James Cummings and Geraldine Cummings v. Nail It Steel Buildings & Construction, LLC and Timothy Ray Berry

Let’s cut straight to the drama: a couple paid nearly ten grand to build a barn, and all they got in return was radio silence, rejected blueprints, and a check cashed by a guy named Tim Berry—who just so happens to be the same guy who promised to build the barn, but also not the company they thought they were paying. Welcome to Barn Brawls: The Lawsuit, where dreams of country living collide with the cold, hard reality of broken promises and sketchy handshakes.

James and Geraldine Cummings—Oklahoma County residents with a plot of land at 1644 Coyote Trail and, presumably, a vision—are the kind of people who look at an empty field and see potential. Maybe a place for tools. Maybe a workshop. Maybe a future goat sanctuary—we don’t know. What we do know is that in September 2025, they were ready to turn that dream into steel beams and concrete footings. Enter Nail It Steel Buildings & Construction, LLC, a company with a name that sounds like a motivational slogan and a sales pitch delivered at the Oklahoma State Fair. Yes, really. That’s where this whole thing started—not in a boardroom, not on a website, but amid deep-fried butter and carnival rides, where a woman named Jenny (we never learn her last name, which makes her feel more like a myth than a person) introduced them to the wonders of prefabricated steel barns.

Fast forward eleven days, and Tim Berry himself—CEO, owner, and apparently lead estimator—shows up at the Cummings’ property with Jenny in tow. They take measurements. They sign a contract. And then, in what can only be described as a red flag the size of a silo, the couple writes a $9,012 check… not to the company, not to “Nail It Steel Buildings & Construction, LLC,” but straight to “Tim Berry” personally. Let that sink in. You’re building a structure on your land, you hand over nine grand, and the guy says, “Just make it out to me.” No LLC shield. No business account. Just Tim. And Tim cashes it. Endorses it. Keeps it. And then… disappears into the great Oklahoma ether.

The contract promised construction would start in two to three weeks. That’s not some vague “we’ll get to it when we can” timeline—it’s a promise. A firm one. And the Cummings weren’t just sitting around waiting. They were proactive. On October 13, they reached out—polite, probably hopeful—asking about the plans, wanting to make sure everything was on track so they could break ground before Thanksgiving. That’s not unreasonable. That’s responsible. But instead of blueprints, they got crickets. Call after call. Message after message. Radio silence from both Tim and Jenny, who by now might as well be a figment of the State Fair’s cotton candy haze.

Then, finally, something: foundation plans from Tark Engineering. Submitted to the City of Edmond on December 11. But here’s the kicker—they were rejected. Three times. For “missing information.” Which means someone either didn’t know what they were doing, didn’t care, or both. Either way, the city wasn’t approving squat, and without approved plans, you can’t pour concrete, let alone raise steel. The project was dead in the water, and the Cummings were left holding a receipt and a growing sense of betrayal.

So why are they in court? Two reasons, both legally spicy. First: breach of contract. That’s lawyer-speak for “you said you’d do a thing, we paid you to do the thing, and you didn’t do the thing.” Simple. Clean. The contract existed. The Cummings paid. Nail It Steel was supposed to deliver plans and start building. They did neither. Boom—breach. The second claim is juicier: unjust enrichment, with a side of “hey, Tim, that was your name on the check.” The argument here is that Tim Berry personally took the money, personally cashed it, and personally kept it—without doing a damn thing in return. He got richer. The Cummings got nothing. That’s not just bad business—it’s legally indefensible. The law doesn’t like it when someone profits from doing nothing, especially when someone else is left holding the bag.

Now, let’s talk numbers. The Cummings are asking for $9,012. That’s the exact amount of the deposit. No punitive damages. No six-figure demand. Just their money back. And honestly? For a barn project, that’s not even that much. A decent prefab steel structure can run you $20K to $50K easy, depending on size and finishes. So $9K was likely just the deposit—maybe 30 to 50% down. But here’s the thing: they’re not asking for emotional distress over their unbuilt barn. They’re not suing for the cost of therapy after their dreams of rural self-sufficiency crumbled. They just want their deposit back. And maybe, just maybe, a little accountability.

But the real kicker? The jury trial demand. These folks aren’t just filing paperwork and hoping for a check. They want a courtroom. They want witnesses. They want Tim Berry to sit there, under oath, and explain why he took their money and vanished. That’s not about the cash—it’s about principle. It’s about not letting some guy with a business card and a State Fair booth treat their savings like a personal loan with no repayment plan.

Here’s our take: the most absurd part isn’t even the State Fair sales pitch or the three rejected plans. It’s that someone thought it was normal to write a nearly $10,000 check to “Tim Berry” instead of a company, and that Tim Berry thought it was fine to cash it and do nothing. That’s not just unprofessional—it’s a flashing neon sign that says “this whole operation runs on vibes, not contracts.” And sure, maybe Nail It Steel had other projects. Maybe Tim got busy. Maybe Jenny quit. We don’t know. But when you take money from people—especially for something as tangible as a building—you owe them more than ghosting and half-baked engineering forms.

We’re rooting for the Cummings. Not because they’re going to get rich off $9,012, but because they’re fighting for the basic idea that a deal is a deal. That if you show up at a fair, take measurements, sign a contract, and cash a check, you actually have to do the work. This isn’t just about a barn. It’s about trust. It’s about showing up. And if Tim Berry wants to run a construction business, maybe he should start by building some integrity—because right now, his reputation is about as structurally sound as those rejected foundation plans.