Tower Loans v. Meagan Degraffenreid

Let’s be honest — we’ve all been there. You’re just trying to get through the week, maybe pay a few bills, avoid eye contact at the grocery store, and suddenly bam — you’re being sued over less than a thousand bucks and someone swears you stole… something. We don’t even know what it is. That’s right, folks: Tower Loans is suing Meagan Degraffenreid for $801.67 and… something else. What that something else is? The court filing literally says “NIA” — Not In Affidavit, Not Important, or maybe just “No Idea Available.” This isn’t just a debt collection case. This is a mystery wrapped in a financial dispute, served with a side of small claims court drama.

So who are these people? On one side, we’ve got Tower Loans — not a shadowy Wall Street bank, not some dystopian payday lending empire (though let’s be real, the name sounds like it belongs in a noir film), but a brick-and-mortar loan shop in Sapulpa, Oklahoma. They hand out short-term cash advances to folks who need a few hundred bucks to make rent, fix a car, or maybe just survive until payday. And on the other side? Meagan Degraffenreid, a resident of Kellyville, Oklahoma — a quiet town where the biggest scandal is probably someone mowing their lawn on a Sunday. These two were supposed to be in a simple financial relationship: borrower and lender. One gives money, the other pays it back. But somewhere along the way, things went sideways. And now, we’re left with a legal document that reads like a half-filled-out form at the DMV.

Here’s what we know — and more importantly, what we don’t. On March 6, 2026, someone at Tower Loans — specifically, an Ashlee Metcalf, who swore under oath that she knows what’s going on — filed a petition in Creek County District Court. The claim? Meagan owes $801.67. That’s it. No breakdown, no explanation of interest, no itemized list of fees. Just: you owe this, you haven’t paid, and now we’re mad. Classic small claims energy. But then, in the very next paragraph, things take a turn. The affidavit casually drops in that Meagan is also “wrongfully in possession” of certain personal property. Certain. Personal. Property. That’s the legal way of saying, “She has something of ours, and we want it back.” Except — and this is the part that makes us pause — the description of the property is listed as “NIA.” Not Applicable? Not Available? Not Actually a Thing? We don’t know. The value? Also “N/A.” So Tower Loans is suing for money and an invisible object. It’s like a courtroom version of Scooby-Doo — “And I would’ve gotten away with it too, if it weren’t for you meddling borrowers!”

Now, let’s talk about what actually happened — or at least, what Tower Loans says happened. According to the affidavit, Meagan borrowed money. She didn’t pay it back. They asked. She refused. And now, they want their cash. Standard stuff. But then there’s the second claim: conversion. That’s a fancy legal term that basically means “you took my stuff and won’t give it back, so now you’re stealing it.” In normal cases, this might involve a car, a tool, a laptop — something tangible. But here? We’ve got nothing. No make, no model, no serial number. Did Meagan walk out of Tower Loans with a company pen? A stress ball from the waiting area? Did she forget to return a clipboard? Or is this about a pawned item? Because some loan shops also do title loans or pawn services — maybe Meagan put up a guitar, a wedding ring, or her grandma’s toaster as collateral, and now Tower Loans claims she’s holding onto it illegally. But if that’s the case, why not say so? Why leave it blank? It’s like filing a police report for a stolen car and writing “vehicle type: thing.”

And let’s not ignore the date on this order — April 81, 2020. Yes. April 81st. That’s not a typo in our summary; that’s in the actual court document. Either time works differently in Creek County, or someone really needs a calendar. The filing date is March 6, 2026, but the hearing is set for a day that doesn’t exist in a year that’s already passed. Is this a time-traveling lawsuit? Did Judge Serner schedule court in an alternate dimension? Or is this just the charming chaos of small claims paperwork, where clerks type fast and fact-checking is for people with too much time on their hands? Either way, it adds to the surreal vibe — like this whole case is being run by gremlins operating a photocopier after midnight.

So what does Tower Loans actually want? $801.67 in cash, obviously. But also, they want their mystery item back. And they’re demanding “injunctive relief,” which in plain English means: “Make her give it back, judge!” No punitive damages, no attorney fees (at least not listed), just the money and the thing. Now, is $801 a lot? In small claims court, it’s right in the sweet spot — not enough to hire a high-powered attorney, but enough to ruin your week if you don’t have it. For a loan company, it’s probably a rounding error. For an individual, it could be two months of groceries. But the real question is: what’s the value of the “personal property”? If it’s a $2,000 camera, this makes sense. If it’s a $5 calculator, this is overkill. And if it’s literally nothing — if this whole second claim is a clerical error — then Tower Loans looks like they’re trying to strong-arm someone over a paperwork glitch.

Here’s our take: the most absurd part isn’t the debt. It’s not even the fake date. It’s the vagueness. You can’t just sue someone for “stuff” and expect the court to enforce it. The legal system runs on details — who, what, when, where, how. And here, we’ve got half a sentence where the “what” is missing. It’s like showing up to a potluck and saying, “I brought food,” but leaving the dish at home. Are we supposed to believe Meagan is hoarding some priceless Tower Loans artifact? A golden loan agreement signed in blood? Or did someone just forget to fill in the blank?

We’re not saying Meagan didn’t owe money. She might’ve. But if Tower Loans wants the court to help them, they’ve got to do better than “NIA.” This isn’t Mission: Impossible — it’s small claims court. Show your work. Name the item. Prove it exists. Otherwise, this whole second claim is just legal theater — a way to sound more serious than “Hey, can we get our $800?”

And honestly? We’re low-key rooting for Meagan. Not because she definitely didn’t owe money — maybe she did. But because we live for the little guy who shows up with a folder full of receipts, a timeline on notebook paper, and a calm voice saying, “Your honor, they can’t prove I stole a thing.” If she walks in and says, “Your Honor, I’d love to return their property… but they never told me what it was,” we’re putting that quote on a T-shirt.

Look, debt is serious. Contracts matter. But so does basic competence. And if Tower Loans can’t be bothered to list what was allegedly stolen, maybe they shouldn’t get a court order to get it back. This case isn’t just about $801. It’s about accountability — on both sides. And right now, the only thing that’s been converted? The meaning of “personal property.”