Caroline Hertig Chateau Hertig Paris, France September 14, 1965 My dearest Alice, Oh, how I long for the days when we could chat away in our favorite cafe, but alas, here I am confined to my study, recounting the bizarre turn of events that caused me to spend a night in jail. You won't believe the audacity of the authorities, to think they could contain the free spirit that resides within me! Let me start by saying that my recent escapade on the streets of Paris was unlike any other I've experienced before. The adrenaline was coursing through my veins as I maneuvered my custom-modified Chevrolet Corvette, the very one dear papa gifted me after that fateful accident. You remember that, don't you? It feels like another lifetime ago. As I raced through the winding streets, my heart pounding with excitement, little did I know that the eyes of the law were fixed upon me. The sirens echoed through the night, urging me to evade capture. But alas, my beautiful Alice, they finally caught up with me. The arresting officer, a stern-faced man with a mustache that could rival Magnum, threw me against the hood of my own car as if I were a common criminal. The audacity! I tried, oh how I tried, to explain to him that I was merely experiencing the thrill of life, seeking solace in the rush of the wind against my face. My paralysis, my wheelchair, they seemed trivial in that moment. I believed my esteemed family's name would protect me. But it was futile, my dear friend. The officer wouldn't hear a word of it. He grimly informed me that I was to spend the night in jail. Jail! Can you imagine the horror? For a moment, I feared that my legendary status among our golden youth friends would come crashing down, as my name would inevitably grace the pages of the society gossip columns. Nevertheless, I somehow managed to maintain a semblance of my composure. Hours passed as I languished in a dark and dreary cell, my mind spinning with thoughts of how this travesty would affect the reputation of my dear father. How could I bring him more grief? I can only assume that my enchanting presence had an effect on one of the guards, for as the night grew darker, a shift in attitude occurred. He approached my cell, his eyes filled with sympathy, though they betray a hint of curiosity. He whispered through the thick iron bars that he had managed to sneak a phone into the premises. With my heart pounding and thoughts of freedom dancing in my mind, my fingers artfully dial your number, my sweet Alice. The metallic voice on the other end spoke of hope, of a future where Caroline Hertig could once again roam the streets, her Corvette gleaming like a midnight star. You can imagine my relief, darling, when he revealed that he had been in contact with my father, Albert. Yes, papa, ever the influential figure, had put in motion a plan to liberate me from my confinement. I can only hope that the wheels he set in motion will be successful and that this unfortunate incident would soon fade into the depths of memory. My dear Alice, please assure me that our racing nights shall continue, and that together we shall defy the odds and continue to conquer the streets of Paris. I long for the day when we shall meet again, sip coffee in our favorite cafe, and recount the tale of my night in jail as a conqueror, not a pariah. With love and anticipation, Caroline