Crown Asset Management, LLC v. David Heimel

Let’s get one thing straight: David Heimel did not rob a bank, steal a car, or even shoplift a pack of gum. No, his crime — if you can call it that — was failing to pay a $2,330.94 credit card bill. And now, in the grand tradition of American capitalism meets courtroom drama, he’s being sued over it. Not by the original bank. Oh no. That would be too simple. Instead, a shadowy debt collector with a name straight out of a corporate thriller — Crown Asset Management, LLC — has swooped in like a vulture at a budget buffet, bought his debt for pennies on the dollar (probably), and is now demanding the full amount in court. Welcome to the wild world of modern debt collection, where $2,330.94 is apparently worth a full-blown legal battle, a verified statement under penalty of perjury, and a fax number that nobody uses anymore.

So who are these people? On one side, we’ve got David Heimel — a man whose entire public legal existence, at least for now, hinges on one credit card account opened on December 10, 2021. We don’t know what he bought. We don’t know if it was a medical emergency, a last-minute vacation, or just the slow creep of inflation finally catching up with someone living paycheck to paycheck. All we know is that at some point, he stopped paying. His last payment was on May 20, 2024 — not that long ago, really — and then radio silence. The account was closed, charged off, and declared dead by the original lender, Credit One Bank N.A. But in the zombie economy of consumer debt, dead doesn’t mean gone. It just means… available. And that’s where our other main character enters: Crown Asset Management, LLC. This is not a bank. This is not a friendly local credit union. This is a debt buyer — a company that purchases defaulted debts for a fraction of their face value and then tries to collect the full amount, pocketing the difference if they succeed. It’s like buying a foreclosure at auction and then charging the former owner rent. Ruthless? Maybe. Legal? Absolutely. And they’ve got a whole law firm on speed dial.

Enter Rausch Sturm LLP — a Wisconsin-based law firm that, according to their own letterhead, specializes in “the practice of debt collection.” That’s not just their job — it’s their branding. They’ve got a toll-free number, a TTY line for the hearing impaired (shoutout to accessibility, we guess), and a file number — 5387343 — that probably belongs to one of hundreds, if not thousands, of nearly identical lawsuits they’ve filed across the country. This isn’t personal. It’s not even particularly targeted. It’s assembly-line litigation. Michael J. Kidman, the attorney who signed this petition, likely didn’t meet David Heimel, doesn’t know his story, and probably couldn’t pick him out of a lineup. But he’s still asking a Delaware County judge to order the Oklahoma Employment Security Commission — yes, the unemployment office — to hand over Heimel’s employment history. That’s right. They’re not just after the money. They want to know where he works, possibly to garnish wages if they win. This lawsuit isn’t just about collecting a debt — it’s about hunting it.

Now, let’s talk about what actually happened — or rather, what didn’t happen. There’s no dispute in the filing about fraud, no claim that Heimel denied opening the account or using the card. The story, as presented, is brutally simple: he opened a credit card, used it, stopped paying, and now owes money. The account was closed in December 2024 after default. Then, at some point, Credit One sold the debt to Crown Asset Management, who then hired Rausch Sturm to sue. That’s the entire plot. No twists. No betrayals. No dramatic confrontations. Just a paper trail of financial decline and corporate collection machinery. The most exciting thing that happened was someone clicking “print” on a form complaint.

So why are we in court? Legally speaking, Crown Asset Management is making one very straightforward claim: breach of contract. When you open a credit card, you sign an agreement to pay back what you borrow. Heimel used the card, didn’t pay, and now — according to the plaintiff — owes the balance. That’s it. No fancy legal jargon, no conspiracy theories, no allegations of identity theft or unauthorized charges. Just: “You borrowed money. You didn’t pay. Pay up.” And while the filing doesn’t explicitly list the cause of action as “breach of contract,” that’s clearly what this is — a garden-variety debt collection lawsuit, the kind that makes up the bulk of civil filings in county courts across America. These cases are so common they’re practically background noise in the legal system. But that doesn’t make them any less life-altering for the person on the receiving end.

And what do they want? $2,330.94. Let’s sit with that number for a second. Two thousand, three hundred, thirty dollars and ninety-four cents. Not $2,500. Not even $2,331. No — $2,330.94. That extra 94 cents really drives home the absurd precision of modern debt tracking. They know exactly what they’re owed, down to the penny. But is this a lot of money? In the grand scheme of lawsuits, no. You could buy a decent used car for that. Or cover six months of rent in a small Oklahoma town. Or, you know, pay off a credit card. But for a debt buyer, this is a score. If Crown Asset Management paid, say, 10 cents on the dollar for this debt — which is common — they only paid about $233 to acquire it. So if they win, they stand to make ten times their investment. That’s better than the stock market. That’s better than most side hustles. Suddenly, $2,330.94 doesn’t seem so small — especially when you can file the lawsuit from Wisconsin, never leave your office, and let the Oklahoma courts do the heavy lifting.

Now, here’s our take: the most absurd part of this case isn’t the amount. It’s not even the fact that a Wisconsin law firm is suing an Oklahoma man over a debt originally held by a Nevada-based bank. No, the real absurdity is the escalation. Someone missed a few payments. The bank gave up and sold the debt. A company bought it. A law firm filed a lawsuit. Now, a judge might order the unemployment office to hand over someone’s work history — all over $2,330.94. This is the financial equivalent of using a flamethrower to light a candle. And yet, this is how millions of Americans get dragged into the legal system every year — not for crimes, but for debts. No jury trial is demanded. No dramatic courtroom showdown is coming. This will likely end with a default judgment if Heimel doesn’t respond, or a quick settlement if he does. But that doesn’t make it right. It just makes it routine.

Are we rooting for David Heimel? Honestly, we don’t know enough to say. Maybe he’s been hit by hard times. Maybe he forgot about the card. Maybe he’s disputing the debt and just hasn’t filed his answer yet. Or maybe he’s just… checked out. But we are rooting for a system that doesn’t treat people like balance sheets. We’re rooting for a world where you don’t get lawyered up over two grand and change. And we’re definitely rooting for the day when “debt collection” isn’t a legal specialty with its own letterhead and toll-free number. Until then, we’ll be here — watching, snarking, and wondering how many more $2,330.94 dramas are waiting in the court docket. Because let’s be real: this isn’t just David Heimel’s story. It’s America’s.