LVNV Funding LLC v. Larry D Spohn

Let’s get one thing straight: nobody wakes up in their 50s expecting to be sued by a vampire squid made of paperwork. But that’s exactly what happened to Larry D. Spohn of Oklahoma, who now finds himself in the crosshairs of a corporate debt collector demanding $9,171.63 — not for murder, not for fraud, not even for failing to return a borrowed lawn mower — but for a credit card he opened back when The Hunger Games was still a fresh dystopian trend and people thought “Alexa” was just a weird name for a human. Yes, we’re talking about a debt that started in 2013, traveled through the shadowy underworld of financial securitization like a cursed artifact, and has now resurfaced over a decade later with interest, lawyers, and a notary public named Aviyana Lane-Suber, who sounds like she moonlights as a tarot card reader.

So who are these players in this financial ghost story? On one side, we’ve got Larry D. Spohn — presumably an ordinary guy, possibly once optimistic, possibly once believed he could pay off his credit card before the heat death of the universe. He lives in Canadian County, Oklahoma, which is not, despite the name, part of Canada, though at this point he might be tempted to flee north. On the other side? LVNV Funding LLC — a name so generic it might as well be “Money Inc.” This company doesn’t issue credit cards, doesn’t send out monthly statements, and definitely doesn’t answer calls from confused cardholders. Instead, LVNV is what’s known in the biz as a debt buyer — a financial vulture that purchases defaulted debts for pennies on the dollar from original lenders, then sues to collect the full amount, plus fees and interest, like a used car salesman who bought a junker for $200 and is now demanding you pay him $10,000 because “it’s in excellent condition.” Their legal muscle? The law firm of Love, Beal & Nixon, P.C. — which, let’s be honest, sounds like a trio of 1980s private investigators who solve white-collar crimes between episodes of Magnum, P.I. Their lead attorney on this case, William L. Nixon, Jr., is not to be confused with the late President Nixon, though one could argue both have been involved in questionable acquisitions.

Now, the story. It begins innocently enough: on September 16, 2013, Barclays Bank Delaware — yes, a British bank with a branch in Delaware (because American finance is a performance art piece) — extended credit to Larry D. Spohn. The account number? Redacted, because even the court respects some mysteries. At some point, Larry stopped paying. Maybe he lost his job. Maybe he had a medical emergency. Maybe he just forgot. The filing doesn’t say. What it does say is that Barclays eventually gave up and sold the debt — not to another bank, not to a collections agency with a call center in Boise, but into a portfolio. That’s right: Larry’s debt was bundled with hundreds or thousands of other forgotten balances, packaged like a financial timeshare, and sold off as Portfolio 45831. First Bank & Trust bought it first — because apparently banks love buying other banks’ regrets — and then, on June 30, 2025 (yes, 2025, which, if you’re reading this in real time, hasn’t even happened yet — more on that later), the portfolio was sold again, this time to LVNV Funding LLC or one of its predecessors. The debt changed hands like a hot potato at a dysfunctional family reunion.

And now, LVNV wants its money. Not the original amount, not even what Larry might have actually spent — no, they want $9,171.63. That’s nearly a decade of interest, late fees, and the silent compounding wrath of the financial system. They claim Larry was properly notified — “demand for payment was made more than thirty days ago,” the affidavit says, like that’s some kind of due process magic spell. There’s no indication Larry responded, showed up, or even knew about this until the lawsuit landed. And yes, that date — June 30, 2025 — is in the future. Either someone made a typo big enough to warp the space-time continuum, or LVNV is operating on some kind of financial precognition, collecting debts from tomorrow. We’re not lawyers, but we’re pretty sure time travel isn’t an accepted legal defense — yet.

So why are they in court? Because this is a debt collection lawsuit, which in legal terms means: “We have paperwork saying you owe money, and we want a judge to force you to pay.” LVNV isn’t accusing Larry of fraud, theft, or any criminal act. They’re not saying he maxed out the card and fled the country. They’re simply claiming — through an affidavit signed by Aviyana Lane-Suber, who is apparently an “Authorized Representative” of a company that owns a debt that used to belong to a bank that bought it from another bank that bought it from a British corporation — that the debt is valid, that they own it, and that Larry owes every penny. In plain English: “We bought your IOU from someone else. Now pay us.”

And what do they want? $9,171.63. Plus interest from the date of judgment. Plus court costs. Plus a “reasonable attorney’s fee,” which, given that Love, Beal & Nixon filed a two-page petition and an affidavit, might be the most efficient legal work in history. Is $9,171 a lot? Well, it’s not a Lamborghini, but it is a used car, a year of rent in some parts of Oklahoma, or 305 nights at a Motel 6. It’s also the kind of sum that can ruin a person’s credit, trigger wage garnishment, or force someone to choose between paying a decade-old credit card bill and buying groceries. For LVNV, though? It’s likely a drop in the bucket — a line item on a spreadsheet, one of hundreds they’re chasing this month. They’re not mad; they’re just efficient.

Our take? Look, debt collection is a part of the financial ecosystem. People borrow money. Sometimes they don’t pay it back. Someone has to deal with that. But there’s something deeply absurd about a system where a man can be sued in 2025 for a debt from 2013 by a company that didn’t exist when he opened the account, based on a transaction that involved at least four different financial entities, one of which is based in a country that doesn’t even use dollars. The fact that the assignment date is in the future is either a hilarious clerical error or proof that the American debt collection machine is so automated it’s now operating on autopilot from 2026. And yet, no one is asking why this debt wasn’t resolved years ago. No one is questioning the ethics of buying defaulted debt and suing for full value. No one is asking if Larry Spohn even remembers this card — did he use it for gas? A laptop? A date night that ended in breakup and regret?

We’re not rooting for deadbeats. But we are rooting for transparency. For fairness. For a system that doesn’t let debts mutate into legal monsters while the original banks walk away clean. And honestly? We’re rooting for Aviyana Lane-Suber to start her own podcast. Because if anyone knows where the bodies are buried in the world of consumer debt, it’s the woman who notarized a time-traveling affidavit.