The answer matched Veronica’s research. According to a 1976 TIME Magazine article in which Rose gave her only interview about Greta’s murder, she mentioned that the Shepherds came to New York following World War I. As a young woman, Rose caught the acting bug, and while she never became the next Jean Harlow, she did earn a small role in a 1949 off-Broadway play.
In the 1950s she moved behind the camera—another one of her passions—and opened her own photography shop on the Upper West Side. Her big break came when she was chosen as the photographer for the wedding of Aligor Sterling’s son. Aligor was so impressed with her work that he hired her for all photography work for Sterling Publishing. By most accounts, she spent the next decades living out the successful life of a professional single woman in New York. There was nothing in her past that would foreshadow a violent future. That’s what made what happened next so perplexing.
She was arrested in May of 1975 for blackmail and extortion. It wasn’t a crime that made headlines like the Mrs. Cleaver stabbing had, months earlier. Rose Shepherd claimed to have come across information of a sensitive nature that she felt could hurt Sterling Publishing, and tried to extort money from Aligor Sterling in exchange for her silence. He alerted the authorities and cooperated in a sting operation. When she tried to blackmail him on tape, she was arrested.
The content of the “sensitive” photos was anybody’s guess because the court sealed them. But no action was taken against Sterling, so Veronica figured they might have been embarrassing, but weren’t illegal. The bigger question was what would cause a sixty-something woman to suddenly turn on her biggest client and blackmail him? It seemed like she was biting the hand that fed her. But then things took an even more bizarre turn. While in prison awaiting her trial, she strangled her cellmate.
Likely feeling guilty over their mother’s murder, Aligor Sterling offered the Peterson children lifetime jobs at his company. Carsten took advantage of this opportunity and moved quickly up the ranks. But Eddie had always dreamed of following the family tradition of working in law enforcement, and never took him up on it. Veronica wondered if the security job for Kingston had some connection to that original offer.
Rose’s eyes returned to the television. Zach turned it back on just in time for the anchorwoman to deliver a story about a one time A-list actress who had fallen on hard times and reportedly attempted suicide.
“I feel so sad for her,” Rose surprisingly blurted out. “She was forced to go through life under the glare of the spotlight, I know exactly how it feels. I once tried to kill myself because a boy broke my heart. I just wanted to make the pain stop.”
Rose pointed out the scars on her wrist to confirm her suicide attempt. The scars were faded with time, but it was obvious that her unstable behavior began long before she shared that cell with Greta Peterson.
“I want to ask you about a day last year when a man named Carsten Peterson came to see you,” Veronica said.
Her eyes glazed over as she stared at the television screen. Veronica asked again, louder this time, like she was talking to one of her children.
Rose looked up with a baffled look. “I don’t know—who is he?”
“You killed his mother,” Veronica said directly.
Rose remained entrenched in her own little world, showing no outward emotion. “It’s so sad when a child has to grow up without a mother.”
Veronica was losing her cool, but luckily the unflappable Zach stepped in, “Rose—I’m trying to figure out how a woman in her sixties with a no criminal record, wakes up one morning and decides to blackmail one of the world’s most powerful men … who also happens to be her meal ticket. My guess is that it was about more than the money. Maybe you should think about cleansing your soul before it’s too late.”
Her eyes un-glazed, and she was suddenly in the moment. “I didn’t blackmail anybody.”
“A court of law didn’t agree with you.”
“That’s not true, the blackmail charges were dropped. The only thing I was convicted of was murder,” she said, surprisingly coherent.
“Only? Let me guess, you didn’t do that either.”
“They had Jew lawyers to say I did. They were very powerful men.”
“So you’re saying that Sterling conspired to frame you for murder. Why would he do that?” Zach pushed on, needing to take advantage before she drifted back into la-la land.
She clammed up, looking nervous. The woman was ninety-nine, serving a life sentence without parole, what did she have to lose? “Shh—the Jews can get you anywhere,” she whispered.
Veronica found it peculiar that a man who ran an organization dedicated to Jewish causes would hire someone with such views, no matter how talented a photographer she was.
Zach pleaded with her, “Please, Rose, it’s very important.”
“I found out things about him,” she said quietly like she was worried Big Brother was listening. Everyone inched closer. “I came across things.”
“What things were those?”
“A good girl never kisses and tells.”
Veronica was pretty sure that she was implying that she’d had an affair with Sterling. As Maggie might say—super gross!
“I was the only non-Jew associated with Sterling Publishing. Do you think he really hired me because my photographs were so special?”
Veronica was curious what Mr. Conspiracy Theory, Ben Youkelstein, thought about this, as he’d been mysteriously quiet during the interview process. She wondered if they might have crossed paths at some point, both working for Sterling.
But his only question for her was, “You said you tried to kill yourself over a boyfriend when you were younger. What was his name?”
She flickered a reminiscing smile. “Henry Wolf. He died in World War II, and I could never marry another man … including Aligor.”
Veronica had no idea what Ben was getting at, but it appeared that it would be the final question. Before they could dig deeper into Carsten’s final visit, Rose Shepherd drifted off to sleep.
The interview was over.
