A Two Thousand Dollar Nebraska Land Purchase Leads to a Federal Fraud Case
“The community was impacted because they lied to us and stole from an old man,” I said.
“I understand that, Mr. Graham,” Robert said, his voice smooth and professional. “But a federal judge wants to hear from the victims. If you don’t show up, it looks like you don’t care about the outcome.”
“I care about my farm,” I said.
“The sentencing hearing is on the second Tuesday of next month,” Robert said. “I need to know if you are going to make that statement.”
I looked at the old pine post, the wood grey and cracked from forty years of Nebraska winters.
“I am not going to Lincoln,” I said.
Robert squinted at me, his hands still deep in his pockets.
“You have a right to ask for justice, Arthur,” he said.
“That is not justice,” I said. “That is vengeance, and I have no use for it.”
“They would not have shown you the same mercy,” Robert said.
“I am not living my life by their scale,” I said.
He stood silent for a moment, the idle of his car engine the only sound on the empty road.
