The Heritage Paper

Chapter 55



Otto peered out over the great city, taking a rare moment to enjoy the heavenly sunrise over the Atlantic. There wouldn’t be many more moments of reflection until the job was complete. Today was a day he’d anticipated for as long as he could remember—the day America would succumb to the Achilles heel of any democracy … an election.

His eyes moved from the ball of fire rising in the sky, to the endless ocean that acted as its footstool. The Americans always arrogantly believed the great ocean was their shield. Wars might take place in Europe, the Pacific, or the Middle East, but never would the Great Democracy be threatened on its own turf. But they should have studied the lessons that the Germans learned after Word War I—that the deadliest enemy was always within. Germany was stolen by the saboteurs within its borders, not by England or France.

His eyes moved to the southern tip of the island, where the attacks took place. He still couldn’t believe those savages were able to pull it off, even with his help. It was all it took for the natives to trade two hundred years of freedom and ideals for security. They chased mythical enemies around the globe, opening America to the threat within its own borders, just as he thought they would.

Otto flashed a rare smile. Today was the culmination of the struggle. But in the end, he knew they wouldn’t be able to complete their mission without the right leader—the Candidate.

The Führer might have been presumptuous in his anointing of Josef, but he was correct in his selection of the proper bloodline. The minute that Otto met Josef’s son, he knew he was the one who would lead the revolution. He was a natural born leader, matching what the Führer had famously written: The spark of genius exists in the brain of the truly creative man from his hour of birth. True genius is always inborn and never cultivated, let alone learned.

There was no more time to waste on sunrises, no matter how stunning. Otto took the elevator to the ground floor, where the limo was waiting for him. After informing the driver of his destination, they were off, beating the heavy morning traffic.

They drove through the Brooklyn Battery Tunnel, before exiting at Hamilton Avenue. A few turns later they arrived at the entrance of Green-Wood Cemetery.

It was made up of five park-like acres. It would be hard to find a more attractive place to be buried. Its inhabitants included Boss Tweed, Horace Greeley, and Charles Ebbets, of Brooklyn Dodgers fame. But the only people Otto cared about were John and Eleanor O’Neill, his parents.

The limo pulled to a halt and Otto entered into a sun-drenched morning. His driver offered help, but this was a private time for him and his parents. He slowly maneuvered over the grounds by foot.

They were not buried in an elaborate mausoleum like those responsible for their death, but under two crumbling stones.

The term “murder-suicide” wasn’t en vogue in 1933, and technically, his father did shoot his mother and then put the gun in his own mouth. But Petey knew the real culprits were the Jews who oppressed his family, and sucked the will to live from them. He held them responsible for their murder, even if the enabling American law enforcement didn’t see it that way.

With the memories lingering in the morning air, Otto told his parents how the Candidate would get them justice, even if they weren’t around to witness it. He felt the strong sun beating on his face, and took it as a sign of their approval.

Otto meandered back to the limo, before heading for the next order of business. As they maneuvered from the BQE to the Long Island Expressway, Otto made the call.

“Today you take your place in history,” he began.

“According to the polls, the size of my defeat will be the only thing that will be historical.”

“Nonsense. Your candidacy is going to shape the ideals of the world for the next thousand years.”

“Last I checked, the world wasn’t built on ideals—it was built on kingdoms of wealth.”

“Subtlety has never been your strong suit. The money has been put into your account in Switzerland.”

“All of it?”

“One billion dollars.”

He laughed shamelessly. “That should buy a lot of idealism.”

With that, they hung up. It would be the last time Otto would talk with Theodore Baer until the election was over.