“A Daughter Perspective: The Lasting Toll of a Family Business in Receivership”
This is not just a story of financial loss; it is a story of isolation, fear, and the deep scars left behind when a family business collapses. I was seven years old when my family’s business in the primary industry and transport sector went into receivership in the early 1980s. The financial conditions were tough, and while there are many reasons the business suffered, I’m not here to shift the blame. However, the tactics employed by the banks and the subsequent legal failures are something I’ll never forget.
In the early years, when the business was booming, the banks treated my parents with respect and admiration. Their success was acknowledged, and they were made to feel as though they were pillars of the community. The banks provided loans with ease, and it seemed like they were fully behind my parents. But the moment tough times hit, everything changed. They went from being valued clients to being treated like pariahs. The respect they had once earned was gone, replaced by cold indifference. The banks didn’t just withdraw support—they personalized every aspect of the process, adding layers of pain and trauma at every turn.
My father was referred to a high-flying litigator, someone renowned for holding institutions to account. But, as we would come to learn, he had a foot in both camps. Just before court proceedings, all our records mysteriously disappeared, and without them, we were powerless to hold the banks responsible. A lesson learned early—about collegial friendships and the unwillingness of some to truly go against the grain.
The newspapers ran big articles on my parents’ “failings,” as they called it. My father came from a multi-generational family in the primary industry, and the articles alluded to how his father would have been “turning in his grave” at the supposed failure. I was just a child, but I remember the tension at home—the oppressive weight of financial pressure that hung in the air like a thick fog. My mother was pregnant at the time, and I could see her growing more isolated each day, unable to escape the despair.
Family businesses often operate out of the home, and ours was no different. So when the receivers arrived, it wasn’t just at the office—they came to our house. I’ll never forget the estate agent arriving with them, there to put our home on the market. The agent treated my mother with a level of courtesy, but the receivers went through every cupboard and drawer with absolute disdain, searching for… who knows what? It felt as though they were searching for ways to break us down completely.
My father, for all his strength, couldn’t cope with the shame. He spun every possible scenario, desperately trying to find a way to turn things around. But it was no use. Shortly after the receivers barged through our home, my mother miscarried, losing the babies she had been carrying. It was an awful, dark time. My parents lost both of their cars, and my father—being the man he was—tried to make light of the situation by suggesting he could cycle us to school instead. While his humour gave brief moments of relief, it wasn’t a practical solution.
At school, the children knew. Everyone seemed to know. My best friend’s mother had always helped with the school pick-up, but one rainy afternoon, she turned to my brother and me and said “no.” She closed the door and drove off, leaving us standing in the rain. I can still feel the heart bang—what I called it as a child—an overwhelming feeling of fear and shame that made my ears ring. What did we do wrong? Why were we being treated this way? My brother and I walked to our grandparents’ house, waiting for our grandad to take us home. Life had changed forever.
My father’s spirit was crushed. He spent his days trying to find work and support us, but the shame hung over him like a storm cloud. My mother, in her own way, shut herself off from the world, spending hours in her room, as if hiding could make the world’s problems disappear. They lost everything—our home, the cars—and before long, they were bankrupted. I remember the day my father sat us down and told us that from that moment on, we had no rights. No rights to property, no rights to control anything. Even as a young child, I knew the weight of those words.
During the next two years, my father struggled to find work. With no formal education and severe dyslexia, he took what jobs he could. He worked in meatpacking, driving trucks at all hours of the night and day, never stopping. He became like a character from Only Fools and Horses, buying and selling homewares to try and make ends meet. Despite it all, he never gave up trying to make things right.
I remember a school day trip that I didn’t want to mention at home, knowing it required money we didn’t have. When I finally handed over the note, my father promised me it would be okay. The night before the trip, he came home from work at 2:30 a.m. and placed £15 under my pillow. I cried myself to sleep that night, knowing how much he was sacrificing for me. The next day, I spent the money on a picture for him—my way of showing him how much I loved him and that I’d never forget what he did for me.
As time passed, my father slowly rebuilt his life and his business—stronger and more successful than ever before. However, the trauma of that failure never left him. He was always haunted by the fear of losing everything again, and he never trusted banks after that. “Cash is king,” he would often say, mistrusting institutions that had taken everything when times were tough. He remained deeply cautious, always mindful of how quickly success could turn into disaster.
The Wider Impact on New Zealand Family Businesses
In recent years, in New Zealand, we’ve seen a large number of family businesses placed into receivership. These businesses, which have often grown from small, family-run enterprises into titans of their industries, are left with no way to fight back. They face an unholy trinity of big banks, big receivers, and big money.
