The Heritage Paper

by Derek Ciccone

  Mrs. Foss looked shell-shocked—rape, drugs, and prostitution probably wasn’t what she had in mind when she concocted this project. That’s what you get for opening up the scary can of worms called family, Zach mused.

  “I came to think of our ghetto as hell on earth, and the Jews who lived there were the devil’s children, even if I carried the same blood as them. When I was around Maggie’s age, my mother began to show the symptoms of a deadly form of syphilis. At the end, she couldn’t get out of bed and I became her caretaker.

  “It was the fall of 1932 when a young man running for German Chancellor came through our neighborhood on the campaign trail. He stopped by our home to see my sick mother to help promote his plan for national health insurance, building on the system that began with Prince Otto von Bismarck, after Germany united in the nineteenth century. The candidate was so taken by our plight that he openly wept and promised my mother he’d care for me when she died. And unlike most political candidates, he lived up to his campaign promise.

  “That man’s name was Adolf Hitler.”

  Chapter 8

  Veronica watched them march one by one into the principal’s office and be seated like a jury. The last person to enter was Maggie—the defendant. Her face was rigid, ready to fight authority. She had rebelliously removed her sweater, displaying her against-the-rules political T-shirt supporting Jim Kingston.

  Maggie’s teacher had a look on her face like she signed up to teach sixth-grade social studies only to find herself tricked into a ponzi scheme.

  There were also two older men in the line-up. One that Veronica had never seen before, while the other she was well aware of.

  The mystery man was rail-thin with a wispy mustache, and a few snowflakes of white hair on top of his head. He reminded her of the Obi-Wan Kenobi character from the original Star Wars movie, sans the beard and goofy robe, and had traded his light saber for an umbrella. Veronica found this odd considering that no rain was anticipated, although, a few unexpected thundershowers had already interrupted her morning. The umbrella matched his dapper black suit, which reminded Veronica of her father’s look when he used to work at Reader’s Digest, back when it was headquartered in Pleasantville.

  The man she knew was named Aligor Sterling. He was Carsten’s boss when he worked at Sterling Publishing. In fact, he was everybody’s boss—he was the founder, owner, and overall head honcho. She didn’t know him that well—mainly from the annual summer party where they’d meander around Manhattan on his luxury yacht—but Carsten practically worshiped him. She did however feel indebted to him for his help the week following Carsten’s death. He didn’t just write a check for the funeral, he put in the time, providing her with much-needed comfort. And he was under no obligation, since Sterling Publishing had no liability in his death. Carsten had died of a stroke.

  Aligor waved to her from his wheelchair. Despite being north of ninety, he still had a full head of hair that he dyed black, and wore his trademark oval-rimmed glasses. But she noticed that he wasn’t sporting his usual gentle smile.

  There was a pleasant surprise in the room—Zach Chester and his son TJ. Zach walked directly to Veronica’s side, her eyes searching him for some clues as to what this was all about. When she found none, she asked.

  “You wouldn’t believe it if I told you,” he whispered back.

  Not very reassuring. “What does it have to do with Carsten?”

  Zach looked puzzled. “Carsten?”

  “My former husband. He worked for Sterling Publishing. I thought that’s why Aligor Sterling is here.”

  “No, I believe he’s here because Ellen invited him.”

  “Why would she do that?”

  “Because he’s a well-known Nazi hunter.”

  Veronica’s face scrunched with confusion. She had no idea what that was. “I’m not sure I understand—I thought Aligor Sterling ran Sterling Publishing.”

  “While Sterling is best known for his political activism and his publishing empire, after the war he started an organization with intent to bring justice for the Holocaust survivors. His partner was named Ben Youkelstein—the guy standing beside him. For decades, they tracked down war criminals that had escaped after the war. But rumor has it that they had a nasty breakup this past year.”

  “They look more like a couple of guys who wandered away from Sunshine Village.”

  “Don’t be fooled by the grandfatherly facades. I did a story on them a few years ago when I worked at Newsbreaker. It’s rumored that Sterling has Martin Bormann’s skull displayed in his office.”

