A Two Thousand Dollar Nebraska Land Purchase Leads to a Federal Fraud Case
“They are going to strike every single filing the Fairmonts made since April,” Reynolds said.
He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small black key with a plastic tag.
“This belong to that trail camera you put up on the west line?” Reynolds asked.
I took the key, the metal cold against my palm.
“Greg helped me set it up last week,” I said.
“Keep it in the machine shed until the trial is over,” Reynolds said. “The defense lawyer might try to say we didn’t have permission to record the fence line.”
He turned back toward the glass doors of the sheriff’s station.
“We need you to sign a statement for the county attorney before three o’clock,” Reynolds said.
I followed him inside the warm lobby, the smell of floor wax and wet wool filling the air.
The clerk behind the high counter, a young woman named Clara, slid a clipboard toward me with three typed pages.
I read through the statement line by line, my finger tracking the black print across the page.
