumph of religious and civil liberty .

In the American context, after the Zenger trial showed the path, juries continued to wield their liberty-protecting power. Prior to the Revolutionary War, colonial juries frequently refused to convict their neighbors for violating British trade restrictions (like the Stamp Act and Navigation Acts), thwarting imperial enforcement. Later, in the 19th century, Northern juries sometimes declined to convict abolitionists under the harsh Fugitive Slave Act – effectively nullifying a law that required them to return escaped enslaved people. During the Prohibition era (1920–33) in the U.S., many juries acquitted bootleggers and speakeasy operators despite clear evidence, as the public’s opposition to the alcohol ban made convictions hard to obtain. All these instances reflected a view that the conscience of the community, as embodied in the jury, can mitigate or resist laws that conflict with fundamental values.

Perhaps one of the most striking modern examples of an English jury guarding against an unjust application of law is the case of Clive Ponting in 1985. Ponting was a British civil servant who leaked information about the government’s conduct in the Falklands War – specifically revealing that officials had misled Parliament about the circumstances of the sinking of an Argentine warship. He was charged under the Official Secrets Act for disclosing classified information. At trial, Ponting did not deny that he broke the law; his only plea was that the public had a right to know the truth – essentially, that his breach served the public interest. The judge, however, instructed the jury that “public interest” was not a lawful defense, pointedly saying “the public interest is what the government of the day says it is.” He all but directed them to convict . In a dramatic illustration of the jury’s independent authority, the jurors defied the judge’s direction and acquitted Ponting . Observers were stunned – it was, by legal definition, a “perverse verdict” since the jury consciously went against the judge’s interpretation of the law . Yet it was widely celebrated as a victory for accountability and citizen common sense. The Los Angeles Times noted that the case became a test of Britain’s secrecy laws, and supporters greeted the not guilty verdict with cheers . The Ponting jurors, like those in Zenger’s trial two centuries earlier, had intuitively grasped the broader stakes. Their refusal to brand a whistleblower a criminal echoed the principle that the jury serves as the community’s “conscience” in the face of heavy-handed laws. The acquittal so embarrassed the government that it prompted reform – the Official Secrets Act was later tightened to prevent such leeway, but the point had been made: a jury of citizens had the last word.

These episodes underscore a powerful fact: juries can, and sometimes do, act as a bulwark against injustice, even when that means flouting the letter of the law. This power is not officially part of jury instructions – judges do not tell jurors they may disregard the law – but it exists as a side effect of the secrecy of jury deliberations and the finality of verdicts. Throughout history, this has been both celebrated and controversial. Critics argue that jury nullification (as lawyers call it) undermines the rule of law and can lead to uneven outcomes. Supporters reply that it is a crucial safety valve in a free society, ensuring that conscience and equity can prevail over cruel or absurd applications of law. As one commentator put it, the citizen jury is “a vital check on the exercise of government power” – an institution that places law in the hands of the people, not just the authorities.

The Jury: Democracy’s Last Defense

As we reflect on the journey from medieval England to the modern courtroom, one theme shines through: the jury has persistently been the citizen’s shield against tyranny. It injects a dose of democracy into the judicial process, by interposing ordinary citizens between the accused and the state. When Alexis de Tocqueville studied American democracy in the 1830s, he remarked that the jury is not just a judicial institution but a fundamentally political one, teaching citizens their rights and responsibilities in a free society. In England, Sir William Blackstone long ago lauded trial by jury as the “palladium of English liberty,” a fortress of the common law. And in our own time, judges and lawyers still extol the jury’s role. Lord Devlin’s evocative metaphor – “the lamp that shows that freedom lives” – captures how the presence of a jury illuminates the justice system with legitimacy . It reassures us that however powerful the government, ultimate judgment rests with the people themselves.

Of course, the institution has never been perfect or beyond criticism. Juries are composed of human beings with all the potential for bias, error, or emotion that that entails. There have been miscarriages of justice, and times when prejudices of jurors led to unjust verdicts. Yet, the answer to these flaws has usually been more engagement and diversity in juries, rather than less. The alternative – judges or officials deciding alone behind closed doors – carries its own dangers of elitism and abuse. The enduring mystique of the jury comes from the notion that, in the end, common citizens collectively possess a wisdom, or at least a fairness, that acts as a check on rulers.

Today, whether in England, the United States, or any democracy that inherited the common law tradition, the jury remains a cherished institution. It is the citizen’s final line of defense in a courtroom when laws or their application seem to conflict with justice. As long as juries stand independent and resolute, any would-be tyrant must fear that twelve everyday people could block the enforcement of unjust dictates . In the grand narrative of freedom, the jury’s story illustrates a profound democratic truth: the power of the people’s judgment can prevail over the might of kings, parliaments, or presidents. In the darkest of times, we look for a light to assure us that liberty lives on. That lamp is the jury – and as history shows, when it burns brightly, freedom is safe.

MARK LORRELL

MILLENNIUM CHAMBERS

5 December 2025

Endnotes:

Bushel’s Case (1670) – Jurors in William Penn’s trial refuse to convict under Conventicle Act and establish jury independence . Magna Carta (1215) – Established the principle of judgment by one’s peers as a safeguard of liberty . Devlin, Lord Patrick (1956) – Quote: “Trial by jury is the lamp that shows that freedom lives,” highlighting the jury’s role as bulwark against tyranny . Seven Bishops’ Trial (1688) – Jury acquittal of seven bishops charged with seditious libel against James II, seen as a landmark in asserting popular will against royal authority . John Peter Zenger Trial (1735) – Colonial American jury defied judges’ instructions to acquit Zenger of seditious libel, early example of jury nullification in defense of a free press . John Adams (1774) – Forefather’s view that representative government and trial by jury are the “heart and lungs of liberty,” underscoring their importance as protections against oppression . Clive Ponting Case (1985) – British jury acquitted a civil servant who leaked government secrets in the public interest, despite a judge’s direction to convict under the Official Secrets Act . This exemplified the jury as a public conscience. Additional References: Historical development of juries in England (Henry II’s reforms, end of trial by ordeal) ; the jury as democratic check on power ; and modern commentary on juries’ role and challenges .

Trafalgar and the question of knowledge: How the High Court investigates ‘blind eyed wilfulness.’

As counsel acting in the Trafalgar Pension Fraud I had first row seats to observe the judge’s inquiries into the defendants various states of knowledge.

Nelson’s famous gesture in putting the telescope to his blind eye is, in truth, the perfect emblem of blind‑eyed nullic wilfulness. He was not incapacitated from seeing; he was perfectly aware that, by choosing that eye, he could not see the signal that would have constrained him. The act is theatrical precisely because it is so self‑conscious: he converts a physical defect into a device for disclaiming knowledge, while proceeding exactly as he intends.

In that moment Nelson does what the law so often scrutinises: he engineers his own ignorance. He does not stumble into breach, he arranges not to see the order that would prevent it. The blindness is literal, but the decision to look with the blind eye is deliberate. It is this combination — capacity for knowledge, coupled with a contrived refusal to receive it — that makes his gesture the paradigm of blind‑eyed nullic wilfulness.

The Trafalgar litigation is a study in how English courts decide what defendants knew in a civil fraud—and what follows if they chose not to know. Deputy High Court Judge Nicholas Thompsell did not mince words about the landscape: “the arrangements are so rife with illegality and other types of unlawfulness, that one hardly knows where to begin” ([312]). 

The cast was large. James Hadley fronted the scheme; there were recruiters and “advisers”; money washed through investee companies (including Titan Capital Partners and CGrowth Capital Bond), with Platinum Pyramid (PPL) and Mr Thwaite in the mix on the bribery strand. By the end of a five‑week trial, most of the important questions boiled down to this: who knew what, and when? The answer determined conspiracy, dishonest assistance, knowing receipt—and ultimately who pays.

The legal compass: knowledge across the causes of action

Conspiracy: the facts must be known; the law needn’t be

On unlawful means conspiracy, the judge set out the modern position crisply. “It is settled law that, a claimant need not demonstrate that the defendant knew that the unlawful acts relied upon were unlawful, but he/she must know of the relevant facts that render the acts unlawful. However, blind‑eye knowledge will suffice” ([258]). 

