A Two Thousand Dollar Nebraska Land Purchase Leads to a Federal Fraud Case
“I’ve been delivering to this valley for twelve years,” Jim said, leaning his elbow on the door. “Never heard of a Meadowbrook HOA until last month. Now I’m hauling these certified envelopes to half the farms on this road.”
“Who else got one?” I asked.
“The Miller place got one, and young Billy down by the creek,” Jim said. He shifted his jeep into gear. “Just keep your head down, Arthur.”
He nodded toward the high point where the gravel road met the asphalt. “You have company up on the ridge.”
A black Tesla sat idling on the crest of the hill, its dark glass windows reflecting the gray autumn sky like two pieces of obsidian. No one got out, and no engine sound came down the slope.
“He has been sitting there since ten,” Jim said, before pulling away.
I took the envelope back to the kitchen table. The return address was printed in the same sharp, corporate font Brinley Fairmont had used on her binder.
