CAVALRY SPV I, LLC, AS ASSIGNEE OF CITIBANK, N.A. v. BRETT THOMPSON

Let’s be real: we’ve all gotten those letters. The ones that show up in the mailbox with a return address that looks like it was generated by a robot programmed to sound vaguely legal. But when a debt collector sues you for less than the cost of a used iPhone? That’s when the absurdity dial gets cranked to eleven. In a courtroom in Le Flore County, Oklahoma — a place more known for pine trees and rural charm than high-stakes legal drama — a faceless financial entity named Cavalry SPV I, LLC is suing a man named Brett Thompson for exactly $786.98. That’s not a typo. Less than eight hundred bucks. And yes, they brought lawyers.

Now, who even are these people? On one side, we’ve got Cavalry SPV I, LLC — which sounds like a rejected Transformers villain but is actually one of those shadowy debt-buying companies that scoops up defaulted credit card balances for pennies on the dollar. They don’t make products. They don’t run stores. Their entire business model is buying old debts and then suing people to collect. Think of them as the vultures of the financial world: they circle until someone misses a payment, then they swoop in with a lawsuit. Their attorney, Dan G. Young of Jenkins & Young, P.C., is a professional debt collector lawyer — a real-life character who probably has a spreadsheet tracking how many $800 cases he’s filed this year. (Spoiler: it’s a lot.)

On the other side is Brett Thompson, a resident of Cameron, Oklahoma — a tiny town with a population barely over 500, where everyone probably knows everyone, and the biggest drama is usually who stole the church potluck casserole. Brett isn’t a fugitive. He’s not a fraudster. He’s just a regular guy who, at some point, likely opened a Home Depot credit card issued by Citibank, bought some tools or maybe a new water heater, and then… life happened. Maybe he lost a job. Maybe medical bills piled up. Maybe he just forgot to pay. Whatever the reason, the debt went unpaid, Citibank gave up, sold the balance to Cavalry for pennies, and now here we are: a multi-state corporate debt machine suing a guy in rural Oklahoma for the price of a decent used lawnmower.

So what actually happened? Well, according to the filing — which is about as dramatic as a grocery list — Brett Thompson had a credit agreement with Citibank, probably through The Home Depot. He used the card. He racked up charges. And at some point, he stopped paying. That’s it. No embezzlement. No identity theft. No elaborate scam. Just a credit card bill gone cold. Citibank, like most big banks, doesn’t waste time chasing down small balances, so they sold the debt to Cavalry SPV I, LLC — a company whose entire reason for existing is to sue people like Brett. And now, Cavalry is asking the court to force Brett to pay up — not just the $786.98, but also interest, court costs, and attorney’s fees. Because of course they are. This isn’t about justice. This is about profit margins on pocket change.

Why are they in court? Legally, the claim is called an “Account Stated” — which sounds fancy but basically means: “You had an account. You agreed to pay. You didn’t. Now we want the money.” It’s one of the most common claims in debt collection lawsuits, and it’s usually a slam dunk for the plaintiff — if they can prove the debt was properly assigned and the amount is correct. But here’s the kicker: Cavalry isn’t claiming Brett fraudulently charged $786.98. They’re not saying he denied ever having the card. They’re not even alleging he refused to pay after being reminded. Nope. They’re just saying, “He owes it. He promised. He didn’t pay. Give us the cash.” It’s like a diner bill that went to collections because you walked out without paying — except the check was from 2018, and the waiter now works for a third-party collections agency.

And what do they want? $786.98. Let that sink in. That’s less than most people spend on groceries in two months. It’s less than the deductible on a car insurance claim. It’s the kind of amount that, if you found it in an old coat pocket, you might treat yourself to a steak dinner. But Cavalry isn’t here to split a check. They want a court judgment — which means if they win, they can potentially garnish wages, freeze bank accounts, or place a lien on property. All over less than eight hundred dollars. And let’s not forget: they’re also asking for attorney’s fees and interest, which means Brett could end up owing more than the original balance — for the privilege of being sued over it.

Now, here’s the real tea: Brett Thompson is not represented by a lawyer. The filing shows he’s pro se — meaning he’s flying solo against a professional debt collection law firm. That’s like bringing a butter knife to a drone strike. These firms file hundreds of these cases a year. They have templates. They have systems. They know exactly how to work the court calendar. Meanwhile, Brett is probably trying to figure out how to respond to a legal document written in legalese while also, you know, working, paying rent, and surviving in rural Oklahoma where access to legal aid is about as common as a Starbucks.

Is $787 a lot? For Cavalry, probably not. They likely paid $50 for the debt and are hoping to turn a tidy profit with minimal effort. But for Brett? That could be rent money. That could be car repairs. That could be groceries for a month. And yet, here he is, being dragged into court by a company that doesn’t even know him — a faceless LLC incorporated in Delaware, managed by investors, suing a man in a town so small it doesn’t have a traffic light.

Our take? The most absurd part isn’t even the amount. It’s the scale of the machine. A corporation with a name that sounds like a failed hedge fund is using the state judicial system — a system meant to resolve serious disputes — to chase down a debt smaller than your average streaming subscription bill. They’ve hired a lawyer, filed a petition, paid court fees, and expect a judge to take this seriously — all for less than a grand. And they do this hundreds of times. This isn’t justice. It’s debt harassment with a legal veneer.

We’re not saying Brett didn’t owe the money. Maybe he did. Maybe he should’ve paid. But when the financial system turns into a game of legal whack-a-mole, where people are sued over coffee-shop-level debts by companies that exist solely to litigate, something’s broken. And honestly? We’re rooting for Brett. Not because he’s innocent. But because sometimes, the little guy deserves a win — even if it’s just to spite a corporation with a name that sounds like a rejected Bond villain. If he shows up to court with a notarized receipt for a $787 receipt from 2016, we’ll be first in line to applaud. Because in the petty civil court circus, sometimes the clown shoes are on the other side of the bench.

(Disclaimer: We’re entertainers, not lawyers. This case is based on a real filing, but we’re here for the drama, not the legal advice. If you’re being sued for $787, maybe call a real attorney. Or at least check your junk drawer for old receipts.)