Michigan Schools and Government Credit Union v. Katie Wooten
What's This Case About?
Let’s get one thing straight: this is not a murder. There’s no missing person, no secret affair, no body in a trunk. But what we do have is something almost more terrifying in today’s world — a Michigan credit union hunting down a woman in rural Oklahoma like she owes them a kidney. And technically? She does owe them something: $7,929.22, to be exact. That’s not chump change — that’s a used car down payment, a year of therapy, or, if you're really fancy, a single night at a Vegas resort with bottle service. But instead of a showdown with guns or lawyers in pinstripe suits, we get a stack of paperwork, a notary public named Cameo Farrell (yes, Cameo, like the ‘80s band), and a debt so cold it survived a cross-state legal extradition like a zombie with a calculator.
So who are these people? On one side: Michigan Schools and Government Credit Union, which sounds less like a financial institution and more like a side quest in a dystopian video game where you pay tribute to the Education Overlords. This is a credit union based in Troy, Michigan — a place that probably has very strong opinions about snow tires and hockey. They’re not some shadowy Wall Street vulture fund (at least not officially), but they are serious enough about getting paid that they’ve sent their legal gladiators — the law firm Faber and Brand LLC — all the way to Oklahoma to collect. And on the other side? Katie Wooten, a woman living on a rural road in Sawyer, Oklahoma — population: so small it probably has one stop sign and a suspiciously active chicken coop. We don’t know what she does for a living, whether she has goats, or if she even remembers this debt. But we do know she didn’t show up to court. In Michigan. In 2021. And that, my friends, is how you accidentally sign up for a legal horror story.
Here’s how this whole mess went down: back in April 2020, the credit union filed a lawsuit against Katie in Michigan — even though she lives in Oklahoma. That’s the first eyebrow-raiser. How does a Michigan credit union sue an Oklahoma resident? Well, apparently, at some point, Katie had an account or a loan with them. Maybe she moved from Michigan to Oklahoma and forgot to close it. Maybe she took out a loan for a car she no longer owns. Maybe she borrowed money to buy a pontoon boat and then fled the state in shame when winter came. We don’t know — the filing doesn’t say. But what we do know is that the credit union claimed she owed them $7,747.32, plus $106.90 in costs and $75 in attorney fees. That’s a very specific $75 — not $74, not $76. Someone billed exactly one hour at $75 and said, “Yep, that’s justice.”
Katie, for whatever reason, never responded. No answer, no defense, not even a “lol I don’t live there anymore” letter. So on January 29, 2021, the credit union filed a default request — which is legal speak for “she ghosted us, so we win by forfeit.” The court, seeing no resistance, entered a default judgment on February 19, 2021, ordering Katie to pay the full $7,929.22. And because the U.S. legal system loves paperwork, they even noted that the judgment would earn interest at a whopping 12.75% — a rate so high it sounds like a payday loan ad. By the time they got around to enforcing it in Oklahoma, that interest had already piled up another $642.17. So now, if she ever wants to buy a house, rent a car, or apply for a credit card, she might get flagged like a fugitive.
But here’s where it gets extra petty: the credit union didn’t just let it sit. No, they waited a few years, let the interest simmer, and then decided, “You know what? Let’s go full National Treasure and register this judgment in Oklahoma.” That’s what this whole filing is — not a new lawsuit, but a registration of a foreign judgment. Translation: “Hey Oklahoma, we already won in Michigan. Can you please help us collect?” It’s like when you win a bet in one state and then try to collect from your buddy who moved to another time zone. “Dude, you said you’d pay me back. I have it in writing. Your new landlord can’t protect you.”
Now, what do they want? $7,939.22 — a slight bump from the original judgment, probably due to more interest or administrative fees. Is that a lot? Well, for most people living on a rural road in Oklahoma, yes. That’s several months of groceries. A new HVAC system. A small farm animal empire. But for a credit union? That’s pocket lint. They’re not suing for millions. They’re not trying to bankrupt her. They’re just saying, “We have a piece of paper that says you owe us. Pay up.” And they’re using a law firm in Missouri (Faber and Brand LLC) to do it — because apparently, Michigan lawyers aren’t licensed in Oklahoma, but Missouri ones apparently are, or at least know how to file paperwork there.
And what’s the most absurd part? The sheer bureaucratic audacity of it all. A woman in Oklahoma gets hit with a legal claim from a Michigan court, enforced by a Missouri law firm, over a debt that accrued during the early days of the pandemic — when, let’s be honest, a lot of people were just trying to survive. Did Katie forget? Did she not get the notice? Was she in the military at the time (the form says “it is unknown,” which is… not reassuring)? We don’t know. But the system didn’t care. It just kept rolling: judgment entered, interest accrued, paperwork stamped, notarized by Cameo Farrell, and now — boom — a debt collector’s letter with a fancy seal.
Our take? We’re not rooting for the credit union. We’re not even really rooting against them — they’re just doing their job, and if you borrow money, you should probably pay it back. But come on. This is like sending a SWAT team to collect a library fine. There’s something deeply unromantic about a legal system that can track down a woman in rural Oklahoma over $7,900 but can’t seem to fix potholes or fund schools. And yet, here we are. A credit union. A default judgment. A notary named Cameo. And a woman who probably just wanted to live quietly with her chickens and her peace.
If there’s a moral here, it’s this: never ignore legal mail. Especially if it comes from a state you no longer live in. Because apparently, debts don’t expire — they just get extradited.
Case Overview
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Michigan Schools and Government Credit Union
business
Rep: Faber and Brand LLC
- Katie Wooten individual
| # | Cause of Action | Description |
|---|---|---|
| 1 | Registration of Foreign Judgment |