Velocity Investments, LLC v. Jerry Nichols

Let’s cut straight to the chase: a debt collector is suing a man named Jerry Nichols for $17,682.61 — not because he maxed out a credit card on luxury spa weekends or blew cash on a pet iguana named Sir Reginald, but allegedly because he defaulted on a personal loan he took out from Lending Club Bank in 2022. That part’s not wild. What is wild — or at least deeply, darkly comical — is that the debt collector suing him, Velocity Investments, LLC, almost certainly didn’t lend Jerry a single dime. They bought his debt for pennies on the dollar, probably off some distressed portfolio auctioned off by a bank that gave up on collecting, and now they’re dragging him into Creek County court like they’re the wronged party. It’s like if someone bought your unpaid Netflix subscription from the company, then sued you for the full balance — plus interest — while wearing a judge’s robe made of cardboard.

So who are these players in this high-stakes game of financial hot potato? On one side, we’ve got Jerry Nichols, a regular guy in Oklahoma whose only known crime so far is being bad at repaying a loan. We don’t know what he used the money for — maybe car repairs, maybe medical bills, maybe he finally upgraded from dial-up and bought a gaming PC. The filing doesn’t say. We don’t know his job, his income, or whether he still has teeth. All we know is that in March 2022, he signed a contract with Lending Club Bank — a fintech lender that made its name during the “peer-to-peer” lending boom, which sounds friendlier than it actually was — and agreed to pay it back. Then, somewhere along the line, he stopped paying. That’s when the dominoes started falling.

Enter Velocity Investments, LLC — a name that sounds like a rejected Marvel villain or a startup that sells energy drinks to middle managers. They’re not a bank. They’re not a credit union. They’re a debt buyer, which means their entire business model is built on purchasing old debts from original lenders for a fraction of their face value — think 3, 4, maybe 10 cents on the dollar — and then trying to collect the full amount from the debtor. It’s financial vulture capitalism at its finest. And representing them? Rausch Sturm LLP, a law firm that proudly touts itself as “attorneys in the practice of debt collection,” which is like saying you specialize in professional nagging with legal paperwork. Their lawyer, Nicholas Tait, filed this petition from Wisconsin — yes, Wisconsin — because apparently Creek County, Oklahoma, is just another dot on the map in their multi-state debt-recovery tour.

The story, as it’s told in this two-paragraph petition, is as thin as a dollar-store notebook. On March 8, 2022, Jerry allegedly took out a loan. He received “valuable consideration,” legalese for “got money,” and then failed to pay it back. The contract was “accelerated,” which means the lender said, “Screw it, you’re in breach — pay the whole thing now,” and after “all due and just credits applied,” $17,682.61 remains unpaid. That’s the number. That’s the magic figure. And now Velocity Investments wants a court to force Jerry to pay it — plus costs, interest, and whatever else they can tack on.

But here’s the kicker: buried in the “WHEREFORE” clause — that’s lawyer-speak for “and here’s what we want, please” — is a request so bizarre it almost feels like a typo. Velocity isn’t just asking for money. They’re also asking the court to order the Oklahoma Employment Security Commission — the state’s unemployment agency — to hand over Jerry Nichols’ employment history. Let that sink in. A private debt collection firm, suing a guy in civil court, wants the government to dig through his work record like they’re building a dossier for a spy thriller. Why? Probably to figure out if he’s employed, how much he earns, and whether they can garnish his wages. But the fact that they’re asking a judge to compel a state agency to release someone’s job history? That’s not just aggressive — it’s borderline dystopian. It’s like sending a subpoena to the Department of Motor Vehicles to get someone’s driving record because they owe you $20 for a borrowed lawnmower.

Now, let’s talk about the money. $17,682.61. That’s not chump change. That’s a used car. That’s a year of rent in some parts of Oklahoma. That’s a solid chunk of change for anyone who isn’t already swimming in it. But here’s the thing: we have no idea what Jerry originally borrowed. Maybe it was $10,000, and the balance ballooned with interest, fees, and penalties. Maybe he paid some, defaulted, and now the full amount is due. Or maybe Velocity bought the debt for, say, $3,500 and is now trying to squeeze out five times that. That’s how this game works. The original lender washes their hands of the risk, the debtor gets harassed by a third party with no emotional investment, and the debt buyer profits if they win. It’s not personal. It’s just business. And in this case, the business is suing people in bulk.

What makes this case particularly absurd — beyond the Wisconsin law firm chasing an Oklahoma man’s paycheck history through the state unemployment office — is how impersonal and mechanical it all feels. There’s no mention of hardship. No explanation of why Jerry stopped paying. No attempt to negotiate, settle, or even send a strongly worded letter before filing suit. Just boom — petition dropped like a legal anvil. And let’s not forget the disclaimer at the bottom: “This is a communication from a debt collector.” It’s right there, in bold, because federal law requires it. They’re not pretending to be friendly. They’re not pretending this is about justice. They’re saying, straight up: We are coming for your money.

So what’s our take? Look, nobody likes deadbeats. If you borrow money, you should pay it back. But this whole system — where debts are traded like baseball cards, where law firms file cookie-cutter lawsuits across state lines, where people get sued for thousands by companies they’ve never heard of — it’s less “justice” and more “financial whack-a-mole.” The most absurd part isn’t that Jerry might owe money. It’s that a Wisconsin-based law firm is asking an Oklahoma court to force a state agency to hand over his employment history — like they’re building a case for a felony, not a civil debt. And let’s be real: if Jerry is unemployed, this whole exercise is a waste of time. You can’t squeeze blood from a turnip, and you can’t garnish wages from someone collecting unemployment.

We’re not rooting for deadbeats. But we are rooting for transparency. For fairness. For a system that doesn’t treat people like balance sheets. And maybe, just maybe, for Jerry Nichols to show up in court with a folder full of receipts, a solid alibi, and a really good lawyer — or at least someone who knows how to file a counter-motion. Because if he doesn’t, the real winner here isn’t justice. It’s Velocity Investments, LLC — and their bottom line.