  Before Veronica could ask why anyone would keep this Martin fellow’s skull on display, or how it was connected to Maggie’s project, her mother entered the room like the Tasmanian Devil, speaking rapidly into a phone. Veronica hadn’t heard this many apologies from her mother in her life. Someone was in big trouble, and Veronica had the feeling it was Maggie.

  She abruptly ended the call and eyed the group suspiciously. Zach was her first target. “I see you’ve taken it upon yourself to join us, Mr. Chester. Are you planning a story for your newspaper?”

  “No, ma’am. My son TJ helped Maggie on her project and I’d like to get to the bottom of this as much as you. My son is very good at using Photoshop software, which I think might have played a role in many of the altered photos displayed during the presentation.”

  Her mother sat down behind her desk, looking out of sorts. Veronica could tell she was craving a cigarette. Veronica didn’t smoke, but a shot of bourbon would have hit the spot right now.

  She pointed at Sterling and Youkelstein. “Did you two get lost on your way to a hearing-aid convention?”

  Sterling cleared his throat with an attitude, as if to say he shouldn’t have to introduce himself. “Ellen Peterson invited me. I will always make time for Holocaust survivors, even with the election so near, and so much to do.”

  Seemingly unimpressed, she turned to Obi-Wan. “And you Mr. …”

  “Youkelstein. I also received an invitation from Ellen. She mentioned in her video presentation that she believes Aligor and I can assist in stopping a group called the Apostles, who’s aim is to return the Reich to power.”

  “And when we’re done with that, we can all fly to Mars for lunch. Do either of you have a previous relationship with Ellen?” she continued, while holding a stare at Maggie. To Maggie’s credit, she peered right back. “Since invitations were supposed to be given to family or close friends only, I’m confused by your presence.”

  “I’ve known Ellen for years. My organization helped many people like Ellen who survived concentration camps. And her grandson, Carsten, worked for me at Sterling Publishing. That is why I didn’t hesitate to come when I received the invitation,” Sterling answered quickly.

  Youkelstein added, “I would consider myself neither family or close friend, but she indicated to me that she was a fan of my books, which I assume was the reason for my invitation. She stated that she’d reveal secrets of Nazi Germany that would astound me, and she delivered.”

  Principal Sweetney leaned back in her chair and sighed. “So let’s review the facts. During the Heritage Paper presentation, Maggie played a video of her great-grandmother, Ellen Peterson, in which Ellen confessed to lying about being a Holocaust survivor, and went on to claim that she had been taken in as a young girl by Adolf Hitler, who raised her in a hideaway in the Bavarian Alps.

  “She later partook in a group calling itself the Apostles, which included a who’s who of Nazi war criminals such as Himmler, Rudolf Hess, and Heinrich Müller, the latter she claimed to have a child with named Josef. And not just any child, but one who was anointed as the ‘chosen one’ who would help return the Reich to past glory. This led to an orchestrated plan that has been in place since these Apostles infiltrated America after the war. Now sixty some years later, instead of confessing this story to the FBI or the Justice Department, Ellen decided it would be best to reveal this in Mrs. Foss’s sixth grade class. Did I miss
anything? Flying monkeys?”

  Veronica should have been shocked, but she wasn’t. The whole thing was more sad than anything. Ellen hadn’t been in her right mind lately—the alien sighting being exhibit-A—but she had to admit this one was a doozy. Her heart broke for Maggie, who desperately wanted to believe in those around her after a tumultuous year in which her world flew off its axis. No kid should have to go through that.

  She turned to Maggie, and chose the soft approach, “Maggie, honey, I understand that Oma believes the things she said, but she’s gotten a little older and her mind isn’t quite what it used to be.”

  “What she said is true,” Maggie stood her ground.

  Principal Sweetney growled, “Are you behind these photos, TJ?” She pointed to printed-out copies that featured a young Ellen with Adolf Hitler.

  TJ looked at Maggie, as if to say I’ll back you up to the point my Xbox is taken away.

  Maggie stepped in. TJ was her friend and she’d have his back all the way to the electric chair. Veronica loved the loyalty aspect of her personality, but just not at the moment.

