Holly M. Jenkins v. Matthew Frisby, PC and Matthew Frisby Individually

Let’s cut right to the chase: a lawyer allegedly stole $92,000 of his client’s settlement money, forged signatures to cash the checks, gave her less than $8,000 in random dribbles over three years, and then just… quit the bar when confronted. Not disbarred. Not suspended. Just resigned, like he was leaving a LinkedIn post: “After much thought, I’ve decided to step away from the legal profession.” No, Matthew Frisby didn’t retire—he bailed, and now his former client is suing him for what should’ve been hers all along.

Holly Jenkins and Matthew Frisby weren’t strangers. They used to work in the same office. Colleagues. Maybe even friendly ones. So when Holly got into a car accident in January 2018—suffering injuries, racking up medical bills—it made sense, at the time, to ask Matt the Lawyer down the hall to help her out. No formal contract. No written agreement about fees. Just a handshake vibe: “I’ll take care of it. We’ll figure out the cut later.” Classic “we’re all adults here” energy. Which, in hindsight, was about as safe as trusting a raccoon with your wallet.

Frisby filed not once, but twice, on Holly’s behalf—because apparently the first lawsuit didn’t stick, or maybe the paperwork got lost in his growing mountain of ethical violations. Eventually, he wrangled two $50,000 settlements: one from the other driver’s insurance (Farmers), and another from Holly’s own underinsured motorist coverage (USAA). That’s $100,000—life-changing money for most people, especially someone recovering from a serious accident, possibly out of work, and still paying medical bills. This wasn’t chump change. This was a fresh start.

And then… nothing.

Holly asked. And asked. And asked again. “Where’s my money, Matt?” Instead of answers, she got crumbs. Over the course of three years—from June 2020 to June 2023—Frisby sent her twelve separate payments. Total? $7,832. That’s an average of $217 per year. Not per month. Per year. It’s not even enough to cover a decent used car down payment, let alone medical debt or lost wages. At that rate, she’d have been better off just selling plasma every other week.

But here’s where it goes full Law & Order: Embezzlement Unit. The Farmers settlement check—$50,000—was made out to Holly, Frisby, and five lienholders, meaning medical providers and others who had a legal right to be paid from the settlement. That check was cashed on August 11, 2021. Problem? The lienholders never got paid. Their claims are still outstanding. And the endorsement on the check? “What appears to be forged.” That’s not our words—that’s straight from the court filing. Someone—allegedly Frisby—signed names that weren’t his. And not just once, but across multiple parties. That’s not a clerical error. That’s a felony sandwich with a side of fraud fries.

Then there’s the USAA check—$50,000, payable to both Frisby and Jenkins. Cashed August 30, 2021. No word on how it was endorsed, but given the pattern, we’re not exactly betting on notarized authenticity. And again—no accounting. No breakdown. No “Here’s what I paid, here’s what I kept, here’s your cut.” Just silence. Radio silence. Until Holly did what any wronged person in Oklahoma might do: she filed a grievance with the Oklahoma Bar Association.

And that’s when things got real. Or rather, when Frisby got fake. Because instead of defending himself, explaining the delays, or at least pretending to care, Frisby did the legal equivalent of ghosting: he resigned from the Oklahoma Bar. Voluntarily. No admission of guilt, sure—but also no license to practice law anymore. Convenient, huh? The OBA even cited his resignation in a disciplinary case (State ex rel. OBA v. Frisby, 2024 OK 83), and get this: Frisby admitted he settled Holly’s case for $100,000, never gave her an accounting, only gave her $7,823, didn’t deposit the money in his trust account (that’s the IOLTA—where client funds are supposed to sit, untouched, until distributed), and misappropriated the funds. That last word isn’t ours. That’s his admission. He said it. Or at least, the disciplinary case says he did. And now Holly’s back in court—not just to get her money, but to hold him accountable in a place where resignation doesn’t erase consequences.

So what’s she actually suing for? Four legal claims, each one sharper than the last. First: Breach of Contract. You said you’d represent me. You took the case. You settled it. You owe me the money. Simple. Second: Unjust Enrichment. You kept my money. You got richer. I got nothing. That’s not fair, and the law says you can’t profit off that kind of nonsense. Third: Fraud. You lied. You forged signatures. You told me things that weren’t true. You intended to keep the money. That’s not a mistake—that’s deception with a capital D. And fourth: Conversion—a fancy legal term that means “you took my property and won’t give it back.” Her settlement money was hers. He took it. Held it. Spent it? Who knows. But he didn’t return it. That’s conversion. And it’s not cool.

Holly wants $92,177—the difference between what she should’ve gotten and what she actually received. Plus interest. Plus attorney fees. Plus costs. The filing lists total damages at $92,777, so someone’s rounding up for emotional distress, or maybe just bad vibes. Is $92k a lot? For a personal injury settlement, it’s not the jackpot, but it’s not nothing. For a lawyer to allegedly steal that much from a former colleague? That’s not just a lot—that’s a career-ender. Or it should be.

Now, here’s our take: the most absurd part isn’t even the forgery. It’s not the three-year drip-feed of $200 payments like he was giving her an allowance. It’s the sheer audacity of resigning from the bar to avoid discipline and thinking that’s the end of it. Like, “Oops, I stole client money, but since I quit my job, we’re cool, right?” No. No, we are not cool. The legal profession has enough trust issues without lawyers treating client funds like a personal piggy bank they can smash open whenever rent’s due.

We’re rooting for Holly. Not just because she’s the plaintiff, but because she represents every person who ever trusted a professional with their money and got burned. She didn’t sign a contract? Fine. She worked with a guy she knew? Relatable. She waited years, asked nicely, and only sued after he bailed on the bar? That’s not greedy. That’s exhausted.

And Matthew Frisby? Whether he’s truly a con artist or just a catastrophically bad lawyer with a spending problem, one thing’s clear: you don’t get to cash a check with forged signatures, stiff your client for years, and then peace out with a quiet resignation like you’re retiring to a beach in Belize. The court’s got a jury trial on deck. And if the facts are half of what’s alleged? This isn’t just a civil case. It’s a public service. Because if we don’t hold lawyers accountable for stealing from their clients, who will?