Honey Badger Financial, LLC v. Shiyrah Dana Fortney

Let’s cut straight to the chase: a woman in Oklahoma now owes more than $14,000—plus interest—because she stopped paying for a used 2016 Chevy Malibu, and somehow, the financial fallout spiraled into a full-blown courtroom drama with a company called Honey Badger Financial, LLC. Yes, that’s really the name. No, we are not making that up. This isn’t a reality TV plot—it’s a real civil lawsuit filed in Garvin County, and it’s got all the ingredients of a modern American tragedy: bad credit decisions, repossession, a fire-sale of a mid-tier sedan, and a bill that somehow ballooned past the original value of the car. Welcome to the wild west of subprime auto lending, where the honey badger doesn’t care—and neither, apparently, does the court.

So who are these people? On one side, we’ve got Shiyrah Dana Fortney, a private individual with, as far as we can tell from the filing, a modest automotive dream: owning a slightly used Chevy Malibu. Nothing flashy, nothing illegal—just a four-door, front-wheel-drive sedan with enough trunk space for groceries and a spare tire. On the other side? Honey Badger Financial, LLC—a company with a name that sounds like it should be selling energy drinks or hosting cage fights, not repossessing sedans in rural Oklahoma. But don’t let the edgy branding fool you; this is a debt buyer, likely one of those firms that purchases defaulted loans from car dealerships for pennies on the dollar, then sues to collect the full amount. Representing them is the law firm Robinson, Hoover & Fudge, PLLC—yes, Fudge—with Hugh H. Fudge himself (OBA #20487, because even lawyers have superhero IDs) leading the charge. It’s like a legal version of a wrestling tag team: Hoover, Fudge, and the Honey Badger are coming for your wages.

Now, let’s rewind to March 10, 2022—the day everything began. That’s when Shiyrah Fortney signed a contract with Seth Wadley Auto Connection (a dealership that, based on the name, sounds like it belongs in a Coen Brothers movie) to buy that 2016 Malibu. We don’t know the sticker price, the down payment, or whether she got the floor mats included for free, but we do know this: she eventually stopped making payments. That’s called defaulting, which in car loan terms means “you didn’t pay, so we’re taking the car back.” And take it back they did. The filing confirms the vehicle was “recovered”—a polite way of saying repossessed, which in turn is a polite way of saying “someone showed up while you weren’t home and drove your car away.” We don’t know if it was dramatic. We don’t know if Shiyrah came outside waving a broom. But we do know the car was later sold—likely at auction, likely for less than what was still owed.

And here’s where the math gets brutal. After the car was sold, the proceeds were applied to the debt. But it wasn’t enough. Not even close. According to the petition, Shiyrah still owes Honey Badger Financial—yes, the honey badger—the princely sum of $14,289.67. That’s the deficiency balance: the gap between what she owed and what the car sold for. And because this is America and interest never sleeps, the filing also tacks on another $7,296.72 in interest at a rate of 16.99% per year, calculated from March 2023 to March 2026. Wait—she’s being charged interest into the future? Yes. Yes, she is. That’s how deficiency judgments often work: the court locks in the interest up to a projected judgment date, even if the case resolves sooner. It’s not a prediction. It’s a demand. So right now, on paper, the total tab is $21,586.39. And that’s before attorney’s fees and court costs.

Which brings us to why they’re in court. Honey Badger Financial—again, not a metaphor, not a band name, but a registered LLC—filed this lawsuit because Shiyrah didn’t pay. That’s it. The legal claim here is breach of contract: she signed a loan agreement, she didn’t fulfill her end, and now the company (which bought the debt) wants the money. The petition doesn’t accuse her of fraud, identity theft, or joyriding. There’s no allegation she stripped the car for parts or used it in a bank heist. She just… stopped paying. And now, because the car sold for less than the outstanding balance, she’s on the hook for the difference. That’s standard in auto lending, but it’s also one of the most brutal financial traps in modern consumer finance. You lose the car, and you still owe thousands. It’s like losing a bet you didn’t realize was double-or-nothing.

So what does Honey Badger want? A judgment for $14,289.67, plus interest (both before and after judgment, thank you very much, per Oklahoma law), plus court costs, plus a “reasonable attorney fee” under 12 O.S. § 936—which could add thousands more. Is $14,000 a lot? In the grand scheme of civil lawsuits, it’s not huge—no yachts, no mansions, no corporate espionage. But for the average Oklahoman, that’s a year’s rent, a new car down payment, or two years of community college. For someone who was buying a used Malibu, it’s probably a crushing sum. And let’s not forget: the original car was a 2016 Malibu. Even in 2022, that wasn’t a luxury vehicle. We’re not talking about a Tesla or a Range Rover. This is a car that, when new, sold for around $25,000. By 2022, it was worth maybe $12,000 to $15,000, depending on mileage. So the deficiency balance is equal to or greater than the car’s market value at the time of purchase. That’s how these loans work when you’re upside-down from day one.

Now, here’s our take: the most absurd part of this case isn’t the Honey Badger Financial name—though let’s be real, that’s doing heavy lifting in the absurdity department. It’s not even the future-dated interest. It’s the sheer inevitability of this story. This is not an outlier. This is how millions of Americans get trapped in the debt cycle: a modest car purchase, a high-interest loan, a missed payment, repossession, a fire-sale auction, and then—bam—a five-figure judgment that can wreck credit, trigger wage garnishment, and linger for years. And who profits? A debt buyer with a meme-worthy name and a law firm with a guy named Fudge. Meanwhile, Shiyrah Fortney—whose only crime appears to be falling behind on payments—gets dragged into court like she committed financial treason.

We’re not saying she shouldn’t pay. We’re not saying contracts don’t matter. But let’s call this what it is: a system that turns a used car loan into a debt bomb. And while we can’t root for someone to dodge responsibility, we can root for transparency, for fair lending, and for a world where “Honey Badger Financial” doesn’t sound like the villain in a Breaking Bad spinoff. If nothing else, this case is a public service announcement: if you’re buying a car on a high-interest loan in Oklahoma, make sure you can afford it—because the honey badger does care. And it’s coming for your wallet.