  “TJ didn’t doctor any photos,” Maggie stated firmly.

  “Then who did?” Principal Sweetney came right back at her. Veronica hoped Uncle Phil and Aunt Val had a second guest room. More suspensions were pending.

  “They’re authentic,” Maggie said. “We had to go into New York City to get them from a safety deposit box at Oma’s bank.”

  Veronica almost hit her head on the roof. Her compassion had limits. “And how did you get to the city?”

  Maggie shrugged like it was no big deal. “We took the train with Oma.”

  Veronica was too horrified to say anything, choking on her anger. But she’d have a lot to say the next time she talked to Ellen … not to mention the few choice words for Mrs. Rhodes about Sunshine Village’s security.

  Zach jumped in, or more specifically, he jumped down TJ’s throat. “Who gave you permission to go into the city!? I hope you enjoyed your time at Sunshine Village, because you’re going to be old enough to live there when your grounding is over!”

  Maggie theatrically sighed. “I don’t know why everyone is sweating the details. If Oma was willing to risk her whole reputation on this, then what she said was obviously important. We don’t have much time.”

  As mad as Veronica was, she wanted to hug the desperation out of Maggie’s voice.

  Principal Sweetney wouldn’t know a soft approach if she ran it over with her car. “Maggie! This is ludicrous. The woman is obviously off her rocker. So zip it!”

  Maggie stewed, and a hostile silence filled the room.

  Until Ben Youkelstein broke the stalemate. He cleared his throat and said, “I think Maggie is telling the truth.”

  Chapter 9

  Veronica didn’t know this Youkelstein fellow, but figured he must be courageous. He was headed for a couple weeks at Uncle Phil and Aunt Val’s, yet he forged ahead.

  “It’s the symbol she showed,” he stated. “The only time I’d come across it, was in regards to a man who was connected to the highest level of the Nazi hierarchy. And I was told the next time we saw that symbol, it would be the sign that the Reich was about to rise again.”

  Youkelstein looked at Sterling for help, but received none. “Mr. Youkelstein has a great imagination, and unfortunately I think my friend Ellen has joined him in his fantasy world. I believe she has deep rooted delusions caused by her traumatic incarceration at Terezin, and as her mind continues to crumble with age, they are beginning to spill out of her subconscious.”

  Youkelstein began pacing, using his umbrella as a cane. “She worked with Maggie on this report for almost two months. If Ellen Peterson were crazy, then she wouldn’t be able to maintain the same story for such a long amount of time. And her facts were historically accurate. Such as the day she arrived in Maine, November 29, 1944, being the same day that a German U-boat surfaced in Hancock Point, Maine—two German intelligence officers made it onto US soil that day, but were captured and quickly executed. In retrospect, I don’t think these men were spying, as they were charged with, but creating a diversion so that the Apostles could find safe passage into the United States.”

  Sterling laughed condescendingly. “What Mr. Youkelstein isn’t telling you is that he wrote books in which he made the case that numerous Nazis war criminals escaped capture after the war, such as Himmler and Rudolph Hess. I think it’s likely that Ellen read his book and concocted this story based on Ben’s conspiracy theories. He preyed on Ellen’s failing cognitive abilities to promote his agenda.”

  “Even if your theory was given credence, it doesn’t explain the symbol,” Youkelstein argued. “I never told anyone about that, much less published it.”

  “Knowing the lengths you’d go, I wouldn’t put it past you to have planted the idea in her mind.”

  “I thought her mind was mush? And you didn’t think that way when we were tracking down Mengele or Bormann, even though others claimed to have proof of their death. You once had the same passion to bring justice for the survivors. Did you forget what it was like at Terezin!?”

  “You don’t have a monopoly on the pain, Ben. These ghosts you chase are all dead now. Even if they did escape justice, they’re now facing the ultimate jury,” Sterling responded, pointing upward. “All that your ghost-chasing does is remove credibility from the work we’ve done. I continue to help the survivors and their lineage by supporting politicians like Jim Kingston, who will fight for their rights and make sure no such atrocities occur ever again. That is how the Reich will be kept down.”

