SRS Distribution, Inc. v. Red Hill Roofing & Construction and Stetson Stewart

Let’s get one thing straight: no one in this courtroom is walking away with a Tony Award for dramatic tension. But sometimes, the most mundane legal dumpster fires are the ones that simmer just right—like a slow-cooked brisket of petty grievances and unpaid invoices. And in this corner, weighing in at $13,945.59: a roofing company that apparently thought “paying your suppliers” was optional. That’s right—Red Hill Roofing & Construction didn’t just flake on a coffee run. They ghosted their supplier for nearly fourteen grand, and now SRS Distribution, Inc. is here to collect, with interest, court costs, and the emotional labor of having to ask for what was owed in the first place.

So who are these people? On one side, we’ve got SRS Distribution, Inc.—a major player in the roofing supply game, the kind of company that keeps contractors stocked with shingles, underlayment, and the industrial-strength staplers that make grown men weep with joy. They’re not some mom-and-pop shop running out of a garage; they’re a legit operation with attorneys on speed dial and a spreadsheet so tight it could cut glass. On the other side? Red Hill Roofing & Construction, a Blaine County-based roofing outfit, and its owner, Stetson Stewart. Now, we don’t know if Stetson wears a cowboy hat to work or if “Red Hill” is named after a real hill or just a metaphor for how red his face gets when someone mentions accounts payable. But we do know this: at some point, he signed a contract with SRS to buy materials, probably with the promise to pay later. That’s how these things work. You get the shingles, you do the roof, you get paid by the homeowner, you pay your supplier. It’s capitalism 101. But somewhere between the delivery of asphalt and the final invoice, Red Hill apparently decided to treat their financial obligations like expired coupons—just… not valid anymore.

What happened? Well, according to the filing—because we’re not making this up, we’re entertainers, not accountants—SRS and Red Hill entered into a written agreement. There’s even an exhibit labeled “Exhibit A,” which sounds like the kind of evidence you’d see in a spy thriller, not a civil dispute over roofing supplies. But no, Exhibit A is not a secret dossier on Stetson Stewart’s off-the-books goat farm. It’s the actual contract. And according to SRS, they held up their end of the deal. They delivered the goods. They kept receipts. They even itemized everything like a nervous accountant with a highlighter addiction (Exhibit B, for the record). They did their job. They were, in legal terms, “fully performed.” Which, let’s be honest, is the corporate equivalent of saying, “We showed up, did what we said we’d do, and didn’t set anything on fire.”

But Red Hill? Not so much. They took the materials, presumably used them to roof someone’s house (or several houses), and then… radio silence. No payment. No “Hey, cash flow’s tight, can we push this to next month?” Just straight-up non-payment. The kind of move that makes other contractors look at you like you just brought a foam finger to a funeral. The amount owed? $13,945.59. That’s not chump change. That’s enough to buy a used pickup truck, put a down payment on a modest house in rural Oklahoma, or fund an extremely awkward divorce party. And SRS didn’t just sit on their hands. They sent a demand. They said, “Hey, remember that thing you agreed to pay for? Yeah, that.” And still—crickets. So now we’re here, in the District Court of Blaine County, where the drama unfolds not with gunshots or betrayals, but with affidavits and interest calculations.

Why are they in court? Because of breach of contract—the legal world’s way of saying, “You said you’d do a thing, you didn’t do it, and now someone’s suing you.” It’s the bread and butter of civil court, the legal equivalent of “you broke the rules.” SRS says they had a deal, they held up their end, and Red Hill didn’t. That’s it. That’s the whole case. No hidden clauses, no allegations of fraud, no dramatic betrayal involving a secret second roofing company run out of a storage unit. Just a straightforward failure to pay. And while that may sound boring, let’s not underestimate the sheer audacity of owing $14,000 and acting like it’s not a big deal. This isn’t a couple hundred bucks for a weekend job gone sideways. This is a serious business debt, and SRS isn’t messing around.

What do they want? Well, the headline number is $13,945.59—the principal balance. But wait, there’s more! They’re also asking for pre-judgment interest—$2,745.09, to be exact—which brings the total demand to $16,590.68. That’s not punitive; that’s just math. Money loses value over time, and when you’re a supplier, cash flow is oxygen. So when someone sits on your money for months (or years), you get compensated for the delay. They’re also asking for attorney fees, court costs, and “such other and further relief” the court deems “equitable, just and proper,” which is legalese for “and whatever else you think they should pay us because they’ve been jerks.” Oh, and one spicy little add-on: SRS wants the court to order the Oklahoma Employment Security Commission to hand over Stetson Stewart’s employment info after judgment. Why? So they can track his income and make sure they can actually collect if they win. That’s not just suing—it’s planning. This isn’t revenge. This is logistics.

Now, is $14,000 a lot? In the grand scheme of lawsuits, no. You won’t see this case on Court TV with a dramatic reenactment and a narrator whispering, “He owed for shingles… but would justice stick?” But for a small roofing company, $14k is real money. For a supplier, it’s margin. For a contractor, it’s payroll. And for a court case in Blaine County, it’s enough to justify hiring a lawyer named Crystal Griffin, who, by the way, works at Berman & Rabin, P.A., and has an email address that ends in @bermanrabin.com, which sounds like a law firm founded by two guys who met during a heated Scrabble tournament. But she’s on the case, and she’s not messing around.

Our take? The most absurd part isn’t the amount, or the fact that this is basically a “you didn’t pay your bill” lawsuit. It’s the audacity of thinking you can run a roofing business—where trust and reliability are everything—and then stiff your supplier like some college kid skipping out on a diner tab. Roofers rely on suppliers to keep their jobs moving. Suppliers rely on contractors to pay so they can keep the lights on. It’s a delicate ecosystem, like a coral reef of commerce. And Red Hill just dropped an anchor on it. We’re not rooting for blood. We’re not hoping Stetson Stewart has to sell his tools on Facebook Marketplace. But we are rooting for accountability. For the idea that when you sign a contract, you mean it. That you don’t just take what you need and vanish like a magician after a bad trick. Because if we lose that, next thing you know, no one will deliver shingles until you pay in cash upfront—and then where will we be? A world without credit? Please. That’s scarier than any breach of contract.