ACE AUTO CREDIT, LLC. v. RASHAWN CHRISTOPHER JORDAN and TINA LOUISE BELL

Let’s get one thing straight: nobody buys a 2011 Audi A5 expecting it to be a wise financial decision. But Rashawn Christopher Jordan and Tina Louise Bell didn’t just roll the dice on a slightly-too-fancy used car — they apparently bet the whole damn table, lost, and now a debt collector is chasing them for nearly ten grand like they skipped out on a timeshare presentation. That’s the wild ride we’re on today, folks: the high-octane, low-credit, midlife-crisis-mobile saga of a luxury coupe that cost more than it was worth — and then some.

So who are these people? Honestly, your guess is as good as ours. The court filing doesn’t give us a whole lot to go on — no dramatic backstory, no claims of betrayal or broken promises beyond the usual “you didn’t pay us” spiel. But we can read between the lines. Rashawn and Tina — possibly a couple, possibly co-signers, possibly just two people who thought, “Hey, let’s split the payments on a used German sports car” — walked into Ace Auto Credit, LLC, on February 13, 2024, full of dreams and probably a credit score that screamed “we’ve made some choices.” And what did they walk out with? A 2011 Audi A5. Let that sink in. A car that, in 2024, was already 13 years old. A car that, when new, cost around $40,000. A car that, by the time they bought it, was probably worth somewhere between “decent daily driver” and “expensive paperweight with leather seats.”

Now, Ace Auto Credit isn’t your corner mom-and-pop used car lot with a “We Finance Anyone!” sign and a suspiciously high number of repossession trucks out back — though, honestly, they might as well be. They’re a buy-here-pay-here operation, which in plain English means: “We don’t care if your credit score is held together by expired coupons and goodwill, you can drive off the lot today!” The trade-off? Sky-high interest rates, balloon payments, and a repo man who probably knows your license plate by heart. And in this case, the interest rate was 12.9%. That’s not just high — that’s “charging rent on your regret” levels of interest. For context, the average auto loan rate in 2024 was around 6-7% for someone with decent credit. This? This is what happens when the bank says “no,” and you turn to the financial equivalent of a payday loan with heated seats.

So what happened? Well, according to the filing — which, again, is about as dramatic as a grocery list — Rashawn and Tina signed the contract, got the keys, and then… stopped paying. That’s it. No claim of mechanical issues, no accusation that the car was a lemon, no “the moon roof fell off during a car wash” theatrics. Just silence on the payment front. Defaulted. Game over. Cue the repo man, who swooped in like a financially motivated vulture, reclaimed the 2011 Audi A5 (which, let’s be real, probably didn’t go quietly — German engineering or not, that car had opinions), and hauled it off to auction.

Now, here’s where things get extra fun. When a car gets repossessed and sold, the sale price doesn’t always cover what’s still owed. That gap? It’s called a deficiency balance, and it’s the financial booby trap at the end of every too-good-to-be-true auto deal. In this case, after the Audi was sold, there was still $9,987.00 left on the hook. Add in interest accrued from September 2024 to January 2026 — $1,683.63 — and you’ve got a total demand of $11,670.66. Wait, what? The filing says $9,870.63? Oh, sweet summer child. That’s because the $9,987.00 principal and $1,683.63 in interest overlap in time — the interest isn’t on top of the full amount for the full period. The math is messy, but the point stands: Ace Auto Credit wants their money. Now.

Why are they in court? Because Rashawn and Tina didn’t pay. That’s the whole ballgame. The legal claim here is as straightforward as a highway at 3 a.m.: breach of contract. You signed a loan agreement. You promised to pay. You didn’t. We took the car. We sold it. You still owe us money. Pay up. No fraud, no conspiracy, no “he said, she said” about who scratched the paint. Just cold, hard debt. And Oklahoma law — specifically 12 O.S. § 936 — allows lenders to collect attorney fees in contract disputes, so Ace isn’t just coming for the principal and interest. They want all their costs covered. Translation: if this goes to trial, Rashawn and Tina might end up owing even more just for making the company ask in court.

Now, let’s talk about that number: $9,870.63. Is that a lot? Well, yes and no. It’s not “I lost my house” money, but it’s definitely “I can’t afford a down payment on a house” money. It’s “three months of rent” money in most of Oklahoma. It’s “a full year of Netflix, Spotify, and DoorDash” money. It’s also roughly twice what a decent private-party 2011 Audi A5 would sell for today — which raises the question: how did they end up owing more than the car was worth? Ah, yes. Interest. That sneaky, compounding beast. At 12.9%, that debt wasn’t just sitting there — it was growing, like a moldy science experiment in the back of the fridge.

And here’s the kicker: Ace Auto Credit isn’t asking for punitive damages. They’re not demanding a jury trial. They’re not trying to make an example out of these two. They just want their money. Which makes this case feel less like a courtroom drama and more like a financial autopsy. We’re not here to debate who’s morally right or wrong — though, let’s be honest, buying a luxury car you can’t afford is a vibe we’ve all seen on Instagram and immediately scrolled past because we knew it was a scam. But this isn’t about luxury anymore. This is about the aftermath. The dented ego. The credit score in the gutter. The awkward silence when the repo man shows up at your sister’s house because you listed her as an emergency contact.

Our take? The most absurd part isn’t that they bought a 13-year-old Audi. It’s not even the 12.9% interest rate — predatory as that may be. No, the real absurdity is that anyone thought this would end differently. Buy-here-pay-here lots don’t exist to help you build credit or drive a nice car. They exist to sell cars and collect interest and repossess when you inevitably fall behind. It’s a cycle. And Rashawn and Tina? They’re just two more names on the ledger.

Do we root for them? Kind of. Not because they’re innocent — they signed the contract, after all — but because their story is so painfully human. We’ve all made a decision we thought was temporary, only to realize it’s a long-term commitment. We’ve all looked at a shiny thing and thought, “That’ll fix it.” And we’ve all learned, the hard way, that interest doesn’t care about your intentions.

So here’s to Rashawn and Tina. May your next car be reliable. May your next loan be from a bank, not a guy named Ace. And may your next major life decision involve less leather and more financial literacy.