Midland Credit Management, Inc. v. Sarah Mundell
What's This Case About?
Sarah Mundell of Oklahoma owes $2,755.70 — and now she’s being sued by a company in Minnesota that’s never met her, never lent her a dime, and probably can’t even pronounce her last name. But don’t worry, they do have an affidavit. From a guy named Jacob Biard. Who works in St. Cloud. And has never spoken to Sarah. But does have access to “electronic records.” Welcome to modern debt collection, where your credit score is haunted by ghosts of banks past, and the courtroom drama comes not from murder weapons, but from spreadsheet entries.
Let’s meet our cast. On one side, we’ve got Sarah Mundell — an ordinary Oklahoma resident, presumably just trying to adult her way through life, pay some bills, maybe keep the lights on, and definitely avoid becoming a footnote in a corporate debt portfolio. On the other side? Midland Credit Management, Inc., a debt buyer based in Minnesota that doesn’t issue credit cards — it buys them. Like a vulture investor at a bankruptcy yard sale, Midland scoops up defaulted accounts for pennies on the dollar, then sues to collect the full amount. Think of them as the repo men of personal finance — except instead of repossessing cars, they repossess your peace of mind.
The original debts? Two credit cards. One from First Electronic Bank, account number ending in 8506 — opened August 2022, last payment made October 2023, charged off (i.e., written off as a loss) in December 2023. The balance? $1,308.31. The second, from The Bank of Missouri, account ending in 4998 — opened earlier, in February 2022, last payment January 2024, charged off September 2024. That one clocks in at $1,447.39. Combined, we’re talking $2,755.70 — the exact amount Midland is now demanding from Sarah, plus interest and court costs, because apparently, $2,755.70 wasn’t stressful enough on its own.
Now, here’s where it gets juicy — or at least as juicy as a debt collection petition can get. Midland didn’t lend Sarah a single red cent. They weren’t the ones who approved her applications, sent her credit cards, or sent her monthly statements. No, they came in after the banks gave up. Sometime in early 2024, Midland bought the rights to these two deadbeat accounts — like purchasing a haunted house at auction, hoping the ghost will still pay rent. And now, armed with digital records, a notary stamp from Stearns County, Minnesota, and a small army of attorneys at LOVE, BEAL & NIXON, P.C. (yes, that’s a real law firm name, and yes, we’re 100% calling them “Love, Beal & Nixon” like a 1970s detective duo), they’re chasing Sarah for money she may or may not remember borrowing.
The legal claim? “Indebtedness.” Fancy word for “you owe us.” Midland is asking the Logan County District Court to issue a judgment against Sarah, saying, officially and on paper, that yes, she owes this money. And once they get that judgment? They can garnish wages, freeze bank accounts, or just add a lovely little lien to her credit report that’ll follow her like a bad Yelp review. The process is straightforward: file the petition, attach affidavits (like the one from Jacob Biard, Legal Specialist and Keeper of the Digital Ledger), and wait for the defendant to either pay up, settle, or show up in court with receipts, memory, or a really good lawyer.
But here’s the kicker — and there’s always a kicker — Jacob Biard has never met Sarah Mundell. He’s never reviewed her original application, spoken to the bank teller who approved her card, or seen a photo of her signing anything. His entire testimony hinges on “electronic records” that were “incorporated into MCM’s business records” — a phrase that sounds impressively official but basically means “someone uploaded a spreadsheet.” And yet, under Oklahoma law, that’s enough to sue someone. As long as the affidavit follows the rules, the court can treat it like gospel. No cross-examination. No receipts. Just a guy in Minnesota saying, “Our computers say she owes money,” and the legal system says, “Cool, let’s sue her.”
Now, is $2,755.70 a lot of money? Depends on your rent. For some, it’s a car payment. For others, it’s six months of streaming services and DoorDash. For Sarah, it might be the difference between keeping her apartment and getting evicted. But here’s the absurd part: Midland probably paid way less than that for both accounts. Debt buyers often pay 3–10% of the face value. So for $2,755.70 in debt, Midland might’ve shelled out… $150? $200? If they win, they could walk away with a 1,000% return — all without ever issuing a credit card, running a credit check, or saying “thank you for calling customer service, how can I help you?”
And let’s talk about the timing. The lawsuit was filed on January 23, 2026 — the same day Jacob Biard signed both affidavits. That’s not a coincidence. That’s efficiency. That’s a debt collection machine so well-oiled it can generate a lawsuit, notarize two affidavits, and file in Oklahoma court — all before lunch. The whole thing feels less like a legal proceeding and more like a factory: debt goes in, judgments come out, attorneys get paid, and someone in Minnesota checks a box.
So what’s our take? Look, if Sarah charged $2,755 on credit cards and never paid, she should probably pay it. But the way this is happening — a faceless corporation in Minnesota suing an Oklahoma woman based on digital records maintained by a third party, using an affidavit from a man who’s never met her — feels less like justice and more like financial whack-a-mole. The system is designed to be intimidating. Most people don’t show up to court. Most settle. Most just pay to make it go away. And that’s how debt buyers win — not because they’re always right, but because they’re relentless, well-funded, and counting on you to be too busy, too scared, or too broke to fight back.
We’re rooting for Sarah. Not because we think she’s innocent — we don’t know — but because someone should stand up and say, “Wait, hold on. You want me to pay you for a debt you didn’t lend me? On what planet does that make sense?” If she shows up, asks for the original contracts, demands to see proof that Midland actually owns the debt, and forces them to actually prove their case? That’s a win. Even if she loses, she slows the machine down. And in a world where debt is bought and sold like baseball cards, sometimes the most radical thing you can do is ask for a receipt.
We’re entertainers, not lawyers. But if this goes to trial, we’re bringing popcorn.
Case Overview
-
Midland Credit Management, Inc.
business
Rep: LOVE, BEAL & NIXON, P.C.
- Sarah Mundell individual
| # | Cause of Action | Description |
|---|---|---|
| 1 | indebtedness | Defendant owes Plaintiff $2,755.70 |
| 2 | indebtedness | Defendant owes Plaintiff $1,447.39 |