How Eighty Acres of Wisconsin Oak Ridge Exposed My Ex-Husband’s Cash Scheme
I stopped at the Cenex on Highway 12 to fill up my truck.
The cold pump handle felt like ice against my bare palm, the display reading three dollars and forty-nine cents a gallon as the gallons rolled over on the screen.
On the other side of the pump island, Gordon Lund climbed out of his work truck and nodded to me across the hood.
“I hear Brad cleared his gear out of the dealership basement yesterday,” Gordon said.
“He sure did,” I said.
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“Come get your worthless daughter and take her back,” my mother-in-law shouted my father as I lay broken at the bottom of the stairs after my husband shoved me down. “Your family will answer for it if she has even a scratch,” was the sole warning Dad offered her. They had no notion who my father really was, so they made fun of him.
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