“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