  “I’ll trade credibility for justice any day!”

  “And you certainly did trade your credibility—Himmler … Hess … Müller—you never met a Nazi you didn’t think was still alive! I’ll bet you think Hitler is sipping on a Mai Tai in Brazil, as we speak.”

  “I hope you were paid handsomely when you sold your soul.”

  “You can continue to chase ghosts if you’d like, Ben, but I have a candidate to elect,” Sterling got the last word. He performed a fancy pirouette with his chair and wheeled toward the door. This was not the gentle, self-deprecating man Veronica remembered. But then again, most people get a little cranky when they spend time around her mother.

  Veronica noticed that Zach was eying Sterling as he moved toward the door. He had remained quiet throughout the showdown, but he seemed like the type who was always soaking in information like a sponge. As Sterling wheeled by him, he finally spoke, “For a man who has put in so much time and energy toward Kingston’s election, and some would say his closest adviser, I find it interesting that you’d have the time to come down here this morning on the account of a crazy old lady.”

  Sterling looked back at him with a competitive glare. “Maybe you can co-author Ben’s next conspiracy book and sell the movie rights to Oliver Stone,” he said, and again headed toward the door.

  There seemed to be too many cooks in the kitchen, so Veronica’s mother let everyone know who was in charge, “Freeze! Nobody is leaving this room until I say so!”

  Everyone stopped. With order temporarily restored, she answered the ringing phone on her desk. More angry parents.

  Veronica moved to Zach. “Who are these people they’re talking about—Himmler, Hess, Müller?”

  “I thought you said you were a history major?”

  “Art history. I can tell you about 19th-century neoclassicism, but I get Thomas Jefferson confused with George Jefferson.”

  He smiled. “Well, according to your daughter’s Heritage Paper, Müller had a child with Maggie’s great-grandmother. Which I think makes him Maggie’s crazy Nazi step-great-grandfather.”

  She smiled back. “You’ll have to show me some of the photos—especially the ones your son helped Maggie create with Photoshop.”

  Zach gave her a touché nod. “Long story short—Müller was head of the secret German police called the Gestapo. They were best known for terrorizing German citizens who
were considered disloyal to Hitler. Himmler was the architect of the Holocaust. Many said he made Hitler look like a pussycat. And Hess was Hitler’s Deputy Führer, who helped him author his book Mein Kampf, which outlined many of his philosophies, including a slight disagreement he had with the Jewish population. It wasn’t on this year’s summer reading list. I think it’s a seventh grade thing.”

  Veronica sighed. “Between Ellen and the old guy with the umbrella, I hope somebody puts me out of my misery when I start seeing dead Nazis … or aliens.”

  Principal Sweetney slammed down her phone and jumped right into another lecture, “As you might have figured, in this world of instant information, I’ve got a bunch of parents on my hands who are instant pissed off.”

  Her scowl fell on Maggie, who didn’t give an inch. She stood even taller, as if her sole regret was having only one life to give for her Heritage Paper.

  “Oma told the truth. I followed the directions given by Mrs. Foss, and just because you can’t deal with the truth doesn’t make it wrong.”

  Then she did the shake of her head with her eyes closed, which was her way of informing everyone that they were morons.

  Part of Veronica wanted to cheer for her. Her daughter was the pre-Carsten version of herself—the rebellious girl who used to fearlessly lead her friends to neighboring Sleepy Hollow, to search for the Headless Horseman—and hoped she’d continue to live life with that zest. But she also had never been so mad at her. The contradictory life of the mother of a twelve-year-old, she guessed.

  Principal Sweetney didn’t look impressed. She turned to TJ, “Any last words?”

  TJ just looked at the floor. He was taking the fifth. There was no way he was dragging down his friend with him.

  Veronica felt compelled to throw her little girl a life raft. “I agree with Mr. Sterling, from the standpoint that Ellen’s experience in the concentration camp likely led to dark fantasies. And combined with the onset of dementia, they turned to wild tales. But Maggie and TJ did nothing wrong. They followed directions, and I think it’s clear that they didn’t make up these stories to get a reaction.”