AIC Title Services, LLC v. Money Giver, Sapi de cv Sofom, ENR

Let’s get one thing straight: nobody involved in this case has ever boarded a plane called “Common Sense Airlines,” because if they had, we wouldn’t be here arguing over $100,000 in escrow like it’s the final round of Who Wants to Be a Millionaire? — except instead of lifelines, we’ve got a Mexican-registered Phenom 100E, a Utah bank acting as a trustee for a Brazilian-sounding entity, and a seller with a name straight out of a Scooby-Doo villain episode: Money Giver, Sapi de cv Sofom, ENR. Yes, that’s really its name. No, we don’t know what it means. But we do know this: someone tried to buy a jet, the deal went sideways, and now a title company is suing just to give back the deposit. Welcome to CrazyCivilCourt, where even private aviation has its own brand of petty.

So, who are these people? Well, first up: AIC Title Services, LLC, the plaintiff in this case. They’re not the buyer. They’re not the seller. They’re not even the guy who washes the plane. They’re the escrow agent — basically the neutral middleman who holds money during a transaction so no one gets ripped off. Think of them as the nervous substitute teacher in a high-stakes game of financial hot potato. Their job is simple: hold the cash, follow the rules, and hand it over when everyone agrees it’s time. But in this case, the grown-ups stopped agreeing, and now AIC is stuck with $100,000 they desperately want to give away — but can’t, because the court system said, “Nice try, but first, let’s litigate.”

On one side of the tarmac, we have Money Giver, Sapi de cv Sofom, ENR — a Mexican financial entity (yes, that’s really the name; no, we don’t know if it’s a joke or a typo) — playing the role of the Seller. They allegedly owned a sleek Embraer 500, otherwise known as a Phenom 100E — a small private jet that seats about eight people and costs more than most people’s houses. This particular aircraft, registered in Mexico as XA-ATJ, comes with two Pratt & Whitney engines, a top speed of around 400 knots, and, apparently, a side order of legal drama.

On the other side, we’ve got Bank of Utah, acting as Owner Trustee for Green Distribuição Importação e Exportação, LTDA — a name so long it probably needs its own oxygen mask. The Bank of Utah isn’t buying the plane for itself; it’s holding the title on behalf of this mysterious Brazilian import-export company (yes, that’s really the name too — we’re not making this up). So, in theory, they’re the Buyer. But here’s the twist: the deal never closed. And now, no one can agree on who gets the $100,000 deposit — the so-called “Stake” — that was supposed to seal the deal.

Here’s how it went down. On October 6, 2025 — yes, that’s two years in the future from the filing date, which either means someone made a typo or this court has a time machine — the Seller and Buyer signed an aircraft purchase agreement. AIC Title Services was named the escrow agent, meaning they got the sacred duty of holding the $100,000 deposit until the sale finalized. That’s standard procedure. But somewhere between signing the contract and actually handing over the keys (or, you know, flight manuals and airworthiness certificates), things fell apart. The transaction never closed. And now, both sides are pointing fingers, claiming the other guy backed out — or breached the contract — or whatever corporate excuse people use when they don’t want to admit they ran out of cash or cold feet.

Now, AIC is stuck. They’ve got $100,000 sitting in an account, burning a hole in their balance sheet — except it’s not their hole. They’re just the mailroom clerk holding the envelope. But if they hand the money to the wrong party? Boom — lawsuit city. Double payment? Even bigger city. So instead of gambling, AIC did the only logical thing: they sued everyone in a move known as an interpleader. That’s a fancy legal term that means, “Hey, Your Honor, I don’t know who gets the money, but I don’t want to get sued for giving it to the wrong person, so please make them fight it out and let me go home.”

And that’s exactly what they’re asking for. AIC isn’t demanding damages. They’re not seeking revenge. They’re not even asking for a raise. They just want the court to: 1. Force the two defendants to argue it out between themselves, 2. Let AIC hand over the $100,000 to the court (so it’s safe), 3. Discharge AIC from any liability — forever — so no one can sue them later, and 4. Reimburse them for attorney fees and court costs from that same $100,000 pot, because hey, someone’s gotta pay for all this drama.

Now, is $100,000 a lot of money? In most human contexts — yes. It’s a down payment on a nice house, a lifetime supply of avocado toast, or a really good therapist for at least five years. But in the world of private jets? That’s basically the tip. The Embraer Phenom 100E has a market value of $3 million or more, depending on condition and upgrades. So $100,000 is just 3% of the total — a deposit, not the full price. It’s like putting down a deposit on a Tesla and then arguing for two years over whether you get it back after ghosting the dealership. Except with more Latin American entities and Utah banks.

What makes this case even more surreal is the timeline. The purchase agreement is dated October 6, 2025, but the lawsuit was filed in March 2023 — over a year and a half before the contract was supposedly signed. Either someone messed up the date, or this is the most prophetic escrow agreement in legal history. Maybe the jet comes with a crystal ball. Either way, it’s the kind of detail that makes you wonder if anyone actually read the contract before signing it — or if they just saw “private jet” and signed in blood.

So where does that leave us? A title company caught in the middle, a Mexican financial firm with a name that sounds like a rejected Bond villain, a Utah bank playing middleman for a Brazilian trading company, and a plane that may or may not have ever changed hands. The whole thing reads like a Terry Gilliam fever dream — Brazil, but with more paperwork and less torture.

Our take? The most absurd part isn’t the money. It’s not even the names. It’s that AIC has to sue people just to give back their own deposit. That’s like having to file a restraining order against your wallet because it keeps trying to steal your cash. These are supposedly sophisticated business entities — financial firms, trustees, international corporations — and yet they can’t figure out who gets the $100K without dragging a neutral third party into court. If this were a divorce, we’d call it messy. But this isn’t about love. It’s about a jet. And at this point, the plane could’ve flown around the world twice while they argued.

We’re rooting for AIC — not because they’re heroes, but because they’re the only ones acting like adults. They just want out. They don’t want the money. They don’t want the plane. They don’t even want to talk about the plane. They just want to close the file, get reimbursed for their legal fees, and go back to handling real estate deals where the biggest drama is a leaky faucet.

Until then, the court holds the keys. And somewhere, a private jet sits idle, wondering if it’ll ever get a new owner — or if its next flight will be a deposition subpoena.