A Two Thousand Dollar Nebraska Land Purchase Leads to a Federal Fraud Case
Henry was sitting on a wooden folding chair on the porch, his wool coat buttoned up to his chin. His old red retriever lay near his feet, its tail giving two slow thumps against the grey floorboards.
“They got them, Henry,” I said, walking up the wooden steps.
He did not look up right away, his hands clasped tight over his knees.
“I saw the sheriff’s car go past an hour ago,” Henry said.
I sat on the empty milk crate near his chair, the wood cold beneath me.
“The federal marshals arrested them both in Lincoln,” I said. “They had the warrants for the wire fraud.”
Henry turned his head slowly, his eyes watery and red-rimmed from the cold.
“And the money?” he asked.
“The bank accounts in Arizona are frozen,” I said. “Deputy Reynolds said you are getting your eight thousand dollars back.”
He did not say anything for a long time, his gaze shifting back to the empty grain bins across the road.
“I did not think I would ever see that money again, Arthur,” he said.
