A Two Thousand Dollar Nebraska Land Purchase Leads to a Federal Fraud Case
I tried to lift the spoon, but my fingers would not close around the metal without a sharp ache in my forearms.
The local board had approved the citation without ever driving out to look at my pasture.
I stood up, leaving the soup untouched on the table, and walked back out to the porch.
The night was black, the stars small and cold above the dark ridge of the hills.
I carried the heavy metal post hole digger back to the western line, guided only by the pale gravel of the road.
I raised the iron bar and drove it down into the dark earth.
The heavy metal post hole digger striking a stone in the dark, sending a dull jar straight up my elbows.
The next morning, the swelling in my joints had gone down, but the sting of that metal citation pinned to my refrigerator stayed fresh. I drove into town and climbed the narrow wooden stairs to Sarah Finch’s office, carrying a folder of my county receipts and the raw plat maps I had saved.
