EPS Services, Inc. v. Belmont Apartment Partners LLC

Let’s be real: nobody expects a full-blown legal war over paint jobs and leaky faucets. But here we are, in Oklahoma County, where a Texas-based handyman-for-hire company is suing a New York–based landlord for $24,925—because apparently, nobody told Belmont Apartment Partners LLC that “you get what you pay for” applies to maintenance invoices too. That’s right: a corporation incorporated in Texas is dragging a limited liability company headquartered in Manhattan all the way into Oklahoma state court over 54 unpaid bills for things like repainting walls and fixing toilets. This isn’t just a dispute—it’s a modern-day War of the Roses, but instead of fighting over a priceless antique, they’re squabbling over a receipt for $387.50 worth of drywall repair.

So who are these players in the great American drama of unpaid handymen? On one side, we’ve got EPS Services, Inc.—a Texas corporation that sounds like it could be a cybersecurity firm but is actually in the business of fixing up apartment complexes. Think of them as the pit crew for rundown rental units: when pipes burst, paint peels, or units need sprucing up between tenants, EPS shows up with tools, ladders, and an invoice template. They operate in both Texas and Oklahoma, which means they’re no strangers to cross-state logistics—or apparently, cross-state drama. Represented by Ethan T. Swindell of Foshee & Yaffe (a name that sounds like a vintage law firm from a 1940s detective movie), EPS is not messing around.

On the other side? Belmont Apartment Partners LLC, a New York–based LLC that owns The Belmont, an apartment complex located not on Park Avenue but in Bethany, Oklahoma—a quiet suburb northwest of Oklahoma City where the biggest scandal is usually someone putting their trash cans out on Wednesday instead of Thursday. Belmont, despite its cosmopolitan address and fancy name, seems to have forgotten one of the golden rules of property ownership: if you hire someone to fix your roof, you probably shouldn’t ghost them like a bad Tinder date. The company, incorporated in New York but managing property in Oklahoma, is the kind of faceless corporate landlord that tenants love to hate—except this time, it’s not a tenant suing. It’s the guy who patched the holes in the ceiling after the last tenant flooded the unit.

Now, let’s get into the juicy part: what actually went down. According to the petition, on October 23, 2023, EPS and Belmont shook virtual hands (probably via email, because who actually signs paper contracts anymore?) and agreed that EPS would handle maintenance, repairs, and general upkeep at The Belmont. We’re talking interior and exterior painting, unit repairs, cleaning, and general property TLC—the kind of work that keeps a complex from looking like a post-apocalyptic set from The Walking Dead. EPS didn’t just show up and kick their heels; they allegedly performed the work, documented it, and sent invoices. Not one. Not ten. Fifty-four invoices. Over a six-month period—from October 23, 2023, to April 1, 2024—EPS kept showing up, doing the job, billing for it, and… crickets. No payment. No “we’re processing this.” Not even a passive-aggressive “per our last email.” Just silence. And now, the tab has hit $24,925. That’s not chump change—it’s enough to buy a used Tesla, remodel a kitchen, or, you know, pay your contractor like a functioning member of society.

So why are we in court? Because, believe it or not, contracts still matter—even in the Wild West of property management. EPS is suing for breach of contract, which in plain English means: “We did what we promised. You didn’t. Now pay up.” It’s not some convoluted fraud scheme or a case of emotional distress over a poorly caulked bathtub. This is as straightforward as legal claims get: one party provided services, the other party agreed to pay, and then… didn’t. The law, bless its black-and-white heart, tends to frown on that. There’s no allegation of shoddy work, no counterclaim that EPS painted all the walls neon green or installed toilets backwards. Nothing. Just a pile of unpaid invoices and a company that apparently thought “out of sight, out of mind” applied to accounts payable.

And what does EPS want? $24,925 in actual damages—plus interest, attorney’s fees, and “incidental and consequential damages,” which is legalese for “we want to get every penny we’re owed, and maybe a little extra for the emotional toll of chasing you down.” Is $25K a lot in the grand scheme of lawsuits? Not really. Big corporations throw that around on lunch breaks. But for a maintenance company operating in the competitive, razor-thin-margin world of property repairs? That’s real money. That’s payroll. That’s buying new tools instead of using duct tape and hope. For a landlord like Belmont, which presumably manages multiple properties and has investors breathing down its neck, this should’ve been a rounding error. Instead, it’s now a public court filing, a stain on their business reputation, and a very public reminder that ignoring invoices doesn’t make them disappear—like taxes, or your mother-in-law’s birthday.

Now, here’s our take: the most absurd part of this whole saga isn’t the money. It’s the sheer audacity of the non-response. Fifty-four invoices. Fifty-four chances to say, “Hey, we’re disputing this line item,” or “Our accounting department is backed up,” or even just “We lost your W-9.” But no. Silence. Radio silence. It’s like they thought EPS would just… forget. Or maybe they assumed that because EPS is based in Texas and the court is in Oklahoma, and they’re incorporated in New York, jurisdictional confusion would somehow erase debt. Spoiler: it doesn’t. The internet exists. So do lawyers. And so does the concept of you owe someone for work they did for you.

We’re not saying Belmont definitely owes every penny—though honestly, without any counter-allegations, it’s hard to see the defense here. But even if there was a dispute, the professional move would’ve been to communicate. To negotiate. To not treat a small business like a Venmo request you can ignore until it expires. EPS isn’t asking for punitive damages. They’re not demanding a public apology or a TikTok dance from the CEO. They just want to be paid. In a world where landlords are often the villains of rental horror stories, it’s kind of refreshing to see one get called out for failing to uphold their end of a business deal. And while we don’t usually root for corporations, we’re quietly cheering for the little guy with the tool belt this time.

So here’s hoping the judge rules swiftly, Belmont cuts a check, and EPS can finally close the books on The Belmont—both literally and emotionally. And maybe, just maybe, someone in New York learns that in Oklahoma, your word—and your invoices—still mean something.