This is a practical rule. A conspirator cannot hide behind legal ignorance: if you know the factual set‑up (conflicts undisclosed; financial promotions unapproved; the “advice” anything but independent), you carry the knowledge required for conspiracy—even if you never opened a statute book ([257]–[258]). 

Blind‑eye knowledge: Nelson in Chancery

The judge then explains blind‑eye knowledge with a tale fit for this case’s title: Nelson puts the telescope to his blind eye at Copenhagen ([259]). What matters in law is (i) a suspicion that certain facts may exist, and (ii) a conscious decision not to confirm them (Manifest Shipping The Star Sea) ([260]). Lord Scott’s well‑known gloss: the suspicion must be “firmly grounded and targeted on specific facts,” and the decision must be to avoid confirming facts “in whose existence the individual has good reason to believe” ([261]). 

Put simply: wilful ignorance counts as knowledge; mere vagueness does not.

Dishonest assistance: the Royal Brunei frame and the “two‑part” test

On dishonest assistance, the judgment restates the core proposition from Royal Brunei v Tan: it is a “liability in equity to make good resulting loss [which] attaches to a person who dishonestly procures or assists a breach of trust or fiduciary obligation” ([265]). 

The elements are familiar—(i) breach of fiduciary duty by another, (ii) assistance, (iii) dishonesty—and the judge states “The test for dishonesty is a two‑part test” ([267]). In application, he asks whether, given what the defendant actually believed and knew, their conduct would be regarded as dishonest by the standards of ordinary decent people—an approach he later applies expressly at [503].   

Knowing (unconscionable) receipt: Akindele distilled

For knowing receipt, the court quotes Nourse LJ’s tidy standard in BCCI v Akindele: “the recipient’s state of knowledge must be such as to make it unconscionable for him to retain the benefit of the receipt” ([511]). That “simple formulation” is designed to enable common‑sense decisions in commercial cases ([512]). 

So much for the framework. How did it play out person by person?

The “Original Conspiracy”: who joined, what they knew

First, the judge found a combination between Mr Hadley, Mr Talbot and Mr Chapman‑Clark ([309]). As to intent: “the whole point of the arrangements was to profit from the Fund… [so] the loss to the Claimant was the inevitable consequence of the gains looked for by the conspirators” ([310]). He had no time for Mr Hadley’s line that the investments were commercial and intended to benefit Trafalgar—“bears no credence whatsoever” ([311]). Then the killer paragraph: the “unlawful means” element was satisfied many times over, the arrangements being “so rife with illegality” ([312]).   

The “illegality” was not airy abstraction. The court lists it: unlawful financial promotions; the pretence of independent advice while conflicts were rampant; breaches of regulatory rules; likely breach of appointed representative agreements; and breach of the general prohibition (managing investments while unauthorised) ([312] and following).   

Mr Lloyd: red flags, blind eyes, and joining the combination

The judgment devotes a long section to Mr Mark Lloyd and his company Pinnacle. It is worth reading carefully, because it shows the court building knowledge not from confessions but from context.

Against the grain of some fraud cases, the judge accepts an important human point: Mr Lloyd appears genuinely to have believed he wasn’t doing anything unlawful, and he was open in his dealings (his own contact details used; no nominee smokescreens; even introductions of retired police officers) ([340]). In short, this was not a pantomime villain. But that did not save him from liability for conspiracy and dishonest assistance. 

Why? Because blind‑eye knowledge does the heavy lifting. The court concludes Mr Lloyd “knew, or should have known, had he not turned a blind eye” that: (i) he was due substantial commission from Mr Talbot/Transeuro; (ii) that commission depended on a so‑called independent adviser funnelling pensions into the Fund and the Fund investing 90% into underlying investments paying 20%+ commissions; (iii) investors were relying on an investment brochure not approved by any authorised person and not disclosing those commissions; and (iv) with the true picture disclosed, investors would have been very unlikely to invest ([337]). He then adds a further “blind‑eye” point: Mr Lloyd accepted large payments from unexpected sources—including an escrow set up for the Quantum transaction and sums from Momentum—without the proper enquiries ([338]). This, the judge says, ought to have put him on notice ([338]–[339]). 

From there, the legal steps follow. On conspiracy, the court applies Racing Partnership and notes it is not necessary to prove Mr Lloyd knew the acts were unlawful, only that he knew the facts that made them so ([341]). He “knew enough” to realise his commission arrangements would only occur in circumstances likely to damage the Fund, and thus he was “implicated in the Original Conspiracy” ([342]). 

There is also a clean regulatory point: the court finds it “unarguable” that Lloyd’s team breached the financial promotion restriction in s.21 FSMA by communicating the brochure in the UK ([345]–[348]). The evidence suggested exemptions could not apply, and his lack of awareness did not help ([349]–[351]). 

The upshot is collected in the remedies section: Lloyd and Pinnacle were part of the Original Conspiracy; they rendered dishonest assistance and were liable in unconscionable receipt, with equitable compensation to follow ([622]–[624]). 

Titan and Mr Jones: knowledge that exculpates

Not every defendant fell the same way. Mr Andrew Jones (for Titan) provides the counterpoint. On dishonest assistance, the court identifies the three elements and then addresses dishonesty. It accepts Mr Jones’ evidence that he challenged Mr Hadley about conflicts, received reassurances, and genuinely thought he was dealing with an honest man. Applying the two‑stage dishonesty test, the judge could not see that, “with the beliefs that he had,” Mr Jones’ or Titan’s conduct would be regarded as dishonest by the standards of ordinary decent people ([503]). 

That conclusion echoes through the other causes. On bribery, the court reasons sympathetically: the arrangements do not reach the Bribery Act threshold for Titan and Mr Jones ([506]–[507]); and on unconscionable receipt, the court aligns with Akindele: given Mr Jones’ understanding that conflicts had been approved by Trafalgar’s Board, it was not unconscionable for Titan to retain payment ([511]–[514]).   

This is the same knowledge analysis in reverse: where the court accepts good‑faith belief based on reasonable assurances, the mental element fails and the claim falls away. The result is recorded with finality: the claimant failed on conspiracy, dishonest assistance, and unconscionable receipt against Titan ([625]). 

CGrowth, PPL and Mr Thwaite: knowledge by agency and the bribery spine

The CGrowth strand turns on bribery and attribution of knowledge. Before trial, the Court of Appeal had already torpedoed the “timing” and “knowledge” defences on bribery, holding that both were fanciful, and striking out PPL and Mr Thwaite’s defences (with damages to be assessed) ([120]–[127]). The knowledge point failed for want of any proper pleading or disclosure showing fully informed consent to the commission payments ([126]). 

At trial, the judge goes further. He has “no hesitation” finding CGrowth vicariously liable for bribery on the introducer agreement ([588]–[589]). For knowing receipt, he reasons neatly through Akindele: CGrowth received the money and—crucially—its agent PPL (Mr Thwaite) had the knowledge; following the second principle in Meridian Global, CGrowth is therefore fixed with its agent’s knowledge ([590], with the rules of attribution summarised at [462]). That satisfies the third element of knowing receipt. The judge stops short of pinning personal knowledge on Mr Wright, but the company is liable ([590]–[591]).   

The consequences are stiff. On the CGrowth bonds, the court grants a declaration that the purchase contracts are void and orders restitution exceeding £5.46m, alongside damages for bribery and equitable compensation for dishonest assistance ([632]). The reasoning again turns on knowledge and its attribution: CGrowth knew enough—through its agent—to be liable. 

How the judge used “knowledge” as a scalpel

Look at the pattern:

First, the court fixes the factual matrix—who did what, on what terms, what was said, what wasn’t. Second, the court tests what each defendant knew or suspected, and whether they chose not to ask. Third, the court slots that state of mind into the right doctrinal box: conspiracy (knowledge of facts; blind‑eye acceptable), dishonest assistance (Royal Brunei and the two‑part “ordinary decent people” test), or Akindele (unconscionability at the time of receipt).