How quickly the market turns on these once-successful businesses when the receivers leak stories to the media, detailing the businesses’ supposed guaranteed indebtedness and making it seem like collapse was inevitable. Yet, in many of these cases, these very same receivers had been advising these businesses in the 12 months leading up to their downfall.
So, let’s get this straight—the receivers are now in control, but just a short time ago, they were being paid by the business owners for advice. Now, they take over the businesses they helped manage and announce to the world that the owners didn’t know what they were doing. They destroy their reputations, crush their souls, and strip away everything they built.
Receiverships and liquidations do not have the right to steal the human spirit. Nor do the receivers and liquidators themselves seem to have the capacity to remember that, in the lead-up to many of these receiverships, they played a key role in the business failing. So, instead of tearing people’s lives apart in the media and the marketplace, they should remember they, too, have weeds in their own back gardens. Would they want their dirty laundry aired for all to see? I think not.
The next time a receiver or liquidator is granted an assignment, they should treat everyone they encounter with respect and dignity. If they are incapable of doing so, they should refrain from engaging. Because their actions—both in the media and the marketplace—cause intergenerational trauma, some of it so severe that many never recover.
The Unseen Impact on Families
During those six years after the bankruptcy, the strain on our family was immense. My parents were still young—just over thirty when it all happened—and looking back now, I see how deeply those years shaped them. For my mother, the isolation never really lifted. Her trust in people was shattered, and many of the friends they had before receivership disappeared when the money did. My father, however, turned his pain into a drive to succeed, but it came at a cost. The fear of failing again lingered in everything he did, casting a shadow over even his greatest achievements.
Despite the constant pressure, my father never lost his compassion for others. He had an incredible ability to see the struggles of those around him, and he was always the first to offer help to someone in need. Even when he had little to give, he gave freely. He never walked past someone without a smile or a kind word, believing that a small act of kindness could make all the difference.
My mother, though, became more withdrawn. The emotional toll of losing everything, the miscarriage, and the shame of bankruptcy weighed heavily on her. She never let my father forget the embarrassment she endured, and though they carried on, it was clear that their relationship bore the scars of those dark years.
A Lesson for the Future
As I’ve grown older, I’ve come to realize just how much those early years shaped me. The fear, the isolation, the feeling that help was always out of reach—these are things I still carry with me. When I look at struggling businesses today, I recognize the same panic in the eyes of those trying to hold everything together. Most people turn to their banks for help, but as my father used to say, “banks lend you an umbrella when it’s sunny, but take it away when it starts to rain.” The system is designed to leave you with nowhere to turn when you need help the most.
Receivers and liquidators step in, using the money that’s left in your business to fight you with it. They strip everything away while you’re left scrambling, trying to find some way to save your life’s work. It still happens today, just as it did when I was a child. In the end, it’s always the family that bears the brunt of it—the shame, the isolation, and the deep emotional wounds that never fully heal.
Forty years later, the trauma of that time still stays with me. My father, who rebuilt everything and achieved great success, died at the age of 59 from cancer. I believe that the years of stress and hardship took their toll on him. In his final year, I had the privilege of caring for him, and we shared many conversations—laughing, crying, and reflecting on the journey we had been through.
He taught me so much, not just about business, but about compassion, empathy, and resilience. Even in his final days, he never lost his ability to care for others. He would say, “If you’re walking down the street, always smile and say hello, because you never know when someone just needs to feel seen.” He believed in kindness above all, a trait that made him a truly wonderful person despite the hardships he faced.
Receiverships and Liquidations: Lessons in Compassion
What I’ve learned through my family’s experience and the stories of countless others is that receiverships and liquidations don’t just tear apart businesses—they tear apart lives. The human cost is far greater than the financial loss. Yet, receivers and liquidators seem to forget that their actions have lasting, often intergenerational, consequences.
Receiverships and liquidations do not have the right to steal the human spirit. Nor do the receivers and liquidators themselves seem to have the capacity to remember that, in many cases, they played a key role in the business failing. Instead of tearing people’s lives apart in the media and the marketplace, they should remember that they, too, have weeds in their own back gardens. Would they want their dirty laundry aired for all to see? I think not.
The next time a receiver or liquidator is granted an assignment, they should treat everyone they encounter with respect and dignity. If they are incapable of doing so, they should refrain from engaging. Their actions—both in the media and the marketplace—cause intergenerational trauma, some so severe that the affected parties never recover.
This story isn’t just about my family—it’s about the far-reaching consequences of the actions taken by banks, receivers, and liquidators. The impact on families, the scars that never heal, and the silent victims whose stories are rarely told. These are the lessons that should be learned: treat people with compassion, because your actions today will echo for generations.