Chapter 37
Lieutenant Edward Peterson passed through the heavy security outside Jim Kingston’s property. He drove through the gates, passing formal gardens that could have moonlighted as a state park, as he pulled his police cruiser to a stop in front of the mansion. It combined Tudor and Elizabethan revival styles and overlooked the Long Island Sound from its perch in Kings Point. “A man of the people,” Eddie said to himself with a laugh.
He was greeted by Kingston’s security detail. Since Bobby Kennedy’s assassination in 1968, presidential candidates had the right to file for protection with the Federal Election Commission. But Kingston pointed out that it would cost the taxpayer about 50k a day to protect him, so funding his own security scored him some points with the voters.
Eddie was escorted through the grand doorway, into a low-beamed entrance room that contained a fireplace so big you’d have to chop down half a forest to get a good fire going. There, he was greeted by Aligor Sterling, who was flanked by a balding man with a whiny voice that Eddie recognized from TV as Kingston’s campaign manager. A bunch of Sterling’s ass-kissing assistants were also on the welcome committee.
Sterling immediately took control of the room. He might not have been officially in charge of the campaign, but everyone knew he had the most clout. He ordered the group to follow him, and they obliged.
Eddie trailed the group into the two-story Great Room. It was a “stop you in your tracks” room with a grand staircase leading up to a carved balcony. Enormous bay windows provided a magnificent view of the Sound and the beautiful cliffs of the north shore of Long Island.
Sterling wheeled to the window and gazed out. Eddie followed him. It seemed implied that he was supposed to, but he wasn’t sure. After this morning’s events, he was unclear if he remained in good standing.
“It’s a beautiful view isn’t it, Lieutenant Peterson,” Sterling said. His tone differed from the cheery
salutations at Jamie’s school.
“Breathtaking,” Eddie replied.
“You can see my estate from here,” Sterling said, pointing at an enormous manor across the water on the hamlet of Sands Point.
“It’s nice and all, but I’m not sure it compares to my rent-controlled one bedroom in the Bronx. Best fire-escape in the neighborhood,” Eddie tried to joke.
Nobody laughed.
“Did you know that Sands Point was the inspiration for the fictional East Egg in the Great Gatsby, while Kings Point inspired West Egg. Did you read Gatsby, Lieutenant Peterson?”
“My rule is if it don’t have a centerfold then I don’t read it. Although, I once convinced Kristi Wallace that I read Shakespeare so I could get in her pants back in high school.”
Sterling ignored him. “Jay Gatsby looked out from West Egg at a light at the end of a dock on East Egg. To him, it represented hope. It represented dreams.”
“Sounds like a real page turner.”
“You see, we are now very close to reaching that light. Tomorrow Jim Kingston will complete the journey to that dock, and will arrive carrying all of our dreams. Do you understand?
Eddie nodded. The message was clear—nothing would stop their dream.
Having made his point, Sterling was on the move again. They passed through a formal dining room and into the library. It featured a large mural of mythological sea creatures on one side. The other side of the room was lined with bookcases. A floor-to-ceiling window provided a view of the expansive front lawn. Eddie focused on the leaves swirling in the wind, which was how his stomach felt at the moment.
Jim Kingston sat behind a large mahogany desk, his ear locked to a landline phone.
The room was filled with his top aides, along with the mayor of New York and the NYPD police commissioner. Eddie was met with a cool reception from all.
Kingston hung up, apologizing for the delay, mentioning that he was talking to his running mate, Senator Langor from Florida. He rose to his feet and approached Eddie. He greeted him with a handshake and pat on the back.
Kingston returned behind his desk and addressed the group, “The reason Eddie is here, along with Mr. Mayor and Mr. Commissioner, is we’ve agreed to coordinate our safety with the city of New York when I give our victory speech tomorrow night at the Waldorf. As you know, Lieutenant Peterson has been chosen to head up the efforts of NYPD.”
Eddie was given the floor. He nervously stammered through the detailed plan they’d been working on for months. The most interesting would be the Long Range Acoustic Devices used to listen in on people’s conversations from as far away as a helicopter.
They would also use traditional tactics such as concrete barriers, while sectioning off areas around the Waldorf with barbed wire. NYPD would be stationed on horseback, bicycles, and in unmarked cars with blacked out windows. A makeshift holding cell had been set up at Pier-57 for those they apprehended.
Eddie began to get his sea-legs and his confidence rose. He skillfully detailed his coordinated efforts with the Technical Assistance Response Unit, who had been filming people in the area for the past week.
Kingston asked the group for feedback and it was negative. Not at the tactics themselves, but Eddie’s presence. A bespectacled pollster warned of plummeting Florida numbers if word got out that Ellen Peterson’s adopted grandson was involved in any way with the campaign.
The campaign manager called for Eddie’s ouster. He then turned to the police commissioner and added, “And it’s not like he earned the position because of his great résumé—he was chosen because he’s a legacy of Harold Peterson.”
Eddie bit his tongue—he could never escape his family history.