The judge even pauses to articulate why regulatory offences under FSMA (s.23 “general prohibition” and s.24 “financial promotions”) typically carry deception and can be treated, for privilege analysis, as “relative offences”—again signalling that knowing the factual set‑up matters more than disclaimers of legal awareness ([178]–[186]). 

The Lloyd findings show knowledge built from context: high commissions, conflicted “advice”, unapproved promotions, and payments from odd places. That cocktail justified a finding of blind‑eye knowledge and, with Racing Partnership, made out conspiracy without proving he knew chapter‑and‑verse unlawfulness ([337]–[343]). 

The Titan findings illustrate knowledge that exculpates: reasonable reliance on an apparent insider (Hadley), assurances taken in good faith, and no dishonest motive. Result: no dishonesty, no unconscionability, and the claims fail ([503], [511]–[514]).   

The CGrowth findings show knowledge by attribution: once you accept your agent’s corrupt route to the funds, the company knows, and liabilities cascade accordingly ([590], [632]).   

A word on remedies and perspective

The judgment’s coda is humane and blunt in equal measure. “One’s heart goes out to the pension investors,” the judge writes, noting their loss and the stress of long litigation ([636]). He identifies the cause without equivocation: “the cupidity of various individuals” who sought “considerable rewards at the expense of Trafalgar” and ultimately the pensioners ([637]). 

It is also practical. Even with findings in hand, recovery is uncertain; the court hopes for settlement to return money faster and curb costs ([638]–[640]). 

Takeaways for practitioners (and an honest reader)

Knowledge of facts is king. In conspiracy you needn’t prove a defendant knew the law; show they knew (or deliberately avoided knowing) the facts that make the conduct unlawful ([258]).  Blind eye beats “I didn’t know.” Targeted suspicion + deliberate non‑inquiry = knowledge; sloppy hunches do not ([260]–[261]).  Dishonesty is applied with common sense. The court judges conduct against the standards of “ordinary decent people,” informed by what the defendant actually believed ([503]).  Akindele remains the right yardstick. Ask whether, at receipt, the defendant’s knowledge made it unconscionable to keep the money ([511]).  Companies can’t hide behind structure. If your agent knows, the company may know (Meridian’s second principle), and liability can follow—as CGrowth learned ([462], [590]).   

If you want the plain‑English moral: when a scheme looks too good to be true, and the money arrives from unexpected places, a professional’s duty is to ask the hard questions. The law treats silence in the face of obvious red flags as knowledge. The Trafalgar judgment shows the court using that principle with precision—separating those who knew enough and played along from those whose good‑faith beliefs survived the microscope.

How to represent yourself in the courts of England & Wales.

Facing Your First Court Hearing: A Plain-English Guide from an English Barrister

Before your first hearing, treat the paperwork like an introduction at a business meeting. The claim form is your handshake: it says who you are, what happened, and what you want the court to do. Evidence is simply proof—documents, emails, photos—that back up your account; you gather it now so you’re not rummaging on the day. If you stumble across Latin or an intimidating rule, don’t worry; I’ll decode it as we go. The aim is not to impress with fancy language but to help the judge understand, quickly and clearly, why you’re right.

Picture this: you’re standing at the court’s entrance with your files in hand. Representing yourself can feel daunting, but solid preparation turns anxiety into confidence. I’m here to walk you through the process, step by step.

Preparing Your Case: Paperwork and Evidence

Paperwork is your first impression. Long before you see a judge, they will read your court papers. In fact, most judges read the case file before the hearing begins, forming opinions from what’s on paper . That’s why your claim form or written statement should be crystal clear. Think of it as your story’s outline. State who is involved, what happened, when and where it happened, and what you are asking the court to do about it. Don’t bury the key point – “lead with the ask,” as lawyers say . For example, if you’re suing for unpaid wages, start by saying “I am the claimant, seeking £5,000 in unpaid wages from my former employer for work done from June to August 2025.” This way, the judge knows immediately what you want and why.

Make it easy to follow. Use plain language and short sections. Imagine the judge flipping through your file – clear headings and a logical order help them grasp your case quickly . If you’ve submitted a Particulars of Claim (a detailed description of your case), ensure it reads like a well-organized story, not a jumble of accusations. Stick to the relevant facts and avoid angry rants or jargon. (Save the dramatic flourishes for TV lawyers – real judges hate that kind of theatrics .) The more straightforward and factual your writing, the more credible you appear.

Gather your evidence early and keep it organized. In court, evidence means anything that can prove what you’re saying . Think of yourself as assembling a puzzle for the judge, where each piece of evidence is a part of the picture. Typical pieces include: contracts or agreements, letters, emails or text messages, receipts and invoices, photographs of damage or faulty goods, and witness statements from people who saw or heard important events. Collect these as soon as possible and store them neatly – a dedicated folder (physical or digital) works well. It’s wise to sort evidence in chronological order and label each item clearly, so you can find things in a pinch . For instance, you might label documents as Exhibit 1: Email from 5 Jan 2025, Exhibit 2: Photo of leaky roof, and so on. Create a simple index listing all your evidence with brief descriptions . This index will be a roadmap for you and the judge, making it easy to flip to the right page when needed.

Key evidence prep steps: (1) Gather all relevant documents, photos, and correspondence in one place. (2) Sort them by date or topic and number the pages. (3) Write a one-page index (for example: “Page 1-5: Contract; Page 6-8: Emails; Page 9: Photo of damage”). (4) Make copies – one set for you, one for the judge, and one for the other side . If you have digital files (like emails or phone snapshots), print them out and also keep backups electronically. Judges appreciate a tidy bundle of evidence; it signals that you respect the court’s time and want to make things easy to understand .

Mind the deadlines. Along with your hearing notice, the court likely sent instructions (often called “directions”) telling you what must be done by when. Commonly, you and the other side must exchange evidence by a certain date and send copies to the court before the hearing. Pay close attention to these deadlines – they are not suggestions but orders. Missing a filing deadline or forgetting to send documents to the other side can have serious consequences. The court can refuse to look at late evidence, or even throw out your case for non-compliance . For example, if you were supposed to send your photographs to the defendant two weeks before the hearing and you didn’t, the judge might not allow you to use those photos at all. To avoid nasty surprises, make a checklist of all required steps and tick them off as you do them. If something goes wrong (say, a document is impossible to get in time), inform the court in advance and ask for guidance – don’t just show up empty-handed.

Prepare a court bundle (even if not asked). In small claims cases, the rules are a bit looser and you might not be formally required to provide a bound “trial bundle” like lawyers do. But assembling one is highly beneficial. A court bundle is simply an organized pack of all the important documents, usually with pages numbered consecutively and a table of contents at the front. Even for a simple case, a thin bundle with your claim form, key correspondence, and evidence in order can impress. It shows you’re organized and helps the judge navigate the material quickly . Include copies of all evidence you plan to rely on. Bring at least three copies of this bundle on the day – one for you, one for the judge (they may have their own file, but just in case), and one spare (for the witness or opponent if they need a copy) . Being able to say, “Judge, could you please turn to page 12 in the bundle – it’s the receipt for the repair costs,” makes the hearing run smoother . It allows the judge to follow along with minimal fuss, which is exactly what you want.

Example: Let’s say you’re claiming that a builder did a bad job on your kitchen and you had to pay someone else to fix it. In your evidence bundle you might have: the contract with the builder, text messages where you complained about the work, photos of the shoddy kitchen tiles, the invoice from the second builder who fixed it, and a receipt for what you paid. Arranged in order, these documents tell the story from start to finish. With an index and page numbers, you can quickly point the judge to the right piece: “the photo of the uneven tiling is on page 15, and the invoice I paid for re-tiling is on page 18.” This paints a clear, factual picture that supports your case.

