The Heritage Paper

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 p-ssycat. 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.”

“I agree,” her mother said, causing Veronica to do a double take. Agreement was not usually a dynamic of their relationship. “Because of these mitigating circumstances, I will allow Maggie to redo her Heritage Paper without penalty, preferably focusing on a different relative, and present it to the class at a later date. I will take it upon myself to send out emails to the parents, explaining the situation with Ellen’s health, and that we don’t support Nazi or anti-Semitic propaganda, nor will we subject their children to it in the classroom ever again.”

Everybody accepted their light sentences from the judge … except Maggie. “That’s bullshit! It was the best presentation in the class.”

“My decision is final. And watch your language, young lady.”

A tear started to slip down Maggie’s cheek and she angrily wiped it off. “I won’t redo it.”

“Then you’ll receive an F in Social Studies and repeat the sixth grade next year.”

“I’ll sue you!”

Principal Sweetney didn’t seem to take the threat of litigation too seriously, not even acknowledging her. “Anybody have anything else to add?”

Her eyes went to Youkelstein, and she picked right. “I think you’re making a grave mistake by underestimating this threat.”

He turned to Veronica and she almost jumped back upon witnessing the fire in his eyes. “This plan has been secretly plotted for over half a century by the highest ranking members of evil, and anyone with knowledge of the details could be in grave danger. Ellen said in the video that their twisted plot is in its final stages, and that is why she chose now to go public. If those behind this plot believe Ellen told details to Maggie and TJ, they could be in danger. As could anyone they might have told, like friends, siblings, or even yourself, Ms. Peterson. This group will not allow anyone to stand in their way.”

Principal Sweetney replied, “I suggest you take up an investigation of these Nazi ghosts on your own time, Mr. Youkelstein … and your own dime. It has nothing to do with this school.”

The ringing of her phone interrupted the confrontation. After listening for a moment, she responded sharply, “He left here twenty minutes ago—no he’s not with me.”

When she hung up, the color drained from her face and Principal Sweetney turned back into a worried grandmother. “It’s Jamie—he never showed up for Career Day.”