Aligor Sterling spoke up, “It was my decision to bring Eddie on because of my fondness for his brother, Carsten Peterson, who was a loyal employee of mine for years. But I must concur with the others …”
Kingston had the final word, “Eddie isn’t going anywhere. He is here for my security. Aligor picked him because loyalty is a family trait of the Petersons. And when someone starts shooting at me, I want a loyal man in charge of protecting me.”
Chapter 38
Veronica remembered the last homework assignment she helped Maggie with. It was a math assignment about the lowest common denominator. She wasn’t much help—math wasn’t really her thing—but now she was starting to better understand the concept of LCD. And in this case the lowest common denominator was Aligor Sterling.
The last non-relative to visit Ellen was Sterling.
One of the few non family members invited to Maggie’s presentation was Sterling.
Carsten brought the letters between Ellen and Gus Becker to his boss … Sterling.
Rose Shepherd was in jail for blackmailing Sterling.
They sat quietly in bumper-to-bumper traffic. Maggie and Jamie were both giving her the silent treatment. Maggie’s angst was a result of being forbidden from the meeting with Rose Shepherd. But Veronica didn’t care if she didn’t speak to her for the next fifty years, she would protect the myth of her father and shield her from her family history of violence.
Jamie, on the other hand, was ticked off because he wasn’t allowed to stay and finish a video game he was playing with one of the children of the inmates. Their tactics weren’t working—Veronica was enjoying the rare quiet time.
Keeping with the theme, Youkelstein was silently reading in the backseat. Zach turned back toward him like he wanted to ask him a question and noticed his book. “Where’d you get that?”
“I carry a copy with me at all times.”
“Why on earth would you do that—you do know that book claims the personification of the devil as the symbol of all evil assumes the living shape of a Jew?”
“I carry it because I never want to forget.”
He held up an aged hardcover that displayed a menacing portrait of a youthful looking Adolf Hitler. The title Mein Kampf—My Struggle—was draped diagonally over Hitler like he was wearing a pageant banner.
“It’s currently banned in France and Germany,” Youkelstein added. “I don’t agree with that. I think it should be required reading in all schools throughout the world. It’s important for children to learn that such a level of hate exists, and how dangerous it can be when mixed with elements such as opportunity and charisma.”
“And what made you suddenly need to remind yourself again?” Zach asked. “You would think our adventures today would make you unable to forget.”
“Rose Shepherd’s accommodations.”
“You mean that furnished apartment that was disguised as a jail cell?”
“Yes, it reminded me of when Hitler was arrested for the Beer Hall Putsch in 1924—when he and his cronies tried to take over the government in a coup.”
“I know what the Beer Hall Putsch is—I just don’t know what it has to do with Rose Shepherd’s room.”
“Hitler was jailed, but not in a normal prison cell. He stayed in two adjoining luxury rooms like a four-star hotel and visitors could come freely. It’s where he dictated Mein Kampf to Rudolph Hess. It made me wonder if there are answers within these hateful diatribes.”
Zach looked skeptical. “Any luck?”
“Even if Himmler was the most powerful force within the Apostles, Hitler was still the original architect of the plan. And unlike Himmler, who operated under the surface, Hitler always laid out his ideology for the world to see. Mein Kampf is a prime example of this. He wore his emotions on his swastika’d sleeve. And in doing so, left the blueprints for the Apostles.”
“Did he by any chance leave a map to the bad guys?”
Veronica could tell that Zach was losing patience with Youkelstein’s cryptic responses.
“For starters, I realized that v^988v^ is not a code or puzzle piece in a treasure map. We were looking too deep. They didn’t need a stealth code to hide from capture. They were the only ones who knew the code—it was the most selective of clubs. It’s probably more of a rallying
call, or a mission statement, than the secret code we’ve been making it out to be.”
“I was focusing on a date,” Zach said. “I thought the numbers might add up to a date of significance. That is how the military came up with the 21-gun salute—they added up the numbers from the year 1776.”
“That is a myth—the salute was instituted long before 1776. A petty point, I know, but one that reinforces the point that what is accepted as historically accurate is often untrue. This makes Kampf an important guide for us, since the words come right from Hitler’s mouth, and can’t be diluted by storytellers. In it, he writes of ‘A Thousand Years of Reich.’ He served from 1933 to 1945, twelve years, so 988 is likely referring to the remainder of the thousand years they are trying to recapture. And if you re-hook the horizontal lightning bolts that surround the number, you will have recreated the Nazi symbol of a swastika.” He scribbled it on the inside cover of the book, connecting the lines of the swastika. “That is what this is all about, returning the Reich to its position of power, as promised by Hitler himself.”
Veronica had stopped listening. She doubted that Zach and Youkelstein were on the path to the right answers, mainly because they were taking the wrong classes. They were studying literature, history, and symbology, when they really needed to be taking math.
She continued to drive toward Manhattan, to have a discussion with the lowest common denominator.
Chapter 39
As they pulled up in front of the glimmering skyscraper on Park Avenue, Zach felt an old familiar rush. He’d been lost at sea, wallowing in self-pity, but now felt as if he were rowing ashore once again.
He thought back to when he interviewed Aligor Sterling in the same building on the 60th Anniversary of the end of the Holocaust. Little did he know that there might be a modern-day story of danger and intrigue inside those walls.
The Heritage Paper Page 14