Understanding the Process and the Jargon

Know what kind of hearing you’re walking into. Not every court hearing is a final showdown where a winner is declared on the spot. Sometimes the first hearing in a case is more of a planning session – for example, in a complicated case or in family court, the first hearing might just set a timetable for gathering evidence and schedule a later trial. Many people mistakenly assume the first hearing will resolve everything, when in fact it could be just to work out what happens next in the case . Check your court notice or any letters from the court: do they call it a “final hearing,” “trial,” “case management conference,” or perhaps a “directions hearing”? If you’re unsure, call the court office and ask. This affects how you prepare – if it’s a final hearing, you need all your evidence ready to go. If it’s a directions hearing, you should be prepared to discuss what needs to be done (e.g. “We will need 3 witness statements and an expert report, and about 3 hours of court time for the trial”). Don’t worry, even in a procedural hearing the judge will guide the discussion, but knowing the purpose of the hearing helps you not to over- or under-prepare.

Learn the basic rules of the game. Court procedures might seem foreign, but they are based on common-sense principles of fairness and order. In England and Wales, the Civil Procedure Rules (CPR) are the official playbook for civil cases, and the Family Procedure Rules (FPR) for family cases . You are not expected to have every rule memorized – even lawyers constantly look them up. However, it’s useful to familiarize yourself with the parts that apply to you. For example, if you’re in small claims court (a claim under £10,000 in the County Court), Part 27 of the CPR outlines the small claims process. The rules tell you things like when evidence must be disclosed, how to format witness statements, and so on. The good news is that courts do cut self-represented folks a little slack: you’ll have the same responsibilities and obligations as a lawyer, but judges may give you reasonable accommodations to help you understand the process . In plain terms, that means you can’t ignore the rules, but the judge might explain things or forgive minor mistakes in procedure. Your job is to make a genuine effort to follow the rules that you know, and ask for clarification when needed.

If you have time, browse guides made for non-lawyers. There are excellent free resources (Advicenow, Citizens Advice, Bar Council guides) that translate legal procedure into plain English. They can help you know what to expect at each stage. Also, if you haven’t already, consider getting a bit of legal advice before the hearing – even a single session with a solicitor or at a free legal clinic can clarify your strategy. And do check if you’re eligible for legal aid or free representation: for instance, if you can’t afford a lawyer, see if a law centre or charity can help . It’s better to find out early if any help is available.

Don’t be intimidated by “legalese” or Latin terms. The law has a reputation for arcane language – indeed, Latin phrases still pop up regularly (a quirk of tradition, since Latin was the language of law in medieval times). But behind every Latin or archaic term is a simple concept. For example, “without prejudice” on a letter just means it can’t be shown to the judge as evidence of admissions (often used in settlement talks); “ex parte” means one side is present without the other (usually only in emergencies); “adjournment” is just a postponement of a hearing. You’ll also encounter everyday words with special legal meaning: “claimant” (the person who started the case – that’s you if you filed the claim), “defendant” (the person being sued), “bundle” (the stack of documents for the case), “strike out” (to dismiss a claim or defense, like striking it from the record). Whenever a term mystifies you, don’t hesitate to ask the judge or court staff, or even the opposing lawyer if one is involved. It’s far better to admit you’re unfamiliar with a term than to misunderstand something important. Judges would rather explain a procedure than have you remain in the dark – they want the case to be resolved on the facts, not derailed by confusion.

(If all else fails, remember this: the court speaks English, even if it’s wrapped in Latin or formal phrasing. As your barrister guide, I’ve “sworn fealty to Sir Ernest Gowers,” meaning I’ll translate any gobbledygook into plain speech as we go. No fog of jargon here, and certainly no need for you to dust off a Latin dictionary.)

Understand your role and rights as a self-representing litigant. When you’re without a lawyer, the label for you is “litigant in person.” It sounds fancy, but it just means you’re acting as your own lawyer, which is entirely legal and acceptable . The judge knows you don’t have professional representation, and they will typically give a bit of guidance during the hearing – for instance, explaining when it’s your turn to speak or how to address the witnesses. However, you are also expected to present your case as competently as you can and follow the same core rules as an attorney would . That includes being courteous, sticking to the issues, and observing deadlines and courtroom etiquette. One thing to be aware of: if you lose the case, being self-represented does not automatically shield you from paying the other side’s costs (in higher-value cases). In small claims, usually each side bears their own costs, but in larger cases, litigants in person can still have cost orders made against them just like anyone else . So don’t assume “I’m not a lawyer, go easy on me” will work as an excuse – prepare thoroughly and treat the process seriously.

Consider a McKenzie friend or support person. Going solo doesn’t literally mean you must be alone. You have the right to bring someone along to court for moral and practical support – known as a McKenzie friend. This could be a knowledgeable friend, a family member, or a volunteer from an organization like Support Through Court. A McKenzie friend can sit with you, take notes, quietly give suggestions or reminders, and help with your files . What they cannot do is address the judge (unless given permission) or act as your lawyer – they must not disrupt proceedings or speak on your behalf . Essentially, they are an assistant and silent advisor. If you decide to have one, choose someone level-headed and trust-worthy, not someone who will get you riled up. A good McKenzie friend is “neutral and can tell you when you’re being a bit stupid, and who can keep their cool,” as one expert noted . Inform the usher or court clerk when you arrive that you have a McKenzie friend with you. When your case is called, politely tell the judge, “I’ve brought [name] as a McKenzie friend to assist me.” Judges almost always agree, as long as the person understands their limited role . Having a calm supporter by your side can ease your nerves and help you stay organized. Even if they just give you a reassuring nod while you speak, it makes a difference.

Crafting Your Argument: Telling Your Story Clearly

By the time of the hearing, you should have a firm grasp on what you need to prove and how you will prove it. A useful exercise is to step into the judge’s shoes for a moment: ask yourself, “What questions does the judge have to answer to decide my case?” Then plan your presentation to answer those questions, one by one, with evidence. In a simple debt claim, for example, the judge needs to know: (1) Was there an agreement for the loan or service? (2) Did the defendant fail to pay as agreed? (3) How much is due? If you’re the claimant, you’d organize your story to address each point – here’s the agreement, here’s proof I fulfilled my part, here’s proof they didn’t pay, and this is the amount outstanding. If you’re the defendant, you’d identify what the claimant must prove and where you disagree: perhaps (1) there was no valid contract, or (2) you did pay or the work was faulty, etc. Clarifying the key issues up front focuses your mind on what matters, filtering out extraneous details .

Tell your story in a logical order. Chronology is usually your friend: start at the beginning and walk the judge through what happened in the order it happened, highlighting the points that support your case. Along the way, tie each significant fact to a piece of evidence. For instance: “On 1 March, we signed a written contract (see page 2 of my documents) for the work to be completed by 1 April. By 15 April, nothing was finished – I’ve included photos taken that day showing the half-built extension (pages 5–8). I emailed the builder on 16 April to complain (page 9), and he acknowledged delays but never came back (his text on page 10). I then had to hire a new contractor, which cost me an extra £3,000 (receipt on page 12).” This narrative is straightforward, chronological, and every key assertion is backed by something tangible the judge can look at . You’re essentially painting a picture and citing evidence like footnotes to give it credibility.

Keep it concise and avoid going off on tangents. In the heat of writing or speaking, it’s easy to stray into irrelevant details (“and another thing, five years ago they did something similar…” or “I always knew he was untrustworthy because…”). Try to resist that. Judges appreciate when you stick to the facts in dispute and the timeline of events. Personal attacks or venting not only waste time but can annoy the judge and undermine your credibility . Even if the other party has behaved terribly, focus on how that behavior is legally relevant to the case, not on insulting their character. For example, saying “He’s a crook and a liar” doesn’t help as much as “He promised to deliver the goods by July (as the email shows) and then didn’t – which is why I’m claiming a refund.” By all means, express why you feel wronged, but do it through the evidence of their actions, not broad name-calling. Remember, civility is strategic – being calm and factual makes the judge more confident in your version of events .

Anticipate the other side’s arguments. Part of telling a compelling story is addressing the weak spots before they become stumbling blocks. Ask yourself: “If I were the other side, how would I attack my case?” If you know the defendant will say you didn’t complain soon enough, be ready to explain why (maybe you initially trusted their excuses). If there’s a fact that looks bad for you, don’t hide from it. It’s often better to acknowledge a point and explain it, rather than have the other side or the judge ambush you with it. For example: “It’s true I didn’t chase the payment for two months – I was giving them a chance to resolve it amicably. I have those phone call notes, but ultimately nothing came of it, which is why I had to resort to court.” A frank admission of a weak point followed by a reasonable explanation shows integrity and command of your case . It tells the judge you’re not trying to mislead; you just want a fair resolution.

