A Two Thousand Dollar Nebraska Land Purchase Leads to a Federal Fraud Case
“Can she do that?” I asked.
“I don’t know, Arthur,” Mr. Duca said. “The bank holds my operating loan. If they see a lien on my title, they can call the whole note due.”
“My land has been agricultural since sixty-seven,” I said, handing the paper back to him. “There is no neighborhood here.”
“She doesn’t care about sixty-seven,” Mr. Duca said. He folded the paper back into his pocket. “She cares about the bank account.”
He left me with the sound of his heavy boots fading across the yard. I worked until noon, but my wrench kept slipping on the bolts. My hands would not stay dry, and I kept wiping them against my thighs.
At midday, I walked down the long lane to the road to get the mail. Jim, who had driven the county route for twelve years, did not shut off his jeep engine when he saw me coming.
He held a white slip of paper out the window. “Got a certified one for you today, Arthur. Need a signature.”
I wrote my name on his clipboard, my palm damp against the yellow plastic.
