Tower Loans v. Callie Melton

Let’s get one thing straight: someone is going to court over $597.61 and a mystery item labeled, quite literally, as “NIA.” Not “missing,” not “unknown,” not “allegedly misplaced”—no, in the official court filing, the thing being fought over is described with the bureaucratic elegance of a spreadsheet error: NIA. As in, “Not In Attendance.” As in, “No Idea, Ask Someone Else.” This is not a typo. This is a legal claim. In Creek County, Oklahoma, a financial services company is dragging a woman to court over less than six hundred bucks and an object so undefined it might as well be Schrödinger’s collateral.

The plaintiff, Tower Loans, is one of those small-dollar lending outfits that dot the American landscape like payday pit stops—places where you can borrow a few hundred bucks fast, usually at a price that makes your credit card blush. They’re based in Sapulpa, a modest-sized town just south of Tulsa, and they’ve decided to file a small claims case against Callie Melton, who lives in Tulsa, about 30 minutes away. The case is officially titled Tower Loans v. Callie Melton, and it was filed on March 6, 2026, in the Creek County District Court’s Sapulpa Division. The amount in dispute? $597.61. That’s not a round number. That’s not “about six hundred.” That’s five hundred ninety-seven dollars and sixty-one cents. Someone did the math. Someone kept the receipts. And someone—namely, Tower Loans—wants every damn penny back.

But here’s where it gets gloriously weird. Alongside the debt claim, there’s a second, almost poetic allegation: Tower Loans says Callie Melton is “wrongfully in possession” of certain personal property… described only as “NIA.” That’s it. No make, no model, no serial number, no photo, no clue. Just “NIA,” which, in government-speak, usually means “Not Identified Available” or “No Information Available.” So either the item is so unimportant that no one bothered to name it, or so important that they’re being cagey, or—most likely—someone filled out a form, hit “NIA” as a placeholder, and forgot to go back and fix it. And yet, here we are. A court order has been issued. A hearing is set for April 21, 2026. And the state of Oklahoma is preparing to adjudicate the fate of an object that officially does not exist in the record.

Now, what actually happened? We don’t have Callie Melton’s side of the story—this is just the plaintiff’s complaint, after all—but we can piece together the broad strokes. At some point, Callie likely took out a loan from Tower Loans. These kinds of loans are typically short-term, high-interest deals—think car title loans or installment loans for people who might not qualify for traditional bank credit. She probably pledged something as collateral—maybe her car title, maybe a piece of jewelry, maybe a plasma TV from 2012 that still gets three channels. That’s common practice. You borrow money, you hand over something of value, and when you pay it back, you get your stuff back. Fail to pay? The lender keeps the collateral. That’s the deal.

But something went sideways. According to Tower Loans, Callie still owes $597.61. They say they’ve asked for it. She hasn’t paid. And—here’s the kicker—she’s also allegedly still in possession of “personal property” that belongs to them. That’s the second claim: wrongful possession. In legal terms, that means she’s holding onto something that isn’t hers and refusing to give it back. In real human terms, it means Tower Loans thinks she’s sitting on their collateral like a dragon hoarding treasure, except the treasure is probably a dinged-up iPhone or a pawn shop watch.

But again: what is it? The filing doesn’t say. The value? “NIA.” The description? “NIA.” The only thing we know for sure is that Tower Loans wants it back. Or at least, they want the court to say she has to give it back. Maybe it’s a technicality—maybe they can’t repossess the item without a court order. Maybe they lost it themselves and are trying to shift blame. Or maybe, just maybe, this is all a paperwork glitch that spiraled into a full-blown legal showdown. After all, the affidavit—the sworn statement—is signed not by a loan officer or a manager, but by Ashlee Metcalfe, who appears to be an employee verifying basic details. She’s not saying Callie stole anything. She’s not even describing the item. She’s just checking boxes.

So why are they in court? Two reasons, technically. First, debt collection: Tower Loans wants the $597.61 they say Callie owes. Second, they want the court to force her to return the mystery property. In small claims court, you don’t need a lawyer. You don’t need a jury. You just show up, tell your story, and the judge decides. It’s supposed to be for simple, low-dollar disputes—the kind of thing that used to get settled with a handshake or a sternly worded letter. But now, it’s a courtroom drama over pocket change and a blank space on a form.

And what do they want? $597.61. Plus court costs. Plus, theoretically, the return of the NIA item. Is that a lot of money? Well, not really. It’s less than a monthly car payment. It’s two rounds of takeout for a family of four. It’s one decent used tire. But for someone living paycheck to paycheck—which, let’s be honest, is the target market for places like Tower Loans—it might as well be a million bucks. And yet, the company is willing to spend court fees, staff time, and judicial resources to chase it down. Over six hundred dollars. And an item so undefined it might as well be a concept.

Now, let’s talk about the absurdity. Because come on—this is peak petty civil court energy. A corporation is suing a private citizen over a sum so small it wouldn’t even cover the catering at a real lawsuit. They’re demanding the return of an object that, for all we know, could be a coffee mug, a USB drive, or a single AirPod. The whole thing reads like a Seinfeld episode: “The Contest Over the Unnamed Collateral.” “The One with the Spreadsheet Error.” “The Case of the Phantom Property.” And yet, this is real. A judge will sit in Sapulpa on April 21 and listen to arguments about “NIA.” A court clerk has already stamped the paperwork. A deputy notary has sworn someone in. The machinery of American justice is grinding forward—for a loan balance that could’ve been settled with a Venmo request.

Are we rooting for Callie Melton? Honestly, yes. Not because we know she’s innocent—again, this is just one side of the story—but because the whole thing reeks of corporate overreach. If Tower Loans really cared about getting paid or getting their property back, couldn’t they have just called? Sent a text? Offered a payment plan? Instead, they went straight to court over a sum that wouldn’t even cover their attorney’s hourly rate—if they had one. And the “NIA” thing? That’s not just sloppy. It’s almost comical. It’s like showing up to a custody battle and saying, “We’d like our child back,” and when the judge asks, “Which one?” you say, “Uh… the one we didn’t name.”

Look, debt is serious. Contracts matter. But so does proportionality. So does common sense. And in a world where people are sued for owing $20 on a library book or $40 on a gym membership, this case is a perfect little monument to the absurdity of treating every financial hiccup like a felony. Tower Loans wants $597.61 and an item they can’t describe. Callie Melton just wants to be left alone. And the rest of us? We’re just here for the drama of watching a court system wrestle with a mystery labeled “NIA.” Because in the end, the real victim here isn’t Tower Loans. It’s the English language.