Practice how you will present your case. This sounds obvious, but many people skip it. You might jot down bullet points or even write a full script of what you plan to say in opening. Then rehearse it – yes, actually say it out loud, maybe to a friend or even to the mirror. This helps you find any confusing parts and get comfortable talking about the case. You’ll discover if you tend to ramble, or if there are terms you’re not sure how to pronounce. (If you trip over a Latin phrase, just use the English equivalent – no one will mind.) Practicing also builds confidence. By the time you stand up in court, it won’t be the first time you’ve heard yourself explain why you should win. Aim to be able to summarize your case in a few minutes. This is your elevator pitch to the judge, so to speak. For instance: “Your Honour, this is a straightforward case. I paid for a service, I didn’t get it, and I’m seeking a refund. The timeline is as follows…” and then hit the key points. If you can boil it down succinctly, you not only help the judge grasp it faster, but you also clarify it for yourself.

Consider observing a court hearing beforehand. Many courts are open to the public. If you have time before your hearing, you can visit the court (even the same one where your case will be) and sit in on a similar case . Courthouse staff can direct you to a courtroom that’s in session. Watching other people go through the process demystifies it. You’ll see how the judge interacts, how each side speaks, and where everyone sits. Importantly, you might pick up practical tips, like the order in which things happen, or how a well-prepared litigant presents their documents. It’s much better to have a mental picture of the setting ahead of time. When your own day comes, you can think “I’ve been here, I know how this works,” rather than feeling like you just stepped onto an alien planet.

On a human note: It’s perfectly normal to be nervous. Even seasoned barristers feel a jolt of adrenaline when a big hearing starts (trust me). The key is preparation – the more you have your ducks in a row, the more your nerves will settle into focused energy. And if you find yourself unusually anxious, try to take care of yourself in the run-up: get a good night’s sleep, eat something, maybe take a few deep breaths or do a quick walk around the block before entering the court. Treat it like a important job interview or presentation. Nerves are fine; just channel them into presenting your story the best you can.

The Day of the Hearing: Presenting Yourself in Court

The big day has arrived. Here’s how to handle it like a pro, from courtroom etiquette to delivering your arguments.

Arrive early and be prepared. Plan to get to the court at least 30 minutes (if not more) before the scheduled time. This gives you a cushion for traffic or train delays and lets you find the right courtroom without rushing. When you arrive, go through security (much like at an airport, you’ll pass through a scanner – leave any penknives or whatnot at home). Find the listing board or the court clerk’s desk to see which courtroom or hearing room your case is in. Once you find the right room, there will usually be an usher or court clerk nearby – check in with them. You can say, “Hello, I’m the claimant/defendant in [Your Name] v [Other Name], case scheduled for [time].” They will note you’re present. If the other side isn’t there yet, don’t panic – they might be on their way or in another room talking to a lawyer. Use any waiting time to review your notes and calm your nerves. Have your documents neatly organized and easily accessible. There’s nothing more stressful than frantically searching through a messy pile at the last second. Lay out your bundle, your notes of key points, and a notepad and pen for jotting down things during the hearing .

Dress respectfully, but comfortably. There’s no strict dress code for people representing themselves, but the general expectation is to wear something you might choose for an important business meeting or a job interview . You don’t need to buy an expensive suit – just aim for tidy and presentable. For men, a shirt (with or without a tie) and trousers works; for women, perhaps a blouse with trousers or a modest dress. Smart casual is a good benchmark (no ripped jeans, shorts, or slogan T-shirts). The goal is to show respect for the court. It’s one less thing to worry about – you don’t want to be judged on your attire, only on your case. Also, wear something you’ll be physically comfortable in for a few hours. Court hearings can involve a lot of sitting and some standing; tight collars or blistery new shoes will just distract you.

When you enter the courtroom. The usher will usually call you when the judge is ready (for example, “Smith vs. Jones – please come in”). Upon entering, if the judge is already seated, it’s customary to give a slight bow of the head towards them – basically a quick nod to acknowledge their authority. They will either invite everyone to sit or you might remain standing initially. In a small claims or chambers hearing, often both parties will be invited to sit at tables facing the judge’s bench (it’s less formal than Crown Court dramas you see on TV). If in doubt, follow the judge’s cues: if they are standing when you enter (which could be if you walked in before they took the bench), pause and wait for them to sit first. The judge will typically start by introducing the case: e.g., “This is the case of X v Y. I have a claimant in person Mr. X and the defendant [or defendant’s solicitor] Mr. Y here.” They might verify names and who is who.

How to address the judge. In an English or Welsh court, judges are addressed depending on their level. In the County Court (small claims or otherwise) it’s usually a District Judge or Deputy District Judge – you can call them “Sir” or “Madam,” or “Judge.” (If it’s a Circuit Judge, “Your Honour” is used, but if you said “Sir/Madam” they wouldn’t be offended .) Magistrates (in some tribunals or family cases) are addressed as “Sir/Madam” as well. To keep it simple, address any judge as “Sir” or “Madam” if you need to . For example, “Yes, Madam” when answering, or “Sir, may I clarify something?” This is an accepted and respectful form of address. Always stand when speaking to the judge or when the judge speaks to you, unless they indicate it’s okay to remain seated . In many small hearings, the judge will say “no need to stand,” but the safe default is to stand until told otherwise.

During the hearing, the judge may ask you to present your case first (especially if you are the claimant, since you bear the burden of proof to substantiate your claim) . Take a deep breath – this is your moment.

Speak clearly and plainly. This is not the time for legal jargon or flowery oration. Use simple language and get straight to the point. A good approach is: state the issue, state what you want, then tell the story with references to evidence. For example: “Madam, this is a claim about a faulty laptop I purchased. I’m asking for a refund of £800. In January 2025 I bought the laptop from the defendant’s store (receipt is at page 4 of my bundle). Within two weeks it started crashing repeatedly. I contacted the store (emails at page 6) but the issue wasn’t resolved. The laptop was essential for my work, and since it was never fixed or replaced, I had to buy another one. I’m seeking a refund because the product was not of satisfactory quality, under the Consumer Rights Act.” Notice this hits the key points: what happened, evidence reference, and the legal basis (“not of satisfactory quality”) phrased in everyday terms. *Judges appreciate when you summarise your claim and highlight key evidence in plain English, avoiding legal jargon and long-winded sentences . If you catch yourself using a term you’re not sure the judge understands (or that you yourself don’t fully grasp), just rephrase it. For example, instead of “the plaintiff” (an older term for claimant), just say “I”. Instead of “the defendant was in breach of contract,” you can say “he didn’t do what we agreed in the contract.” Clarity trumps formality.

As you present facts, point the judge to the evidence that backs them up. This is where your organized bundle shines. You might say, “I’d like to refer to the photo on page 15, which shows the state of the kitchen on April 15.” Give the judge a moment to locate it. If the judge is looking at a screen or their own papers, they might nod when they’ve found it. Then briefly describe what the judge is seeing and why it matters: “As you can see, the tiling was left incomplete and the cabinetry is detached from the wall.” Keep your descriptions factual. The evidence largely speaks for itself once you direct the judge to it. By guiding them through the key exhibits in order, you’re effectively narrating the story with proof intertwined, which is very persuasive.

Stay polite and measured throughout. Courtrooms run on civility. Always let the judge finish speaking before you respond. Likewise, do not interrupt the other party when it’s their turn, no matter how much you disagree or want to correct them. You will get your chance to reply. Jot down notes of what they say that you want to contest. Judges often notice when one side is being consistently courteous and the other is combative – and guess who that impression favors? Maintaining composure and respect makes you come across as the reasonable one . If the other side or their lawyer says something outrageous or untrue, resist the urge to huff or exclaim. Keep a neutral expression, write it down, and address it when you speak. For example, when it’s your turn you can calmly say, “The defendant mentioned that I caused delays. I’d like to point out I responded to all queries within 24 hours, as shown in the email thread on page 7.” This way, you counter their point with evidence, sans personal attacks.

