A Two Thousand Dollar Nebraska Land Purchase Leads to a Federal Fraud Case
“You are persistent, Arthur,” she said, her voice dropping to a low murmur as she stopped two feet away.
“I was just showing the sheriff your handiwork with a pen,” I said.
She did not flinch. She adjusted the strap of her leather binder.
“We have brought certain standards to the area, and we intend to enforce them,” she whispered.
“My land is zoned agricultural,” I said. “It has been since nineteen sixty-seven.”
“Zoning is a flexible instrument,” she said. “The county is very interested in protecting the creek from diesel runoff. You really are out of your depth here.”
She walked past me toward the stairs, her coat brushing against my sleeve.
I stood in the empty corridor, the hum of the vending machine down the hall the only sound.
Henderson looked out of his office door, then back at me. He cleared his throat and adjusted his tie.
“Is there something I can help you with, Mr. Graham?” he asked, his voice losing its warm tone.
“I wanted to ask about the zoning on my south boundary,” I said.
