Performance Assurance, LLC v. Adrienne Marie Hernandez and Jacob Charles McCook

Let’s just say you thought the plot of Falling Down couldn’t get any more Oklahoma — a couple buys a used Ford Explorer, fails to make payments, the car gets repossessed, sold at auction, and now they owe nearly $20,000 in leftover debt. But here’s the twist: they’re not the ones being sued. No, no — the company suing them is Performance Assurance, LLC, which sounds less like a finance firm and more like a motivational speaker collective that also dabbles in repossession. And yes, this is 100% a real court case. Welcome to the American dream, circa 2026, where your credit score haunts you like a vengeful spirit and your 2014 Ford Explorer XLT becomes the star of a debt tragedy.

Meet Adrienne Marie Hernandez and Jacob Charles McCook — a duo so committed to each other that they co-signed a car loan, which, in legal terms, is basically the financial version of a blood pact. We don’t know if they’re married, business partners, or just two people who really, really wanted a midsize SUV with third-row seating and the confidence of a minivan that thinks it’s an off-roader. What we do know is that on January 3, 2022, they walked into a dealership (probably with that distinct new-car smell, even though the car was a decade old), signed on the dotted line with Integrity Auto Finance, LLC, and drove off in a 2014 Ford Explorer XLT — a vehicle that, by 2022, was already nostalgic for the Obama administration.

Now, let’s be real: buying a nearly decade-old SUV on financing isn’t inherently ridiculous. Plenty of people do it. But here’s where things go off the rails. The petition doesn’t say why they stopped paying — maybe Jacob lost his job. Maybe Adrienne decided she wanted to become a goat farmer in Vermont. Maybe the car developed a mysterious ticking noise that sounded like the countdown to financial doom. Whatever the reason, the payments stopped. And when car payments stop, the machinery of modern capitalism kicks into gear with all the subtlety of a repo man with a tow truck and a clipboard.

The car was repossessed — which, let’s be honest, is always a low-key dramatic moment. Did they wake up to find it gone from their driveway? Did someone try to drive it and it just… didn’t start? (Spoiler: modern cars can be disabled remotely, which is either genius or dystopian, depending on whether you’re the lender or the borrower.) Either way, the Explorer was taken, presumably cleaned out, and sold — likely at auction, where it probably went to a guy named Darryl who fixes cars in his backyard and pays in cash.

But here’s the kicker: the sale didn’t cover what Adrienne and Jacob owed. That’s the brutal math of depreciation and interest. You buy a used car for, say, $25,000 with a high-interest loan (and let’s note that 18.8993% interest rate — more on that in a sec), and by the time you default, you might owe more than the car is worth. This is called being “upside down” on a loan, which is a polite way of saying “financial quicksand.” The sale proceeds were applied to the debt, but there was still $19,967.63 left hanging — a gap so wide you could drive another Explorer through it.

That’s when Integrity Auto Finance, LLC did what finance companies do: they sold the debt. Or assigned it. Or transferred it. The legal term is “assignment,” and in this case, the debt was handed off to Performance Assurance, LLC — a company whose name sounds like it should be insuring skydiving instructors or certifying emotional support llamas, but instead, they specialize in chasing down people who didn’t pay for their SUVs. And now, they’re the plaintiff. They’re the ones in court. They’re the ones demanding money, plus interest, plus fees, plus costs, plus a reasonable attorney fee, because apparently, suing people for car debt is serious business and someone’s gotta bill hours.

So why are we in court? Because Performance Assurance wants that $19,967.63 — the deficiency balance — plus interest at that eye-watering 18.8993% annual rate. Let that sink in: if you borrowed money at that rate, your debt would double in about seven and a half years, assuming you never paid a dime. That’s credit card territory, but for a used Ford Explorer. And they’re not just asking for the principal — they want prejudgment and post-judgment interest, which means the longer this drags on, the more Adrienne and Jacob owe. They also want court costs (filing fees, service of process, etc.) and attorney fees, which, under Oklahoma law (12 O.S. § 936), can be awarded in contract cases if the contract allows it. And you can bet the original loan agreement had a clause saying, “Oh, and by the way, if you don’t pay, you’ll also cover our lawyer’s Starbucks habit.”

Now, is $19,967.63 a lot of money? In the grand scheme of civil lawsuits, it’s not exactly Erin Brockovich territory. But for the average person? That’s a down payment on a house in some parts of Oklahoma. That’s two years of rent. That’s a solid used car by itself. That’s a full year of college tuition at a community college. So yes, it’s a lot — especially when it’s for a car you no longer have, that you probably needed to get to work, and now you’re on the hook for it anyway. It’s like paying for a concert ticket after the band canceled, but the venue says, “Tough luck, the booking fee was non-refundable and also, you owe us for the pyrotechnics.”

And here’s what’s wild: this isn’t even a dispute about whether the car was repossessed. There’s no claim of wrongful repossession, no argument that the car was sold below market value, no dramatic story of the repo man breaking into a garage or towing a car with a kid still in the back seat. This is a clean, cold, contractual claim: you signed, you didn’t pay, the car was sold, the math didn’t work out, now you owe the difference. It’s so textbook it might as well be in a finance professor’s PowerPoint.

But let’s talk about that interest rate — 18.8993%. Not 18.9%. Not 19%. No, it’s 18.8993%, which is so precise it sounds like it was calculated by a robot with a grudge. That rate likely includes the base interest plus fees, insurance, and maybe even a “we-don’t-trust-you” surcharge. And while high-interest auto loans aren’t illegal, they’re a hallmark of subprime lending — the kind of financing offered to people with spotty credit, often trapping them in cycles of debt. Was Adrienne and Jacob’s credit less than stellar? Maybe. Did they fully understand what they were signing? The filing doesn’t say. But that rate is a red flag waving in the wind of financial desperation.

So what’s our take? The most absurd part isn’t the amount, or the interest, or even the fact that a company called “Performance Assurance” is suing over a used SUV. It’s that this whole system runs so smoothly, so impersonally, that a decade-old car can generate a nearly $20,000 legal claim like it’s nothing. Adrienne and Jacob aren’t villains — they’re just two people who probably needed a car to get to work, got one, fell behind, and now face a lawsuit that could wreck their credit, garnish wages, or lead to a judgment that follows them for years. And on the other side? A faceless LLC with a team of five attorneys (yes, five) ready to litigate over a debt that started with a used Ford Explorer.

We’re not rooting for the debt collectors. We’re not even rooting for the car. But if we’re being honest? We’re rooting for the idea that maybe, just maybe, the American financial system could have a little more mercy — and a lot less math with four decimal places. Because at the end of the day, this isn’t just about a loan. It’s about how easy it is to fall behind, how fast the penalties pile up, and how a 2014 Ford Explorer can become a $20,000 lesson in compound interest. And if that’s not a cautionary tale, we don’t know what is.

(Disclaimer: We’re entertainers, not lawyers. This is based on a real court filing, but we’re here for the drama, not the legal advice. If you’re being sued for a car loan, maybe don’t ignore it. And if your name is Performance Assurance, LLC — we see you.)