Midland Credit Management, Inc v. Shiricka Turner
What's This Case About?
Let’s get one thing straight: nobody wakes up one morning and says, “You know what I want today? To be sued for $10,717.11 over four different credit card accounts I haven’t touched in years.” But that’s exactly what happened to Shiricka Turner of Okfuskee County, Oklahoma, who now finds herself on the receiving end of a debt collection lawsuit that reads less like a legal document and more like a haunting from her financial past—specifically, the ghost of shopping sprees past, courtesy of Midland Credit Management, Inc., a company that apparently specializes in buying old debts and then chasing people down like it’s their job (spoiler: it is).
So who are these players in this high-stakes game of “Who Owes What”? On one side, we’ve got Shiricka Turner—an ordinary individual, presumably living her life, paying some bills, ignoring others, just like the rest of us. On the other side? Midland Credit Management, Inc., a debt buyer based in Michigan (yes, Michigan—more on that later) that doesn’t issue credit cards but instead buys up defaulted accounts for pennies on the dollar, then sues to collect the full amount. It’s like buying a junk car at auction for $500 and then trying to sell it as a restored classic for $10,000. Only here, instead of a rusted-out Camaro, it’s your unpaid credit card balance from The Children’s Place in 2019.
And oh boy, does Shiricka have a portfolio. Midland isn’t suing her over one forgotten bill—they’re coming in hot with four separate claims, like a financial SWAT team raiding her credit history. First up: a Mercury-branded card issued by First Bank & Trust, opened back in May 2016. That one’s the granddaddy of the bunch, with a balance of $7,056.10—the kind of number that makes you wonder if she bought a couch, a wedding ring, or maybe just survived a particularly rough few years. The last payment? August 2022. The account was “charged off” (a fancy way of saying “we gave up on collecting, but still want the money”) in April 2023.
Then there’s the Comenity Capital Bank card—specifically linked to The Children’s Place, which means yes, someone might’ve been buying tiny jeans and sparkly tutus. That account opened in July 2019, last saw a payment in September 2022, and was charged off in May 2023. The balance? A modest $523.12. Still, that’s a lot of tutus.
Next, Citibank’s Double Cash card—opened in June 2022, which means this one was fresh. Last payment? October 2022. Charged off June 2023. Balance: $1,992.27. And finally, The Bank of Missouri’s Milestone card—opened September 2022, last payment January 2023, charged off September 2023, balance $1,145.62. So in total, we’re looking at roughly two years of financial unraveling, with payments stopping across the board in late 2022 to early 2023, and accounts being sold off by mid-to-late 2023. Midland swooped in, bought the rights to all four, and now—over a year later—they’re filing suit in Oklahoma court… from Michigan… using an affidavit notarized in Oakland County, Michigan, signed by a woman named Efetobore Jackson, who has never met Shiricka Turner but swears under penalty of perjury that the records say she owes the money.
Now, let’s talk about why we’re even in court. Legally speaking, Midland is claiming “indebtedness”—a term that sounds like it belongs in a Dickens novel but basically means “you borrowed money and didn’t pay it back.” They’re not accusing Shiricka of fraud, theft, or identity theft. They’re not saying she maxed out the cards and fled the country. They’re just saying: the accounts existed, she defaulted, the banks gave up and sold the debt, we bought it, and now we want our money. Simple, right? Except it’s not. Because Midland didn’t lend her a dime. They weren’t there when she swiped the card at The Children’s Place or racked up charges on Citibank. They’re a third party—a financial vulture, if we’re being dramatic—who bought the paper and now wants to cash it in. And they’re doing it through a law firm in Oklahoma City (Love, Beal & Nixon, P.C.—yes, really), with a stack of affidavits from a Michigan-based legal specialist who’s never set foot in Oklahoma but is now testifying about Shiricka’s financial life.
What do they want? $10,717.11. Plus interest. Plus court costs. Is that a lot? Well, it’s not a million dollars. But for the average person in rural Oklahoma, that’s several months’ rent, a used car, or a year’s worth of groceries. It’s not a trivial sum—it’s life-altering. And the fact that it’s being demanded over four credit cards, some of which were opened years ago and charged off over a year ago, makes it feel less like justice and more like financial whack-a-mole. Pay one, two more pop up. Only now, instead of a carnival prize, you get a court summons.
Here’s the thing we can’t stop thinking about: the sheer distance in this case. Shiricka Turner, presumably living her life in Okfuskee County—a rural part of eastern Oklahoma with a population under 12,000—gets sued by a company headquartered in Troy, Michigan, using a legal specialist from the same state, with affidavits notarized across state lines, all over debts originally issued by banks scattered across the country. It’s like her financial ghost was digitized, sold on the open market, and now it’s haunting her from 900 miles away. And she’s expected to show up in court, defend herself, possibly hire a lawyer, all while Midland’s team files this paperwork like it’s just another Tuesday. Because for them? It probably is. This isn’t personal. It’s business. And business is booming.
Do we think Shiricka Turner racked up these charges and just ghosted? Maybe. But do we also think the system is wildly stacked against regular people when a debt buyer in Michigan can sue someone in Oklahoma over a $523 kids’ clothing bill from 2019? Absolutely. The most absurd part isn’t that she defaulted—it’s that years later, after the original creditors have written off the loss, a secondary company shows up with a calculator and a subpoena, demanding full payment plus interest, backed by a legal system that treats debt like a game of hot potato. And Shiricka? She’s just holding the potato now.
We’re not rooting for anyone to dodge their bills. But we are rooting for transparency, for fairness, and for a system that doesn’t feel like it’s designed to trap people in cycles of debt they can’t escape. If Shiricka shows up in court and says, “I don’t even remember these accounts,” or “I thought they were closed,” or “I was going through a hard time,” will that matter? Probably not. The affidavits are signed. The math adds up. The court will likely rule for Midland—because that’s how this game is played.
But still. Let’s pour one out for the little guy. Or in this case, the little credit card balances—traveling from Oklahoma to Michigan and back again, like financial zombies, rising from the dead to collect what’s owed. And let this be a lesson: next time you see a “Buy Now, Pay Later” offer at The Children’s Place, just walk away. Your future self—and your future court filings—will thank you.
Case Overview
-
Midland Credit Management, Inc
business
Rep: LOVE, BEAL & NIXON, P.C.
- Shiricka Turner individual
| # | Cause of Action | Description |
|---|---|---|
| 1 | Account assigned to Midland Credit Management, Inc. | Default on First Bank & Trust account |
| 2 | Account assigned to Midland Credit Management, Inc. | Default on Comenity Capital Bank account |
| 3 | Account assigned to Midland Credit Management, Inc. | Default on Citibank, N.A. account |
| 4 | Account assigned to Midland Credit Management, Inc. | Default on The Bank of Missouri account |