Answer the judge’s questions directly. Judges will likely interject with questions – this is normal. It might be to clarify a timeline (“So was that before or after the first repair attempt?”), or to probe a weak spot (“Why did you continue using the laptop if it was faulty?”). When a judge asks something, listen carefully and answer succinctly and honestly. A tip often given to lawyers is: answer “Yes, sir/ma’am” or “No, because…” rather than launching into a tangent. In practice, this means give a straightforward answer first, then explain if needed . For example, if a judge asks, “Did you ever request a refund in writing?” – a good answer would be: “Yes, Your Honour. I did, in my email dated 5 March (page 8 in the bundle). When I didn’t get a response, I sent a reminder on 12 March.” A not-so-good answer would be: “Well, I tried to get in touch with them multiple times. You see, initially I called and then I… [etc.]” because by the time you get to the point, the judge might be frustrated. So, directly address the question, then stop. If the judge wants more, they’ll ask. If you don’t know the answer or can’t remember, it’s perfectly acceptable to say “I’m not sure” or “I don’t have that information with me, I’m afraid.” Guessing or making up an answer on the fly is far worse.

Honesty is paramount. Always, always tell the truth in court, even if it seems inconvenient to your case. If you are caught in a lie or even a harmless exaggeration, your credibility will be shattered. Judges are experienced in sniffing out inconsistencies. Conversely, if you’re honest about a point that hurts you, the judge will trust what you say about the rest. One litigant-in-person who succeeded in a tough case said his top tips were: answer the question asked, always be polite, and no matter how ugly it is, always tell the truth . This is golden advice. For instance, if the judge asks, “Did you drop the laptop at any point?” and you did once, admit it: “I did knock it off the sofa once, yes. But it was in a padded case, and the issues had started before that incident.” You might fear this gives the defendant an out, but hiding it would be worse. By addressing it, you can then argue why it’s not the real cause of the problem. If you lied and the other side proves the drop happened (say, via a text you sent admitting it), your case could crumble. Integrity in your presentation builds trust, and trust is often what sways a close case.

Use a respectful tone and body language. No eye-rolling, deep sighs, or muttered comments – even if the other side is being dramatic. Keep your voice calm and loud enough to be heard, but not shouting. If you’re naturally soft-spoken, you might have to consciously project your voice a bit more in the courtroom. Address your remarks to the judge, not to the opponent. You generally speak to the judge (saying “Sir/Madam”) and refer to the other party in the third person – e.g., “the defendant says X, but I have evidence to the contrary.” This keeps things less personal. If the other side is represented by a lawyer, let the lawyer make their points; you’ll get to counter them in your turn. You can certainly object if something truly improper happens (like if they keep interrupting you or introducing entirely new documents out of the blue), but outright objections are rarer in the UK system than what TV depicts. Usually, the judge will manage the flow.

Take notes. Have a notepad ready and jot down any key points the judge or the other side makes that you need to respond to or clarify. In the stress of the moment, it’s easy to forget what you wanted to say if you don’t write it. Also note down any questions the judge asks that you couldn’t answer on the spot – you might be able to address them later, or at least you’ll remember to follow up after the hearing (for example, providing a document later if the judge allowed that). Taking notes also has a side benefit: it keeps you focused and less prone to reacting emotionally to everything being said.

If you need a moment, ask. If at any point you feel overwhelmed or need to find a document, it’s okay to ask the judge for a brief pause: “Madam, may I have a moment to locate that letter?” Most judges will accommodate a short break if there’s a good reason. It’s certainly better to request a minute to collect yourself or your papers than to fumble or get flustered. And if you genuinely didn’t hear or understand something, do speak up. The worst thing is to just nod along if you’re lost. You can say, “Forgive me, could you please rephrase the question?” or “I didn’t catch the last part, could it be repeated?” No one expects you to have the poise of a polished barrister at all times. What they do expect is that you are earnest and cooperative in trying to help the court reach the right outcome.

Presenting your closing summary. After both sides have presented all their evidence and told their story, the judge will usually invite each of you to make a closing statement (especially in a final hearing). This is your chance to briefly sum up why the evidence supports your case and what result you seek. By this point, the judge has seen and heard everything, so keep it short and punchy . Emphasize the strongest points in your favor. For example: “To summarize, Madam, the contract promised a service by 1 April; it wasn’t delivered (that’s undisputed). I paid £3,000 and got nothing of value in return. The evidence shows I tried repeatedly to get the defendant to remedy the breach (see emails), but was ignored. Therefore, I respectfully request judgment for £3,000 plus costs and interest.” If the other side raised some defenses, address the biggest one or two: “The defendant argues the delay was due to supplier issues, but regardless of cause, I was entitled to cancel after the deadline passed – and I did. They’ve kept my money without providing the service, which the law does not allow.” Frame it as logically as possible. You’re basically helping the judge see the legal “answer” through the clutter of facts. End by stating exactly what order you want (refund amount, damages, an injunction – whatever the case may be). Leading with what you want and ending with it is a good persuasive technique – it bookends your case with the remedy sought.

After that, the judge may ask a final question or two, then conclude the hearing.

After the Hearing: What Happens Next

Once everyone has spoken and all evidence is in, the judge will make a decision (called a “judgment” or “verdict”). In many small cases, the judge will deliver the judgment right there at the end of the hearing. They might say, “I am going to give my decision now,” and then proceed to state who won and why. Listen carefully – they will explain the reasons, referring to the law and evidence. It might sound a bit formal and you may not catch every detail (judges sometimes dictate their judgment quickly). Don’t be afraid to politely interject if you missed the actual outcome: “Excuse me, Sir, just to be clear – did I win the claim?” It’s important you leave knowing who must do what. In some cases, a judge might reserve judgment, meaning they want to take time to consider and will send the decision in writing later. If that happens, they’ll usually indicate how and when you’ll get the judgment (by mail in a few days or weeks).

If you win, congratulations! The court’s judgment will normally say the defendant must pay you a certain amount or take a certain action (like perform the contract or return property). Ensure you understand the terms: the amount, the deadline for payment (if any mentioned), and whether any interest or court fees were awarded. If the judgment is for money, the order is essentially asking the defendant to pay you. Keep in mind, the court doesn’t cut a cheque on the spot – the defendant is responsible for paying. If they don’t pay by the deadline, you may need to take enforcement steps (such as bailiff action or an attachment of earnings order) to collect, but that’s another process entirely. For now, bask a moment in your victory and make a plan to politely remind the other side of the payment due, providing your bank details or address for sending a cheque. The judgment is your legal right to that money .

If you lose, take a deep breath. It’s disappointing, but it’s not the end of the world. The judge will have found that on the balance of probabilities, the law favors the other side’s view. If you’re the claimant and you lose, your claim is dismissed – meaning you won’t get the remedy you sought (and you might be ordered to pay some of the defendant’s costs, though in small claims typically only minimal fixed costs or expenses are awarded). If you’re the defendant and you lose, the judgment will likely order you to pay the claimant a certain sum or provide a remedy. Be aware of cost implications: in higher-value cases (not small claims), the losing party often has to pay at least a portion of the winner’s legal costs. The judge might have made a costs order; if not, the default rules apply. For example, litigants in person can be liable for costs, and judges do warn self-represented parties about this risk should they lose . So review if any costs were mentioned.

You might wonder about appealing if you lost. An appeal is possible but not straightforward – you generally need to show the judge made a significant error in law or procedure, not just that you disagree with their view of the facts. Appeals have strict deadlines (often 21 days from the judgment) and usually require permission from the court. If you feel something was really unjust or incorrect legally, this is the time to seek some legal advice on the prospects of an appeal. In small claims, appeals are rare because the cost and complexity usually outweigh the sums at stake.

Finally, regardless of win or lose, reflect on the experience. Representing yourself in court is no small feat. Win, and you proved it can be done – you stood up for yourself and navigated the system. Lose, and at least you had your day in court and gave it your best shot; sometimes the facts are just not on your side, and no lawyer could have changed that. Either way, you will have learned a great deal about the law and perhaps about how to avoid similar disputes in the future.

