Valle Serrulata, LLC v. Dalesha Welch and Jeremy Roberts

Let’s get one thing straight: someone owes $15,359.95 for a 2017 Chevrolet Cruze — and not just any Cruze, but a Chevrolet Cruze, the automotive equivalent of a lukewarm cup of instant coffee. And now, a shadowy legal entity with a name straight out of a dystopian Italian soap opera — Valle Serrulata, LLC — is dragging two people into Tulsa County court like they stole the Batmobile. This isn’t a heist. It’s not even a midlife crisis with a leased Porsche. No, this is the slow, grinding tragedy of a compact sedan that someone couldn’t afford, couldn’t keep, and now can’t stop paying for — even though they don’t have it anymore. Welcome to the American car loan, where you can lose the car and the money, and still end up owing more than the vehicle was worth when it had tires.

So who are these players in the great automotive telenovela? On one side, we’ve got Dalesha Welch and Jeremy Roberts — real names, real people, probably just trying to get to work, pick up the kids, or escape a bad date without having to borrow a friend’s car. They’re listed as co-signers on a Retail Installment Sales Contract, which is legalese for “we promised to pay monthly for this car until it’s ours.” On the other side? Valle Serrulata, LLC — a name so dramatic it sounds like a villainous land baron from a spaghetti western. But don’t be fooled by the flair. This LLC is almost certainly a debt buyer — a company that scoops up defaulted loans for pennies on the dollar from the original lender, then sues to collect the full amount. Think of them as the vultures who show up after the main predator has already eaten the carcass — except here, the carcass is a repossessed Chevy Cruze, and the vultures want every last greasy penny.

Now, let’s unpack the drama. At some point — likely a few years ago — Dalesha and Jeremy decided they needed wheels. Fair enough. Public transit in Tulsa isn’t exactly a high-speed rail network. So they walked into a dealership (probably after weeks of haggling, credit checks, and that awkward moment when the finance guy says, “We can get you approved… but at a rate that’ll make your grandkids pay”) and walked out with a 2017 Chevrolet Cruze. Nice choice, if your dream is to blend in completely with traffic and never be remembered by a car enthusiast. The VIN? 1G1BE5SM1H7217169. Yes, someone typed that into a contract. Yes, someone else copied it into a lawsuit. Yes, we’re all slightly dumber for having read it.

They signed a Retail Installment Sales Contract — a fancy way of saying “we’ll pay you monthly, plus interest, until the car is paid off.” To secure the loan, they gave the lender a security interest in the car, meaning if they stopped paying, the lender could legally take it back. Spoiler: they stopped paying. The filing doesn’t say why — maybe money got tight, maybe one of them lost a job, maybe the Cruze developed a mysterious ticking noise and they decided it wasn’t worth the payments anymore. We don’t know. But we do know the lender — Consumer Portfolio Services, Inc., a company with the emotional warmth of a spreadsheet — eventually repossessed the car. Then, in what the filing calls “a commercially reasonable manner” (which is lawyer-speak for “they sold it at auction without crying”), they auctioned off the vehicle.

Here’s where it gets juicy: the car didn’t sell for enough to cover what Dalesha and Jeremy still owed. That gap — the difference between what the car sold for and what was still on the loan — is called a deficiency balance. And in this case, that balance is $15,359.95. Let that sink in. They lost the car… and still owe over fifteen grand. That’s more than the car was worth when it was new. The 2017 Cruze had a starting MSRP of around $17,000. After depreciation, insurance, interest, and whatever fees lenders sneak in like ninjas, these two now owe almost the full original price — for a car they no longer own, can’t drive, and probably can’t even remember the license plate of.

Fast-forward to February 27, 2026 — yes, the future, in case you were wondering if time travel was involved — and Valle Serrulata, LLC files a lawsuit in Tulsa County District Court. They’re not asking for the car. They’re not asking for an apology. They want cold, hard cash: $15,359.95, plus interest at a whopping 20.7% per year until it’s paid. That’s not just high — that’s “loan shark in a noir film” high. And they’re also asking for attorney’s fees, court costs, and — plot twist — an order forcing the Oklahoma Employment Security Commission to hand over Dalesha and Jeremy’s employment info. Translation: “Tell us where they work so we can garnish their wages.” This isn’t just a lawsuit. It’s a financial dragnet.

So what’s the legal beef here? Simply put: breach of contract. Valle Serrulata claims Dalesha and Jeremy agreed to pay, didn’t pay, and now owe the money. That’s it. No fraud, no conspiracy, no dramatic car chase. Just a broken promise to pay a bill. And while that sounds boring, it’s actually the backbone of the entire consumer credit system in America. If everyone stopped paying their car loans, dealerships would start accepting goats as trade-ins. So the law takes this seriously — even when the vehicle in question is a base-model Cruze that probably had a dented fender and a check-engine light on permanent vacation.

Now, is $15,359.95 a lot to sue over? In the world of civil litigation, yes and no. It’s not millions, but it’s not petty cash, either. For a debt buyer, this is a solid payday — especially if they bought the debt for, say, $3,000. Even after attorney fees, they could still turn a profit. For Dalesha and Jeremy? It’s a disaster. That’s a year’s rent in some parts of Oklahoma. That’s a down payment on a better car. That’s a mountain of stress that follows you to work, to the grocery store, to your kid’s soccer game.

Our take? The most absurd part isn’t the amount, or the car, or even the name “Valle Serrulata, LLC” — though seriously, that sounds like a villain from a Dan Brown novel. It’s the idea that in 2026, someone can lose a car and end up owing more than it was worth — and then get sued by a company with a name that belongs on a wine label. The system is designed to protect lenders, not drivers. And while Dalesha and Jeremy may have made financial missteps, the real crime here is how easily a modest car purchase can spiral into a five-figure debt hole, all while the original asset — that humble, unremarkable Cruze — is long gone, probably now being used by some college student to commute to a job at a place that doesn’t even offer parking.

We’re not rooting for anyone to dodge their debts. But we are rooting for a world where you don’t owe more for a car than it was worth — especially when you no longer have the car. And we’re definitely rooting for the day when “Valle Serrulata, LLC” gets served with a subpoena from a company called “Monte Fiasco Holdings, Inc.” — because karma, like interest, compounds over time.

(We’re entertainers, not lawyers. This is based on a real filing, but we’re not giving legal advice. If you’re being sued over a car loan, call a real attorney — not a podcast host.)