EPILOGUE
Several years after my father's passing, I went back to Berlin, where his house was. He left it to my mother, but she didn't want anything to do with it. However, she was willing to hold onto it until I was old enough to either live in it, or sell it to buy myself a new home. Everything was exactly as he had left it, although my mother had come in regularly to dust, vacuum and sweep the house. I looked through desks and found an old journal that he used to keep, along with several old photographs of him and his brother. I looked through the wardrobe and found several impeccably well-kept suits inside, that would have cost a fortune when he was alive. I couldn't stand to live in a home that was bought from the blood of innocent people, so I sold it but kept the memorabilia from it. I couldn't bring myself to part from the few memories I had of my father, even though I was well aware that he had been a monster. I knew this was the closest thing I would get to reconciliation with him, and so I treasured every item dearly.
When I bought a house with the girl I would later marry, she allowed me to move the items to the box we keep in our storage room after we moved in together. I still look at them, even after so many years. I no longer see my uncle however, as he had practically disappeared off the grid a few months ago - I suspect he might have been involved in some sort of mess he didn't want getting traced back to him, but I never learned anything that would confirm or deny my suspicion. I will probably never know.
And that is the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth.