Cavalry SPV I, LLC v. Tracy D McNitt

Let’s be real: someone is suing Tracy McNitt for $820.12—yes, $820 and twelve cents—and doing so with the full legal artillery, complete with sworn declarations, a fleet of attorneys, and a corporate name that sounds like a private military contractor from a dystopian spy thriller. This isn’t a heist. It’s not even a scandal. It’s a credit card debt the size of a decent used tire, now bloated into a court case with more signatures than a divorce in Hollywood. Welcome to the American civil justice system, where $820 can earn its own lawyer.

So who are we even talking about here? On one side, we’ve got Cavalry SPV I, LLC, which—despite the name sounding like a rogue NATO task force or a secret government black budget project—is actually just a debt buyer. These companies don’t lend money. They don’t issue credit cards. What they do is buy up old, defaulted debts—often for pennies on the dollar—from banks that have given up on collecting. Then, like financial vultures with bar licenses, they swoop in and sue to collect the full amount. In this case, the original debt was with Citibank, N.A., specifically tied to a Home Depot credit card (because of course it was—where else do you blow $820 on a weekend DIY project that ends in divorce?). The account was opened back in April 2017 by Tracy D. McNitt, presumably to buy power tools, paint, or possibly an above-ground pool they never installed. By March 2025, the account was “charged off,” which is banker-speak for “we’ve given up and sold your debt to the debt apocalypse people.” Enter Cavalry SPV I, LLC, who purchased the debt in May 2025 and decided, “You know what? We’re going to court over twelve cents.”

Now, let’s unpack the drama. Tracy McNitt, presumably a regular person living their life in Cotton County, Oklahoma—population: small enough that the entire county could fit in a Walmart parking lot during a Black Friday sale—stopped paying their Home Depot credit card. That happens. Jobs change. Emergencies pop up. Maybe the drill press broke. Whatever the reason, Citibank eventually wrote off the debt and sold it to Cavalry. Fast-forward to November 2025, and Cavalry’s records—maintained by Cavalry Portfolio Services, LLC, which is like the field agent division of this debt-collecting operation—show that Tracy still owes $820.12. So what’s a financially lean but legally aggressive LLC to do? File a lawsuit in the District Court of Cotton County, Oklahoma, because apparently, justice must be served—even if the amount in question wouldn’t cover the plaintiff’s attorney’s parking fees in a major city.

The legal claim here is as straightforward as a Walmart self-checkout: indebtedness. That’s legalese for “you owe money, and we have paperwork saying so.” No fancy fraud allegations. No breach of contract drama. No secret affair hidden in the footnotes. Just a cold, hard assertion: Tracy McNitt owes $820.12, and Cavalry wants it back—plus interest, court costs, and a “reasonable attorney’s fee,” because nothing says petty victory like billing the defendant for the cost of suing them. The evidence? A declaration from Victor Baptista, Legal Administrator at Cavalry Portfolio Services, who swears under penalty of perjury that the records are accurate, that the debt was purchased, and—importantly—that Tracy McNitt is not in the military, which matters because suing active-duty service members comes with extra legal hoops (thank you, Servicemembers Civil Relief Act). So no, this isn’t a case of a deployed soldier being hounded for a debt. It’s just a civilian in rural Oklahoma being pursued for less than a thousand bucks by a company named like it should be dropping para-troopers behind enemy lines.

And what does Cavalry want? $820.12. Let that sink in. That’s not life-changing money. That’s not even appliance-changing money. You could buy a decent used lawnmower for that. Or two iPhones on sale. Or, if you’re feeling fancy, a single concert ticket and a parking spot in L.A. In the grand economy of lawsuits, this is the legal equivalent of suing someone for stealing your lunch from the office fridge—except the lunch was a sad Tupperware of leftovers, and you’ve hired a law firm to press charges. Is $820 a lot to Tracy McNitt? Maybe. For Cavalry? Probably not. They likely paid maybe $80 for this debt. So even if they win, their profit margin is thin—unless they rack up attorney’s fees, which, let’s be honest, are probably already over $820 by now. This whole case might be operating at a loss, which raises the question: is this about the money, or is it about the principle? Or, more cynically, is it about sending a message to other debtors: We will come for you. Even for $820.12. Even in Cotton County.

Now, here’s our take: the most absurd part isn’t that someone’s being sued for less than a car payment. It’s the scale of the operation. We’ve got a law firm—Love, Beal & Nixon, P.C.—with seven listed attorneys on the petition, like this is a Supreme Court battle over constitutional rights, not a sub-thousand-dollar debt collection case. William L. Nixon, Jr. and his legal dream team are billing by the hour, and yet they’re spending time on a case that wouldn’t cover the cost of their coffee run. The declaration is notarized. It cites database checks. It’s got dates, account numbers, corporate hierarchies—it reads like a CIA dossier. All for a debt that probably started with a cordless drill and a dream.

Are we rooting for Tracy McNitt? Sure, in the David vs. Goliath sense. There’s something almost poetic about a single person in rural Oklahoma being dragged into court by a faceless LLC with a name ripped from a Tom Clancy novel. But let’s not pretend Tracy is entirely innocent—unless there’s a dispute over the debt, which we don’t know, since this is just the plaintiff’s filing. Still, the imbalance is staggering. This is the financial equivalent of using a flamethrower to light a birthday candle.

At the end of the day, this case is a perfect microcosm of America’s debt collection machine: impersonal, aggressive, and utterly disproportionate. It’s not about justice. It’s about volume. Cavalry probably files hundreds of these a month. Win a few, and the math works. Lose some? No big deal. But for Tracy McNitt, this could mean wage garnishment, credit damage, or just the stress of being sued over a sum that, frankly, most people would PayPal to make it go away.

And yet… they didn’t. Maybe they forgot. Maybe they disputed it. Maybe they’re fighting back. Or maybe they just haven’t been served yet. Either way, welcome to Crazy Civil Court, where the stakes are low, the paperwork is high, and the real crime is how normal this all has become.