Closing thought: Through all of this, remember that the judge is not your enemy. They are a referee trying to get to the truth and apply the law fairly. Your mission was simply to make the judge’s job easier by presenting your case clearly, coherently, and honestly. If you’ve done that – if you’ve helped the judge see why you believe you’re right without making them sift through irrelevancies – then you’ve done everything within your power . Courts ultimately exist to serve justice, and by speaking in plain English and sticking to the facts, you contribute to that purpose.

Facing your first court hearing is indeed a bit like stepping into a story – one where you are a main character, as well as the narrator. With the guidance in this plain-English guide, you’ve hopefully demystified the plot. You know how to introduce your story (with solid paperwork), how to build the narrative (with organized evidence and clear arguments), and how to deliver the climax in court (with respectful, confident presentation). It’s not about tricks or jargon or dramatic flair. It’s about showing the judge, piece by piece, why you should prevail. That is the essence of advocacy, whether done by a barrister in a wig or an ordinary person seeking justice. Armed with preparation and clarity – and perhaps a touch of courtroom wisdom without the wig powder – you can approach your first hearing not with dread, but with quiet confidence. Good luck!

MARK LORRELL

Millennium Chambers

1 December 2025

A Bench‑Made History of Crypto Litigation in England & Wales (2018–2025)

How judges, one decision at a time, engineered the common law for digital assets

1) The question that wouldn’t fit the old boxes (2018–2019)

Nineteenth‑century categories—things in possession and things in action—were never going to map neatly onto strings of code. The first English judges to be asked for urgent relief over Bitcoin and other tokens therefore had to decide whether these assets were “property” at all—because nothing follows (freezing orders, proprietary injunctions, tracing, trusts) unless that premise holds.

Birss J signalled early pragmatism in Vorotyntseva v Money‑4 Ltd (t/a Nebeus.com) [2018] EWHC 2596 (Ch), granting a freezing order over Bitcoin and Ether. He treated the assets as amenable to the court’s protective jurisdiction even before a fully reasoned “property” analysis had been articulated.  The conceptual foundation arrived a year later. In AA v Persons Unknown [2019] EWHC 3556 (Comm), Bryan J held that “cryptoassets such as Bitcoin are property” for the purposes of a proprietary injunction, expressly drawing on the UK Jurisdiction Taskforce’s 2019 Legal Statement. That pairing—the court’s reasoning and the UKJT’s analysis—became the hinge on which English private law swung toward digital assets.  

What changed?

Judges accepted that intangibles recorded on a distributed ledger could satisfy the Ainsworth indicia (definable, identifiable by third parties, capable of assumption, and sufficiently permanent). That single step unlocked the whole equitable toolkit. 

2) Conflict‑of‑laws and the “where” of a weightless asset (2020–2021)

Once cryptoassets were treated as property, claimants needed to know where that property sits for jurisdiction and governing law.

In Ion Science Ltd v Persons Unknown (Commercial Court, 21 Dec 2020, unreported), Butcher J accepted—at an urgent ex parte hearing—the now‑influential view that the lex situs of a cryptoasset is the owner’s domicile. That pragmatic connecting factor guided service‑out applications and choice‑of‑law analysis across subsequent cases.  HHJ Pelling QC (as he then was) extended the court’s reach in Fetch.ai Ltd v Persons Unknown [2021] EWHC 2254 (Comm), combining proprietary injunctions, a worldwide freezing order, and Bankers Trust / Norwich Pharmacal relief against Binance entities and unnamed wrongdoers. The message: exchanges are part of the remedial pathway, even when the fraud runs through anonymised wallets. 

What changed?

The Commercial Court made the conflict rules workable for crypto claims and showed a willingness to compel information from intermediaries to make tracing real, not aspirational. 

3) Procedure bends to the blockchain (2022–2023)

Two adjacent innovations—service by NFT and a new service‑out gateway—turned emergency relief into recoveries.

Service by NFT. In D’Aloia v Persons Unknown [2022] EWHC 1723 (Ch), Trower J permitted service by air‑dropping an NFT into the defendants’ wallets (alongside email). In Osbourne v Persons Unknown [2023] EWHC 39 (KB), the High Court went further: NFT service alone was enough on the facts. Both decisions recognise that identity‑light defendants can still be notified at the locus of control—the wallet.  The disclosure gateway (PD 6B, para 3.1(25)). Effective 1 October 2022, a new gateway allowed claimants to serve out information‑order applications (Norwich Pharmacal / Bankers Trust) on non‑party intermediaries abroad. Butcher J made first use of it in LMN v Bitflyer Holdings Inc [2022] EWHC 2954 (Comm), compelling KYC and account data from multiple overseas exchanges. 

What changed?

Anonymity and cross‑border custody stopped being show‑stoppers. English courts stitched together practical routes: notify the wallet; compel the exchange; follow the money. 

4) Equity adapts: constructive trusts and delivery‑up against exchanges (2022)

Judges then used equitable principle to attach consequences to custody.

In Jones v Persons Unknown & Huobi Global Ltd [2022] EWHC 2543 (Comm), Nigel Cooper KC (sitting as a DHCJ) granted summary judgment for delivery‑up of ~89.6 BTC. The court accepted that the exchange controlling the destination wallet stood as a constructive trustee for the victim—so it had to return the coins. That is equity doing what it does best: imposing duties that reflect the reality of control. 

What changed?

Exchanges learned that passive custody after a notified fraud can crystallise proprietary exposure—and that “we’re just a platform” won’t always wash. 

5) Duties at the code‑layer? The Tulip debate (2022–2025)

Could core developers owe fiduciary duties to owners of assets on the networks they maintain?

Falk J said no at first instance (Tulip Trading Ltd v Bitcoin Association for BSV [2022] EWHC 667 (Ch)). The Court of Appeal—Birss LJ giving the lead judgment—held the contrary was arguable and should go to trial: on some fact patterns, developers might owe duties to implement a patch to restore a claimant’s access. The point remains fact‑sensitive, but the door is open.  A separate but influential backdrop is COPA v Wright (2024): Mellor J found Dr Craig Wright not to be Satoshi Nakamoto, heavily criticising fabricated evidence. Beyond its IP ramifications, that judgment emphasised the court’s intolerance for speculative crypto litigation untethered to proof. 

What changed?

Appellate guidance reframed developers as potential fiduciaries in exceptional circumstances, while trial courts signalled a hard line on evidence and credibility in crypto disputes. 

6) Consumer law meets clickwrap: Payward (Kraken) v Chechetkin (2023)

Crypto disputes are not only about fraud. In Payward Inc v Chechetkin [2023] EWHC 1780 (Comm), the Commercial Court refused to enforce a US arbitral award against a UK consumer because doing so would contravene UK public policy and the Consumer Rights Act 2015. Arbitration clauses and foreign governing‑law terms in exchange T&Cs are not bullet‑proof. 

What changed?

Platform boilerplate yielded to mandatory consumer protections: exchanges face substantive English‑law scrutiny when dealing with UK users. 

7) Enforcement architecture: Parliament arms the courts (2023–2025)

Judicial innovation was matched by statute. The Economic Crime and Corporate Transparency Act 2023 (ECCTA) amended POCA 2002 to create a crypto‑specific civil recovery framework:

Chapter 3C–3F (Part 5 POCA): seizure, crypto‑wallet freezing (including exchange‑hosted wallets), forfeiture, and even conversion to cash to manage volatility risks. Home Office circulars in April 2024 explain operation and scope; legislation.gov.uk sets out the text.  Government factsheets emphasise speed: enabling law enforcement and courts to restrain, realise or destroy illicit cryptoassets efficiently. 

In parallel, structural reform is proceeding on property classification. The Law Commission’s 2023 Final Report recommended recognising a “third” category of personal property for digital assets, and in 2024–2025 the Government introduced the Property (Digital Assets etc) Bill (via the Law Commission special procedure) to confirm that digital assets can be property without being things in possession or action. 

What changed?

Crypto moved from judicial improvisation to a codified enforcement stack—freezing, seizing, forfeiting—while the conceptual status of digital assets is being statutorily crystallised. 

