ADEDYOYIN ABOIYE, individually, and as Special Administrator of the Estate of Adeolu Abioye v. GOODLEAP, LLC, ARIZONA SOLAR SOLUTIONS, INC., d/b/a SUNTRIA, and LEGATUS COMPANY LLC, d/b/a CUSTOM PRO ROOFING & SOLAR
What's This Case About?
Imagine signing up for a solar panel system that promises to slash your electric bill and save you tens of thousands of dollars—only to realize, too late, that you’ve been handed a $52,000 loan for a rooftop setup that’s doing absolutely nothing. That’s not a nightmare. That’s what actually happened to Adedoyin Aboiye and her late husband in Oklahoma City, thanks to what their lawsuit describes as a slick, high-tech door-to-door solar scam wrapped in false promises, ghosted texts, and a paper trail that materialized weeks too late.
Meet the Aboiyes: a couple trying to do the right thing—cut energy costs, go green, maybe even make a little money from excess solar power. Enter Jordan Grill (yes, that’s really his name), a door-to-door sales rep for Suntria, a solar company that, according to the lawsuit, rolls up to homes like a traveling carnival of clean energy dreams. On April 18, 2023, Grill pitched them a deal so sweet it sounds like it was written by a used car salesman with a PowerPoint: a solar system costing about $22,000, financed at a cozy 2% interest, with monthly payments around $120. Oh, and by the way, they’d get a government rebate of nearly $20,000—basically paying for most of the system themselves. Who wouldn’t sign up?
So they did. Right there, on the spot, on a laptop screen, with digital signatures flying like confetti. But here’s the kicker: they weren’t given a copy of the contract. Not then. Not for weeks. And when the paperwork finally arrived on May 13—over three weeks later—the numbers looked like a different language. Suddenly, the loan wasn’t $22,000. It was $52,139.74. The interest rate? Not 2%. Try 4.49%. And that “monthly payment” of $120? Nowhere in sight. Instead, they were staring at a 25-year debt they never agreed to, backed by a company called GoodLeap, which specializes in financing solar systems across the country—and apparently, in making life-altering financial decisions for people who never saw the fine print.
Now, Oklahoma law is pretty clear: if you’re selling something door-to-door, you’ve got to give the buyer a copy of the contract at the time of signing. You also have to tell them they can cancel within three business days. This is called the “cooling-off period,” designed for moments exactly like this—when a salesperson whips out an iPad, talks fast, and leaves a family with a decision they can’t undo. But according to the petition, none of that happened. No contract copy. No cancellation notice. Just a promise, a few taps on a screen, and a $52,000 anchor dropped on their financial future.
The Aboiyes weren’t stupid. They smelled something off. So in July, Adedoyin texted Jordan Grill: Hey, this doesn’t match what you told us. And here’s where it gets even wilder—Grill agreed. His response? “It was the wrong financing. We are canceling it out and covering the cost. I’m making sure you guys get taken care of.” That’s not a denial. That’s a confession. But instead of fixing it, the company ghosted them. Calls unanswered. Texts ignored. And then—like a scene from a low-budget horror movie—the solar panels showed up anyway. Installed. On their roof. Despite multiple refusals. Despite the fact that the Aboiyes had clearly disputed the terms. Despite the fact that the system was never even connected to the grid. It just… sat there. A $52,000 paperweight soaking up Oklahoma sunshine and doing exactly nothing.
To add insult to injury, GoodLeap—this nationwide financing machine—started sending bills. Demands for payment on a loan tied to a system that doesn’t work, never worked, and was never supposed to cost that much in the first place. And then, in November 2023, Adedoyin’s husband, Adeolu, passed away. Now, she’s not just fighting a shady solar company. She’s doing it as the special administrator of his estate, grieving while being hounded by collection notices for a debt she never approved and a product that delivered zero value.
So why are they in court? Legally, it’s a buffet of consumer protection claims. The lawsuit accuses Suntria, Custom Pro Roofing & Solar (the installer), and GoodLeap (the lender) of breach of contract, fraud, and violating just about every consumer law Oklahoma has—like the Consumer Protection Act, the Consumer Credit Code, and the Uniform Commercial Code. In plain English: they lied, they tricked, they didn’t follow the rules, and now they’re trying to collect on a debt that shouldn’t exist. The Aboiyes aren’t just asking to be let out of the contract—they’re demanding damages for financial harm, emotional distress, and the sheer absurdity of being stuck with a useless solar system and a mountain of debt.
How much are they asking for? The filing doesn’t specify a dollar amount, but given the $52,000 loan, years of harassment, and the emotional toll—including losing a spouse in the middle of it all—it’s safe to say they’re not looking for chump change. And honestly? $52,000 is a lot for a solar system that doesn’t work. For context, a fully installed, high-quality 10-kilowatt solar system in Oklahoma averages around $28,000 after federal tax credits. Even before credits, we’re talking mid-$30s. This was more than double what should’ve been on the table—and even that assumes the system was functional, which it wasn’t. So not only did they overcharge, they delivered nothing. It’s like paying for a Tesla and getting a cardboard cutout.
Here’s the most absurd part: this wasn’t some rogue salesperson acting alone. The lawsuit alleges a symbiotic relationship between the companies—Suntria selling, Custom Pro installing, GoodLeap financing—all running on the same script, the same electronic sales tools, the same playbook of fast-talking, document-hiding, and pressure-selling. GoodLeap, despite being the lender, allegedly had control over how these sales were presented. They weren’t some passive bank in the background—they were in the engine room, fueling a system designed to exploit the very people it claims to help.
And let’s talk about that name: GoodLeap. What a marketing triumph. It sounds like a yoga studio or a meditation app. Instead, it’s a financial entity locking people into 25-year loans for solar systems that never go live. The irony is so thick you could slice it.
Our take? We’re rooting for Adedoyin. Not just because she’s grieving, or because she got played by a guy named Jordan Grill (which, again, sounds made up), but because this case shines a light on a growing trend: high-pressure, tech-enabled sales tactics that prey on ordinary people trying to make smart, eco-conscious choices. These aren’t criminals in alleyways. They’re professionals with laptops, corporate logos, and a veneer of legitimacy. They use iPads like magic wands to make contracts appear, disappear, and reappear with different numbers. And when you question it? They vanish.
This lawsuit isn’t just about $52,000. It’s about accountability. It’s about whether a company can slap solar panels on your roof against your will and then bill you for it. It’s about whether a promise made in a living room should mean something. And it’s about whether “going green” should come with a side of financial ruin.
So yeah. We’re watching. And we’re hoping the court tells GoodLeap to take a long, hard leap—right out the door.
Case Overview
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ADEDYOYIN ABOIYE, individually, and as Special Administrator of the Estate of Adeolu Abioye
individual|business|government
Rep: Minal Gahlot, Oklahoma Consumer Law Firm
| # | Cause of Action | Description |
|---|---|---|
| 1 | Breach of Contract, revocation/recission, Fraud/Fraud in the Inducement, Violation of the Oklahoma Consumer Credit Code, Violation of Oklahoma’s Uniform Commercial Code, Violation of the Oklahoma Consumer Protection Act | alleging Defendants engaged in deceptive and fraudulent sales practices, inducing Plaintiffs into contracts they never understood the terms of, burdened with an overpriced and underperforming solar system, subjected to wrongful demands for payment, and deprived of the promised energy savings |