OKLAHOMA MOTOR CREDIT COMPANY v. ADE WEBSTER and CHARLES OLATOKUNBO SAKOTE

Let’s cut straight to the drama: two men, one car, and a $17,699 bill for a 2016 Kia Optima that got repossessed and sold—and somehow, they still owe money. Yes, you heard that right. This isn’t Lease Breakers: The Musical, it’s the District Court of Oklahoma County, where Oklahoma Motor Credit Company is suing Ade Webster and Charles Olatokunbo Sakote for more than seventeen grand because, apparently, selling a used Kia didn’t cover the cost of not paying for a used Kia. Welcome to the wild world of auto financing, where you can lose the car and still be on the hook for the tab. Grab your popcorn, because this one’s a financial thriller with all the suspense of a spreadsheet and the emotional payoff of a final notice letter.

So who are these players in this high-stakes game of “Who’s Gonna Pay for This Sedan”? On one side, we’ve got Oklahoma Motor Credit Company—sounds like the kind of outfit that advertises on late-night radio promising “easy credit, no credit okay!” and probably has a jingle involving a saxophone. They’re the plaintiff, which means they’re the ones waving the paper and saying, “You owe us.” On the other side, we have Ade Webster and Charles Olatokunbo Sakote—two men who, according to the filing, once had a dream: to drive a 2016 Kia Optima. And not just drive it—own it. Or at least, pretend to own it while making monthly payments until the bank technically allows them to keep it. That dream, like so many before it, ended in repossession and a lawsuit. The relationship here seems purely financial: Joe Cooper Easy Credit Auto (which we can only assume is either a dealership or a financing front) set up the original deal, and Oklahoma Motor Credit Company swooped in as the assignee—legal speak for “we bought the debt, so now it’s ours to collect.” It’s like musical chairs, but with creditors.

Now, let’s roll through the timeline, because even in petty civil court, backstory matters. On February 27, 2024—just over a year ago—Ade and Charles signed on the dotted line for that 2016 Kia Optima. We don’t know the full terms, but we can make some educated guesses: down payment? Probably low. Interest rate? Likely higher than your student loan. Monthly payments? Enough to make you rethink your life choices. At some point—details unspoken, but vibes strongly implied—they stopped paying. That’s when the dominoes started falling. The car got repossessed. You know the drill: wake up, car’s gone, text from the lender saying “we had to take it back, but don’t worry, we’ll sell it and settle things.” So they sold it. But here’s the kicker: the sale didn’t cover what was owed. Not even close. After the auction dust settled, there was still $17,699.21 left on the table. That’s like buying a used Kia and accidentally signing up for a timeshare in the deficit.

And that’s why we’re here. Because in the world of auto financing, defaulting doesn’t mean you’re off the hook—it just means the lender gets to keep your car and sue you for whatever’s left. It’s the financial equivalent of losing a bet and having to pay the winner and cover their Uber home. The legal claim? Straight-up debt collection. No fancy fraud allegations, no dramatic breach of contract theatrics—just cold, hard math. The plaintiff says: “You signed a contract. You didn’t pay. We took the car. We sold it. You still owe us money. Pay up.” It’s as plain as a repossession notice taped to your front door.

Now, what do they want? $17,699.21 in principal, plus interest—specifically $472.67 in interest accrued from September to January (which, by the way, is at a contractual rate of 7.99% per year, so not apocalyptic, but definitely not a friendly favor). They’re also asking for court costs, attorney’s fees (because of course they are), and “such other relief” the court deems just—lawyer-speak for “throw in a gift card while you’re at it.” Is $17,700 a lot? Well, let’s put it this way: you could buy another 2016 Kia Optima for that. Or, if you’re feeling fancy, a down payment on a new car. Or, if you’re us, seven years’ worth of streaming subscriptions. Point is, it’s not chump change. It’s the kind of sum that can wreck a credit score, garnish wages, or at the very least, make you avoid certain parking lots for fear of tow trucks.

But here’s the real tea: the most absurd part of this whole saga isn’t even the debt. It’s the idea that someone thought a 2016 Kia Optima was worth more than a 2016 Kia Optima. That’s the magic trick of auto financing—convince people they’re buying a car, when really, they’re buying a rapidly depreciating asset wrapped in a high-interest loan. The moment you drive it off the lot, it loses value. By 2024, that Optima wasn’t even the “new” kind of old—it was the “I’ve seen better days” kind of old. And yet, the math says it was somehow worth more than what it sold for at auction. That’s like selling a half-eaten sandwich on eBay and then billing the buyer for the part you ate. The system is working exactly as designed—just not for the people driving the cars.

Look, we’re not here to judge Ade and Charles. Maybe they lost jobs. Maybe the car broke down. Maybe they thought “Joe Cooper Easy Credit Auto” meant actually easy credit, not “easy to get, hard to escape.” And we’re not even mad at Oklahoma Motor Credit Company—they’re playing the game by the rules. But the rules? Oh, the rules are wild. You can default, lose your car, and still be on the hook for thousands. That’s not debt collection—that’s financial whack-a-mole. Every time you think you’re out, they pull you back in with a deficiency balance.

So what are we rooting for? Honestly? A world where people can buy a car without signing their future away. Where “easy credit” doesn’t mean “impossible escape.” Where a 2016 Kia Optima doesn’t come with a side of wage garnishment. But since we don’t run the economy, we’ll settle for this: a judge who remembers that behind every $17,699.21 is a human story. Maybe it’s one of bad decisions. Maybe it’s one of bad luck. Either way, it’s not just a number on a spreadsheet. It’s someone’s rent, someone’s groceries, someone’s “I just wanted a reliable car to get to work.”

And hey, if you’re out there thinking about financing a used sedan? Maybe take the bus. Or bike. Or hitchhike. Because apparently, in Oklahoma, even when you lose the car, the bill keeps driving.