Johnny L. Jackson v. Misty Lynn Cowan
What's This Case About?
Let’s cut straight to the drama: a woman in Oklahoma allegedly took $75,000 from a guy in Kansas to build houses, promised to pay it back with interest, then ghosted—and now owes nearly $95,000 because of a $50-a-day late fee that’s been ticking like a financial time bomb. This isn’t The Wolf of Wall Street—this is The Woman Who Thought She Could Skip Out on a Hard Money Loan and Just… Not Pay It.
Meet Johnny L. Jackson, a resident of Wichita, Kansas, and self-styled private lender with a taste for real estate deals that live just outside the traditional banking system. Then there’s Misty Lynn Cowan, of Skiatook, Oklahoma—entrepreneur, property flipper, or possibly just someone who really, really believed she could stretch a deadline into oblivion. The two weren’t family. They weren’t business partners. They were connected by one thing: cold, hard cash and a piece of paper called a promissory note—the financial world’s version of “I pinky swear I’ll pay you back.”
Here’s how this house of cards got built. On October 15, 2024, Misty signed a promissory note agreeing to borrow $75,000 from Johnny. The terms? Pay back $84,000—yes, that’s 12% interest—by June 15, 2025. Eight months. Not a lifetime. The money was supposed to go toward building two single-family homes in Hominy, Oklahoma—304 S. Regan and 1002 S. Tinker, in case you’re thinking of driving by and checking for progress. Johnny wired the cash. Misty, according to the filing, bought a property in Hominy on March 13, 2025, for $43,500. So… half the loan? Maybe she was building dollhouses. Or maybe she just bought the land and ran out of steam—or money.
Then came June 15, 2025. The due date. The big day. The day Misty was supposed to hand over $84,000 and close the deal. Instead? Crickets. Not a dime. Not a wire. Not even a “Hey, can we push this back?” So Johnny, being the reasonable man he is (or perhaps just the man with a lawyer on speed dial), didn’t immediately sue. He gave her a second chance. On June 23, 2025—eight days late—Misty signed an addendum. A grace period. A lifeline. The new deadline? October 15, 2025. And for the privilege of extra time? An extra $4,500. So now the total owed? $88,500. Still no monthly payments. Still one lump sum. Still a ticking clock.
But October 15 came and went too. And this time, the late fees kicked in—$50. Per day. That’s not a typo. Fifty bucks. Every. Single. Day. Like a parking ticket from hell. By the time Johnny’s lawyer sent the demand letter on December 29, 2025, 75 days of late fees had piled up—$3,750—bringing the total to $92,250. And by the time the lawsuit was filed on February 13, 2026? $94,500. That’s right—$19,500 in interest and penalties on a $75,000 loan. And the meter’s still running.
Johnny, through his attorney Cameron A. Combs (of the Combs Law Group, because yes, the name is real and no, we’re not making that up), is now suing Misty for breach of contract—specifically, breach of the promissory note. In plain English? She borrowed money. She promised to pay it back. She didn’t. That’s the lawsuit. The legal claim is as straightforward as it gets: you said you’d pay, you didn’t, now we’re in court. The promissory note even has a clause saying Misty will cover attorney fees and collection costs if she defaults—so Johnny’s not just after the principal and interest, he wants every penny he’s spent trying to collect, plus interest on those costs. It’s like financial compound interest from the dark side.
And what does Johnny want? $94,500. Plus $50 more for every day that passes until she pays. Plus attorney fees. Plus interest on all of it. Is $94,500 a lot? For a private loan? Absolutely. But context matters. Misty borrowed $75,000—hardly chump change. She had eight months, then got an extension. She didn’t pay a cent. Meanwhile, Johnny’s sitting in Kansas, presumably not thrilled that his investment turned into a game of “Where’s Misty?” The $50-a-day fee might seem outrageous—like something out of a mob movie—but it was in the contract. She signed it. Twice. Once for the original note, once for the extension. And let’s not forget: she also agreed to a $250 loan setup fee, which she also never paid. So even the small stuff adds up.
Now, here’s where it gets juicy. The demand letter—sent December 29, 2025—gave Misty a final offer: pay $88,500 by January 5, 2026, and Johnny would forgive all late fees and legal costs. A clean slate. A mercy pass. But she didn’t. So now? Full penalties. Full enforcement. And the lawsuit is filed in Osage County District Court—where Misty lives, and where the property in question is located. Smart move. Jurisdiction? Check. Venue? Check. Paperwork? All in order. Even the verification is notarized. This isn’t some sketchy debt collector—it’s a legit claim with receipts, dates, and exhibits.
So what’s our take? Look, we’re not here to judge Misty’s life choices. Maybe she had a medical emergency. Maybe the construction fell through. Maybe the foundation cracked and the houses are now sinkholes. We don’t know. And the filing doesn’t say. But what we do know is this: she signed a contract. Twice. She got the money. She didn’t pay. And now she’s on the hook for nearly $100,000. The most absurd part? The $50-a-day late fee. That’s $1,500 a month—more than most people’s rent—for doing absolutely nothing. It’s the financial equivalent of being charged for breathing. But again—she agreed to it. In writing. With a notary.
Are we rooting for Johnny? Honestly? A little. He played by the rules. He funded the loan. He gave her extra time. He even offered a last-minute deal to save her from the fee avalanche. She ignored it. Are we judging Misty? Not really. But we are judging the idea that you can take tens of thousands of dollars from a private lender, use it for a real estate project, and then just… disappear. That’s not entrepreneurship. That’s financial freeloading.
At the end of the day, this case is a cautionary tale: promissory notes aren’t IOUs you scribble on a napkin. They’re binding contracts. And in the wild west of hard money lending, where banks won’t go and credit scores don’t matter, the penalties for breaking your word can be brutal. Misty Lynn Cowan may have thought she was buying time. But she was actually buying debt—$50 at a time. And now, the court’s about to decide whether she has to pay up… or if this house of cards collapses on someone else.
Case Overview
-
Johnny L. Jackson
individual
Rep: Cameron A. Combs
- Misty Lynn Cowan individual
| # | Cause of Action | Description |
|---|---|---|
| 1 | breach of promissory note | plaintiff seeks payment of $94,500.00 plus late fees |