NCB Management Services, Inc. v. Howard Foster

Let’s cut straight to the chase: Howard Foster, a regular guy from Oklahoma, is now legally on the hook for $9,497.09 — not because he robbed a bank, set fire to a neighbor’s shed, or even ghosted someone on a dating app — but because, somewhere between 2019 and 2022, he stopped making payments on a car loan that eventually got sold to a debt collector who is now suing him in Garvin County like they’re auditioning for a role in Law & Order: Civil Filing Unit. And yes, that amount — $9,497.09 — ends in nine cents. Nine. Cents. Not even a round number. This isn’t The Price Is Right; this is a courtroom, and someone’s spreadsheet really wanted to be precise.

Now, who is Howard Foster, you ask? Honestly, the court file doesn’t tell us much. No dramatic backstory, no criminal rap sheet, no indication he’s a secret supervillain operating out of a lair in rural Oklahoma. He’s just… a guy. A guy who, back in February 2019, signed a contract with Exeter Finance LLC — a company that specializes in auto loans, often for people buying cars from dealerships who aren’t exactly handing out keys to Teslas with zero down. The account number? XXX5953. The collateral? Almost certainly a car. Probably not a Lamborghini. Maybe a Honda. Possibly a Kia. Definitely not a horse-drawn carriage — though at this point, that might’ve been cheaper.

Howard and someone named Brittney Foster — possibly a spouse, co-signer, or just someone who shares a Social Security number and a questionable financial decision — entered into this agreement to finance a vehicle. For nearly three and a half years, things seemed… fine? Payments were made, life rolled on. Then, on August 31, 2022 — a date forever etched into the annals of minor financial infamy — Howard made his last payment. After that? Crickets. Silence. Radio dead air. The account went dark. Defaulted. The kind of financial tumble that starts with a missed car payment and ends with a collection agency sending letters that get tucked behind a stack of unpaid electric bills and expired coupons.

Fast forward to February 20, 2025 — yes, this lawsuit was filed after the alleged assignment of the debt — and Exeter Finance LLC (or more likely, a third-party debt buyer) decided they were done playing nice. They sold or assigned the debt to NCB Management Services, Inc., a professional debt collection company based in Pennsylvania. These are the folks who specialize in the art of “We’re not mad, just disappointed… but also, pay us $9,497.09 or we’ll see you in court.” NCB didn’t waste time. On September 9, 2025 — the same day the affidavit was notarized, which feels suspiciously efficient, like they were racing the clock before Labor Day — they filed a Petition for Indebtedness in the District Court of Garvin County, Oklahoma. No drama, no fireworks, just a cold, hard legal demand backed by a notarized declaration from one Lalani Lalsingh, an authorized agent who swears under penalty of perjury that yes, the records show Howard Foster owes exactly $9,497.09. Not $9,500. Not $9,497.10. $9,497.09. The nine cents matter. The nine cents really matter.

So why are we here? Why is this a lawsuit? Because this is what happens when a debt goes unpaid long enough — the original lender washes their hands of it, sells it to a collection agency, and that agency, armed with spreadsheets and a firm belief in due process, sues to get the money. The legal claim here is called a “Petition for Indebtedness,” which sounds fancy but really just means: “Hey, this person owes us money, they haven’t paid, and we want a judge to make them pay.” It’s not fraud. It’s not theft. It’s not even a dispute over who owns what. It’s a straightforward “you borrowed, you didn’t repay, now we’re taking you to court” situation. NCB isn’t asking for punitive damages. They’re not demanding Howard’s firstborn or a public apology on TikTok. They want the balance due — $9,497.09 — plus interest from the date of judgment, court costs, and a “reasonable attorney’s fee.” Which, given that Love, Beal & Nixon, P.C. — a real law firm with six attorneys listed on this filing — is handling this, might actually be the most expensive part of the whole ordeal.

And what do they want? $9,497.09. Is that a lot? Well, in the grand scheme of civil lawsuits, it’s not exactly Erin Brockovich territory. But for the average person in Garvin County, Oklahoma — where the median household income is around $50,000 — nearly ten grand is no joke. That’s a down payment on a used car. That’s a year of rent in some parts of the state. That’s a lot of nine-cent increments. And yet, the way this case is structured — with a single, highly specific dollar amount, a notarized affidavit filed on the same day as the petition, and zero indication that Howard has responded or contested anything — suggests this might already be a done deal. This is likely a default judgment waiting to happen. Howard didn’t show up. Didn’t file an answer. Didn’t dispute the debt. And now, unless he pulls a last-minute Hail Mary, the court is expected to just… hand NCB the money.

Here’s the absurd part: we don’t know why Howard stopped paying. Did he lose his job? Did the car get repossessed and he thought the debt was settled? Did he move, change numbers, and just fall off the grid? Or did he simply decide, “You know what? I’m not paying for this anymore,” and accept the consequences? We also don’t know if Brittney Foster is still involved, or if she’s even aware of this. The filing lists both names, but only Howard is named as the defendant. Is that a typo? A clerical error? Or did someone at NCB’s office decide, “Eh, we’ll just sue Howard and hope for the best”?

And let’s talk about the timing. The debt was assigned in February 2025. The last payment was in August 2022. That’s over two years of non-payment, followed by a debt sale, followed by a lawsuit filed nine months later — but the affidavit and petition both drop on September 9, 2025, like it’s a coordinated drop of a mixtape. The notary’s commission expires in 2027. Lalani Lalsingh swears this is all true. But how much of this is based on actual records versus a database entry from a third-party servicer? We don’t know. And in debt collection cases like this, that’s often where the drama should be — but only if someone fights back.

Our take? We’re rooting for transparency. We’re rooting for someone — Howard, a journalist, a TikTok sleuth — to peel back the layers and ask: What car was this? Was it repossessed? Was Howard even properly notified? Because cases like this are the quiet engine of the American debt economy: millions of dollars in judgments entered by default, often against people who don’t show up because they don’t understand the system, can’t afford a lawyer, or just don’t know they’re being sued. And while $9,497.09 might seem small to a debt collection firm, it’s life-altering for someone. The real crime here isn’t Howard’s missed payments — it’s how seamlessly the legal system can turn a financial stumble into a permanent judgment, all for the price of nine cents over nine thousand.