8) Maturing practice: judgments against the unknown; enforcing foreign crypto judgments (2024–2025)

In Mooij v Persons Unknown [2024] EWHC 814 (Comm), the High Court granted summary judgment (money and proprietary relief) against unidentified defendants, emphasising that proper alternative service and cogent tracing can justify final relief despite anonymity.  In Tai Mo Shan Ltd v Persons Unknown [2024] EWHC 1514 (Comm), Pelling J took a practical approach to enforcing a US crypto‑fraud judgment in England, including permission to serve by NFT and out of the jurisdiction—another example of courts aligning procedure with the technology and transnational reality. 

What changed?

Courts now treat service, identity and borders as solvable logistics, not fatal defects—provided claimants marshal the evidence and use the new gateways. 

Judge‑by‑judge threads

Birss J / LJ: from early freezing over crypto (Vorotyntseva) to the Court of Appeal’s Tulip judgment keeping developer duties arguable—the same judge’s arc mirrors the system’s move from emergency pragmatism to principled, appellate‑level analysis.  Bryan J: the AA property holding: the keystone that allowed proprietary remedies, tracing and trusts to operate across crypto.  Butcher J: operationalised disclosure and service out in LMN v Bitflyer, making the PD 6B 3.1(25) gateway a living tool for victims.  Trower J and KB judges in D’Aloia / Osbourne: normalised NFT service, proving procedure can inhabit the blockchain when defendants do.  Nigel Cooper KC (DHCJ): in Jones, treated exchanges as constructive trustees where they control misdirected assets—showing equity’s flexibility with novel custody.  Mellor J: in COPA v Wright, re‑anchored the crypto docket in evidential rigour, a salutary counterweight to speculative narratives. 

A concise chronology (selected waypoints)

2018 – Vorotyntseva (Birss J): early freezing orders over BTC/ETH.  2019 – UKJT Legal Statement; AA v Persons Unknown (Bryan J): cryptoassets are property.  2020 – Ion Science (Butcher J): good arguable case that lex situs = owner’s domicile.  2021 – Fetch.ai (HHJ Pelling QC): proprietary/freezing + Norwich Pharmacal/Bankers Trust against exchanges.  2022 – D’Aloia (Trower J): service by NFT permitted.  2022 – Jones (DHCJ Cooper KC): constructive trust and delivery‑up against an exchange.  Nov 2022 – PD 6B 3.1(25) (“disclosure gateway”) comes into force; LMN v Bitflyer first use.  2023 – Osbourne (KB): NFT‑only service approved. Court of Appeal in Tulip: developer duties arguable.  2023 – Payward v Chechetkin: US award refused on public policy / CRA 2015 grounds.  2023 – ECCTA receives Royal Assent; crypto seizure/freezing/forfeiture powers added to POCA.  2024 – Home Office circulars activate crypto confiscation/forfeiture and wallet freezing architecture.  2024 – Tai Mo Shan: enforcement of a US crypto judgment; NFT and service‑out orders granted.  2024 – COPA v Wright: Wright not Satoshi; robust credibility findings.  2024–2025 – Property (Digital Assets etc) Bill progresses to confirm digital assets’ proprietary status in statute.  2024–2025 – Mooij: summary judgment against persons unknown in a crypto fraud claim. 

The doctrinal arc—what the judges built

Property status secured From AA onward, English law recognises cryptoassets as property, unlocking proprietary injunctions, tracing, constructive trusts and enforcement on insolvency and succession. The UKJT statement provided persuasive scaffolding; the courts supplied binding reasons.  Equity’s remedies applied to code‑based assets Constructive trusts, Bankers Trust and Norwich Pharmacal orders migrated smoothly to crypto, particularly where exchanges hold KYC material or exercise wallet control. LMN shows disclosure can be compelled across borders using the PD 6B gateway.  Procedure adapted to anonymity and globalisation Service by NFT (first alongside, then in place of email) recognises that a wallet is a service address in all but name. Courts now routinely grant service out and alternative service where the assets, defendants, and documents are dispersed.  Duties and control are the live frontiers Tulip keeps alive the possibility that those who control code used to maintain asset registries might, in exceptional cases, owe owner‑facing duties. That remains a trial question, but it reframes arguments about control vs. title for key‑loss or hack scenarios.  Enforcement became systemic, not heroic With ECCTA 2023 and the Home Office 2024 circulars, officers and courts can freeze wallets, seize, convert volatile tokens to cash, and forfeit assets within a purpose‑built statutory scheme—mirroring the success of account‑freezing orders for fiat. 

Practitioner’s toolkit (2025 edition)

Anchors for jurisdiction: domicile‑based lex situs (Ion Science) + damage in England pleading; combine with PD 6B 3.1(25) to reach foreign exchanges.  Asset control theory: Where an exchange controls a wallet linked to misappropriated coins, argue constructive trusteeship and seek delivery‑up (Jones).  Service: If identities and addresses are unknown, propose NFT service (with a link to a document depository) and/or email/IM; explain how the defendants are likely to access the wallet. Osbourne shows NFT‑only service can be enough on the facts.  Parallel state powers: Where criminality is clear or suspected, consider POCA routes (crypto‑wallet freezing, seizure, forfeiture) to complement civil recovery—especially where dissipation risk is acute.  Consumer overlay: For exchange‑user disputes, assess CRA 2015 and public‑policy defences; Payward v Chechetkin shows foreign awards and governing‑law clauses can be refused. 

What remains genuinely unsettled?

Developers’ duties: The scope and trigger (if any) for fiduciary or tortious obligations at the code layer await trial‑level findings post‑Tulip.  Choice‑of‑law for proprietary effects: Lex situs by domicile is widely used but not definitively fixed by appellate authority; further guidance (or legislation) may harmonise conflict‑rules as cross‑border enforcement expands.  Custody models: As staking, cross‑chain bridges and smart‑contract vaults proliferate, expect arguments about who really has control—and therefore who bears trust or restitutionary obligations—to become more technical and fact‑dense.

The through‑line: common law in motion

Read chronologically, this is a characteristically English story. Judges began with small, humane steps (freeze what might vanish; treat the asset as property to stop a wrong), then articulated general principles, and finally refashioned procedure to fit a borderless, pseudonymous market. Parliament followed with enforcement architecture. The result by late 2025 is a jurisdiction where a claimant can: (i) locate the asset (jurisdictionally), (ii) serve the wrongdoer (even in a wallet), (iii) compel the intermediary, (iv) recover the asset (or its cash), and (v) enforce—all within a coherent legal frame.

It is not that crypto was made to fit the law; rather the law was made to work for cryptoassets—faithful to principle, flexible in practice.

Sources (selected, with links embedded by citation)

Property status & foundations: AA v Persons Unknown (Comm, 2019); UKJT Legal Statement (2019). 

Freezing & early injunctions: Vorotyntseva v Money‑4 (2018). 

Lex situs & conflicts: Ion Science (2020, unreported); commentary. 

Disclosure gateway & cross‑border orders: LMN v Bitflyer (2022); PD 6B 3.1(25). 

Service by NFT: D’Aloia (2022); Osbourne (2023). 

Constructive trust/delivery‑up against exchange: Jones v Persons Unknown & Huobi (2022). 

Developers’ duties: Tulip Trading (CA 2023). 

Consumer protection & arbitration: Payward v Chechetkin (2023). 

Enforcement regime: ECCTA 2023; Home Office 2024 circulars on crypto confiscation/forfeiture and wallet‑freezing. 

Maturing practice: Mooij v Persons Unknown (2024); Tai Mo Shan (2024). 

Public law backdrop to evidence and credibility: COPA v Wright (2024). 

“MARK‑ML” stylistic coda

If you are teaching or writing, frame this field as a sequence of judicial moves:

Name the asset (AA). Find the forum (Ion Science). Reach the data (PD 6B 3.1(25); LMN). Notify the wallet (D’Aloia/Osbourne). Make the exchange hold the ring (Jones). Keep developer duties on the table (Tulip). Use the state’s levers when needed (ECCTA/POCA). Don’t blink on proof (COPA v Wright).

That is the narrative spine English judges have written—case by case, judge by judge—turning digital puzzles into legal answers.