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I hear voices outside and stiffen. I start to put the letters and photographs away, but then I stop. What is my plan next? To go to Moreau? To go to Claudia? Moreau seemed to be quite fond of Elena, and he might try to cover this up, but then, he might also be appalled and consider it his duty to bring her in. Claudia wouldn’t hesitate. She’s already decided that if people are hurt, then so be it. She’s not wrong, but as I hear Sophie laughing and playing with her grandmother, my heart breaks.

I need to give her a chance to explain herself. I’m confident that I won’t risk my job if I confront her. After all, I can always threaten to expose her. I hope it won’t come to that, but no matter what the consequences, I at least have to give her a chance to tell me something that will ease my worries. Maybe there’s a good reason that I’m not thinking about why she would keep these.

So, instead of leaving, I take a deep breath, stand behind the bed with the clock and its hidden artifacts spread out on the mattress, face the door, and wait for the confrontation.

“I’ll let you have three hours,” Elena says. “Then it’s time for bed. You have school tomorrow, and I don’t want Mary complaining to me that you were falling asleep all day.”

I don’t hear Sophie’s response, but whatever she says makes Elena laugh. “All right then. Have fun throwing turtle shells at people.”

She opens the door and steps into the room. She’s smiling and shaking her head, so she doesn’t notice me until after the door closes behind her. Then she lifts her head.

She freezes, all blood and all emotion draining from her face. Her eyes fall to the clock on the bed, and she begins to shiver uncontrollably.

“I haven’t told anyone about this,” I tell her.

“Do you plan to?” she asks.

“I’m not sure,” I reply honestly. “But you and I need to have a talk.”

Her face snaps up to mine. Her lips are trembling now, and her tone is almost petulant when she says, “Why? Why is this any of your business?”

“Sophie is my business,” I reply. “You are an excellent grandmother, and it’s very clear that you love her dearly. I would hate to see you lose her because of mistakes others have made. I would hate even more to see you lose her because of mistakes you’ve made.”

She swallows. “Is that a threat?”

“No. Not at all. I don’t want anything from you but the truth and an explanation. Then we can talk about what to do next.”

Elena sits on the edge of the bed. Her eyes never leave the letters and photographs. She reaches a trembling head forward and picks up one of the photographs depicting a young man of around twenty with blonde hair and blue eyes. The man is smiling and wearing the traditional outfit of shorts with suspenders and a checkered shirt.

She swallows and says in a tremulous voice. “This is my grandfather. Adrien Rousseau. If you’ve read the letters, then you know by now that he was a Nazi sympathizer.”

“Sympathizer is putting it loosely,” I reply.

She nods. “Yes, I suppose it is. He believed that Switzerland was a traditionally Germanic nation and should join their fellow Aryans in… well, I’m sure you’re familiar with Nazi beliefs.”

“And you?”

She flinches and replies indignantly, “I am not a Nazi! I…”

She grabs two fistfuls of her hair, and for a moment, I fear she'll have a complete meltdown. But after a moment, she releases the hair and slowly lowers her hands. "Adrien nearly ruined the family. He died when my father was nine years old, and my grandmother, God rest her soul, knew nothing about business and even less about money. She converted our antique shop into a museum and liquidated the family fortune, buying back examples of Rousseau clocks to display. When my father took over the business, the family was several million Francs in debt."

She gestures expansively. "This, all you see here, that was my father's doing. He worked tirelessly to make this museum succeed. He researched our family's history as clockmakers, and he celebrated not just our success but the success of the entire Swiss horological history. You know, even today, the Swiss are considered the finest manufacturers of timepieces in the world?"

“I know it. I purchased a Swiss watch for my fiancé’s birthday last year.”

"Then you made a fine purchase. It is one thing we Swiss do better than anyone. My father knew that, and he reminded everyone that Rousseau was one of the original clockmakers in our tradition. We aren't Nazis. We're clockmakers." Tears well in her eyes. "I'm only trying to preserve our family history."

“But why this history?” I demand. “Why the records of your grandfather’s treason? Why would you want that somewhere where anyone could stumble across it?”

