A Two Thousand Dollar Nebraska Land Purchase Leads to a Federal Fraud Case
“She knows that,” Mr. Duca said. “She is squeezing you from both ends, Arthur. If you cannot sell the crop, the bank cannot take the grain as collateral on your spring loan.”
He laid his heavy hand on the top of my pump.
“She did the same thing to the Miller family over in Paxton five years ago,” Mr. Duca said. “They had eighty acres of alfalfa. They had to sell it to her for ten cents on the dollar just to pay their fuel bill.”
“I am not selling,” I said.
“I hope not,” Mr. Duca said. “But the elevator manager told me he cannot take your name on the board until this court order is cleared up. That could take months.”
He climbed back into his truck and started the engine. The black smoke from his exhaust drifted across my windshield, smelling of cold oil.
The sun was a thin yellow line behind the sandhills when I got back to the farm. The air was getting colder, the kind of dry freeze that makes the dirt road crack like dry wood. I walked up the three steps to my porch and sat down on the wooden bench.
