A Two Thousand Dollar Nebraska Land Purchase Leads to a Federal Fraud Case
“It is a legal obligation,” she said, her tone sharpening just enough to show the edge underneath.
“The county sold me this section clear of any liens,” I said.
She closed her binder with a sharp snap that sounded like a pistol shot in the cold air.
“We will see what the county records say about that,” she said.
The sound of her high heels clicking down the wooden steps, leaving me with a heavy knot in my stomach.
I spent the night with that knot tightening, and by eight the next morning, I was in the machine shed with the hood of the old John Deere pulled up. The smell of cold grease and diesel always helped clear my head. I was adjusting the fuel line when a shadow blocked the morning light in the doorway.
It was Mr. Duca, the cattle farmer from the eastern boundary. He had his sheepskin jacket zipped to the chin and a folded piece of paper in his calloused hand.
“Arthur,” he said, stepping onto the oil-stained concrete. “You get one of these yet?”
