The Heritage Paper

Chapter 32



Veronica’s journey through history brought her to the 1970s. A time of bell-bottoms, shag carpets, and much tragedy for Ellen Peterson. The loss of her children caused a seismic shift in Ellen’s thinking.



September 26, 1972



I’m sorry that I haven’t written in so long, Philip, but I hadn’t the strength to lift a pen. The death of our son has sent me into the depths of despair. I need to be in your arms—it’s the only tonic that could possibly ease the pain. It hurt me so much that your condition wouldn’t allow you to attend our son’s funeral.



I feel you are the only person I can trust now. Every motherly instinct I have is telling me that someone from within the group was responsible for his death. I am the first to admit that his worst enemy was himself. The drugs, the floozies, and his utter lack of ambition and self-discipline, I feel are a reflection on me as his mother. I failed him. The group failed him.



I am suspicious of all the Apostles, Otto included. But I will act like a grieving mother until I get more proof. What type of vicious animal would shoot a man right in front of his son?





August 4, 1975



Maybe I deserved this, Philip. But I would have rather been hit by a lighting bolt than lose another son. I tried to shield Harry Jr. from the secrets of the Apostles, but I couldn’t protect him from his own violent and self-destructive nature. I’ve been thinking a lot about ‘nature versus nurture’ since Harry’s death, wondering if I passed these genetics to both my children. The police say she killed him in self-defense and I have no reason to doubt that. I knew what he had become, I wasn’t naïve, and it happened long before that night. It is part of the dark cloud that has been following me since we came to America. And now both my children have been the ones to pay the price. Harold Sr. is devastated. Some days I worry that he will harm himself. He is oblivious to the dark legacy I’ve brought to my children.



I will spend the remainder of my days on this planet protecting the family that I have left. It will be our secret that I no longer support the Apostles. My only dedication now is to raise my grandson Carsten, and his half-brother Edward. They are my last chance to bring light into my darkness. You must do the same for our granddaughter.





Veronica made eye contact with Flavia from across the room. Her humanity was coming more into focus each moment, even if Veronica didn’t want to admit it.

And Veronica actually found some sympathy for Ellen. She had dedicated the last part of her life to protecting Carsten from the truth of his heritage, only to have him find a box of letters in the back of a closet, sending his curious mind on a dangerous mission. That’s the thing about being a mother—you can do all the right things and offer fortress-like protection, but in the end, the world can be cruel and random, and there is nothing you can do to stop it. Veronica looked at Maggie and Jamie, and realized no matter what she did, she couldn’t guarantee their safety. She felt helpless.

Zach addressed Flavia, “You said you cross-checked these letters against the ones Carsten Peterson had found. The ones that Müller wrote to Ellen. Can we see those?”

“I don’t know where they are. They were in his possession the last I knew, but they weren’t on him when he died, and were never found, as far as I know.”

“We need to re-construct Carsten’s last day. That’s our best chance to lead us in the right direction,” Zach said, sounding assertive.

Veronica didn’t think Maggie or Jamie should be reconstructing the day their father died, and sent them out to “play” with their Uncle Eddie. Jamie was itching to join his police partner ever since Eddie bolted from the house, and eagerly ran to the door. Maggie didn’t go willingly, but after a spirited debate she relented. She was picking her battles carefully.

“It was the first time I’d seen Carsten scared,” Flavia said softly. “He informed me that we’d stumbled into a dangerous situation and that he no longer wanted me involved. I fought him, of course, but he was a stubborn one. Seeking help, he went to his boss at Sterling Publishing, Aligor Sterling, who as you know, is an expert on the subject.”

The comment almost sent Veronica through the chimney. Flavia read her look. “It’s not what you think—Sterling told him that he couldn’t help him. So Carsten took up the search alone and began confiding in a mystery source he’d found through his research. And before you even ask me, he refused to tell me the name of the source.”

Just the mention of Sterling seemed to irritate Youkelstein, who “pulled an Eddie” and stomped angrily into the next room.

“Where did he go on that final day?” Zach asked.

“He left to meet his source in Poughkeepsie. I should have followed him, and I’ve regretted not doing so ever since.”

“What was the game plan after Carsten met his contact?”

“We were supposed to meet up later that night for a strategy session at the motel room he was using in Poughkeepsie. But when I got there …”

Flavia didn’t need to finish the sentence. She began to tear-up and Veronica did the same. She wasn’t sure if she was crying for Carsten or because Maggie and Jamie had to grow up without a father.

“And that’s where the trail ends?” Zach asked.

“Not exactly,” Flavia said, and once again had the group’s full attention. “I found a note in his pocket before the paramedics arrived. It listed a meeting in Bedford, New York with someone named Rose. I have no idea if it was a first or last name. It was dated from the previous day, but contained no details.”

“Was this Rose his contact? The one he went to meet in Poughkeepsie?”

Flavia shrugged. “I have no idea. Like I said, he didn’t tell me the contact’s name. And with all the aliases these people use, who knows if Rose was the real name, or even if it was a man or woman. I don’t even know where I’d start looking.”

After a brief silence, Veronica spoke up, “I know who Rose is, and she didn’t meet Carsten in Poughkeepsie. She hasn’t left Bedford in thirty-five years.”