EPS Services, Inc. v. Highland Park Partners LLC

Let’s cut right to the chase: a Texas company is suing a New York-based landlord for $12,970 because—get this—the landlord still hasn’t paid for stuff like painting walls and fixing apartments. Not a murder. Not a scandal. Not even a stolen goat. Just seventeen unpaid invoices for janitorial work and touch-up paint, now headed to Oklahoma court like it’s the final showdown in a decade-long feud. We’re not saying it’s Romeo and Juliet, but we are saying someone thought this was worth hiring a lawyer, filing a formal petition, and dragging it through the civil justice system. And honestly? We’re here for it.

So who are these players in the high-stakes drama of overdue handyman bills? On one side, we’ve got EPS Services, Inc.—a Texas-based corporation that sounds like it could be a tech startup but is, in fact, in the business of cleaning up other people’s messes, literally. They fix up apartments, repaint units, maintain properties—basically the behind-the-scenes heroes who make sure your rental doesn’t look like a post-apocalyptic bunker. They’re the ones you don’t notice… until the rent hike hits and you realize someone had to fix that broken shower at 2 a.m. On the other side: Highland Park Partners LLC, a limited liability company with a fancy New York address—18 East 41st Street, Unit 3rd Floor, which sounds like the kind of place where people sip espresso and talk about “synergy.” But don’t let the Manhattan mailing address fool you—this is a landlord company that owns the Highland Park Apartments in Oklahoma City, a complex sitting at 4215 SE 53rd Street, which we can only assume has its fair share of leaky faucets and questionable carpet stains. These two entities entered into what seemed like a perfectly normal business arrangement: you fix my apartments, I pay you. Simple, right? Well, apparently not.

Here’s how the plot thickened. On or about November 3, 2023—mark your calendars, folks—EPS Services inked a deal with Highland Park Partners to provide maintenance and repair services at the Oklahoma City apartment complex. The scope? Pretty standard landlord stuff: repairing units, sprucing up interiors and exteriors with fresh paint, and general upkeep. You know, the kind of work that keeps tenants from fleeing in terror when they open their front doors. EPS did what any self-respecting maintenance company would do: they showed up, did the work, and—like true professionals—sent invoices. Not one. Not two. But seventeen invoices, spanning from November 3 to December 18, 2023. That’s over a month of consistent work, documented, delivered, and… completely ignored. No dramatic refusal. No “your work was subpar” email. Just silence. Radio silence. The financial equivalent of being ghosted after a third date. And now, nearly a year and a half later, the bill has come due—with interest, attorney’s fees, and the full weight of the Oklahoma civil court system behind it.

So why are we here, in the hallowed (or at least fluorescent-lit) halls of the District Court of Oklahoma County? Because EPS is suing for breach of contract—a legal way of saying, “We did our part. You didn’t do yours. Pay up.” In plain English: when two parties agree to do something—like provide services in exchange for money—and one side fails to hold up their end, the other can sue. It’s not rocket science. It’s not even Law & Order. It’s just basic “don’t stiff the guy who fixed your roof” logic. But apparently, Highland Park Partners either forgot, misplaced the invoices, decided they didn’t like the shade of beige EPS used in the hallway, or just adopted the corporate strategy of “if we ignore it long enough, it’ll go away.” Spoiler: it didn’t go away. It became Case No. CJ-2026-2046, with a very specific demand: $12,970.00. Not $13,000. Not “approximately thirteen grand.” No, $12,970. Down to the dollar. Which means someone at EPS did very careful bookkeeping. Respect.

Now, let’s talk about that number: $12,970. Is that a lot? In the grand scheme of lawsuits, it’s pocket change. It’s less than the down payment on a mid-range SUV. It’s about what you’d spend on a week-long vacation to Bali—assuming you don’t order room service. But for a small business like EPS, that’s real money. That’s payroll for a couple of workers. That’s fuel for their service vans. That’s the difference between turning a profit and eating ramen for a month. And let’s be real—this isn’t just about the cash. It’s about principle. It’s about sending a message: you can’t just hire a company, let them do the work, and then pretend the bill doesn’t exist because your accounting department is “restructuring.” That’s not capitalism. That’s just being rude.

EPS isn’t asking for punitive damages. They’re not demanding a public apology or a TikTok dance from the defendants. They’re not even asking for a jury trial—this one’s going to be decided by a judge, which tells us they’re not trying to turn this into a circus. They just want their money. Plus interest. Plus attorney’s fees. Plus “incidental damages,” which sounds dramatic but probably means the cost of printing the invoices and making phone calls. This is a clean, no-frills lawsuit. No drama queens. No secret affairs. Just a paper trail of unpaid bills and the quiet fury of a small business that got played.

And here’s our take: the most absurd thing about this case isn’t the amount. It’s not the fact that it’s gone to court. It’s that we’re even surprised it’s gone to court. Because let’s be honest—this kind of thing happens all the time. Freelancers get stiffed. Contractors don’t get paid. Landlords play shell games with LLCs across state lines. But usually, it ends with a frustrated phone call and a bad Yelp review. Rarely does it escalate to a formal petition in Oklahoma County District Court. And yet, here we are. And honestly? We’re kind of rooting for EPS. Not because $12,970 is life-changing money, but because someone has to stand up for the little guys who show up, do the work, and expect to get paid like adults. If we start letting companies ghost their bills like teenagers after a bad date, what’s next? Will landlords start denying they ever owned the property? “Highland Park Apartments? Never heard of it. Must be a different Highland Park. Probably in Canada.”

This case is a tiny, boring, beautiful reminder that the economy runs on trust—and invoices. And when that trust breaks down, sometimes you have to put on your legal pants, hire a lawyer named Ethan T. Swindell from Foshee & Yaffe, and say: “No. You owe me twelve thousand nine hundred and seventy dollars. And I want it in writing.” So here’s to EPS Services, Inc.—not just for fixing apartments, but for defending the sanctity of the invoice. May your checks be prompt, your paint jobs flawless, and your courtroom victories swift. And to Highland Park Partners? Pay the man. Or at least acknowledge the email.