She scoffed. “Well, no one stumbled across it until after you arrived. I’m not blaming you, of course, it’s just a funny coincidence. I’ve spent forty years protecting this history, and only now is it suddenly being pulled out of its vault.”

“But Elena…” I shake my head. “I overheard what Claudia said to you. It’s not just Interpol looking at you. It’s Mossad.”

Her lips thin. “Yes, I’m aware.”

“But surely you must be aware of how this looks. You are the direct descendant of a very militant Nazi sympathizer or possibly an actual Nazi. You are holding memorabilia belonging to that Nazi and possibly planning to sell certain articles on the black market—”

“That is not me,” she insists. “Someone stole those clocks. I am not going to sell a piece of my family history.”

“But why keep it around at all?” I press.

“Because it’s real .”

She buries her face in her hands and begins to cry. I don’t say anything. I don’t really know what to say. I can believe that Elena isn’t a Nazi, but I can’t understand why she’d cling so desperately to such a bitter portion of a family history that is otherwise one to be celebrated.

She takes a shuddering breath and says, “I know it’s horrible. I know we’re horrible. Not all of us, but some of us. But this is real . This is our history. This is all we have left. I never met my grandfather, and this is the closest I can come to knowing him. Even if knowing him is knowing that he was a traitor and a fool.”

“And a racist,” I add.

She lowers her eyes. “I never thought this would come to light. I never thought this would harm anyone. I thought I could keep this little secret safe and have the complete history of the Rousseau family represented here.”

She lifts her eyes to mine. “You know, that history is important. Knowing who you are. Knowing where you came from. People are so unconcerned with that, but then they enter their lives lost and unsure where to go, what to do or who to be. We can trace our lineage back to 1597. Over four hundred years. Not many families can say that. And we can trace that lineage back warts and all.”

She sighs. “I can see in your eyes that you think that’s a poor excuse. Maybe it is. Probably it is. It certainly feels like one now.”

She takes a deep breath and releases it slowly. “I think I felt this was my burden to carry. My grandparents died young, my parents died young, and my son died three days after Sophie was born. I’m the longest-lived member of my family since my great-great-grandfather. This is a blight on our history, but it’s ours, and throwing it away just felt… cheap. I guess in my arrogance, I thought I needed to suffer by carrying this memory with me.” She chuckles. “Well, I’m suffering now.”

"It's not just your suffering you have to think of," I say. "It's Sophie's. How much more of this is there? How much more could be stolen or brought to light? There's nothing in the pocket watch or the mantel clock, is there?"

“Nothing that can be linked to us. The mantel clock has an old intelligence report on an Allied unit stationed in Ville-la-Grand, France, but nothing scandalous.”

“But elsewhere in the museum?”

Her lower lip trembles again. I sigh and shake my head. “Elena, you have to think of your granddaughter. If this comes back to you, then you are at risk of imprisonment.” I remember my conversation with Claudia and amend that. “Perhaps not imprisonment, but you are certainly at risk of trouble. That blow to your reputation will ruin you. You will lose this museum. You will lose all of your history to save the most despicable part of it.”

“Stop,” she says. “I understand. Don’t you think I understand? I just…” She lowers her head and reddens. “It’s not fair. I know I sound like a child, but it’s true. It’s not fair. We’re not hurting anyone, and this means so much to me.” She looks back at the photographs. “Are you going to tell anyone?”

I sigh heavily. “I don’t know. Not yet. If you’re not the one selling these items on the black market—”

“I’m not. I swear it. On Sophie’s life, I swear it.”

“Then I suppose there’s no need to report you. You’re not committing any crimes. But my God, Elena, you must get rid of these. Whatever else is here, it must be gone. And I mean gone. Burnt. There can be no record here of your past, or you will see your worst fears come to light.”

She doesn’t say anything for a long time. When she does reply, she keeps her eyes averted, and I can’t be sure she’s telling the truth. “All right. I will. I’ll burn it all.”

I’ve done what I can. All I can do now is say, “I hope you will.”

I leave the room and head to the living room for some more tea. It’s dark outside, and more tea is probably not a wise idea this late, but I am once more unsettled. Assuming Elena’s telling the truth—and I think she is, mostly—then she’s not a criminal. She’s only making a very foolish mistake.

But what a costly mistake that could be.