I'm a Profiteer in Cold War Germany

Werner opened the door to see Fatty Wolf, Thomas Wolfgang, standing outside with a satisfied smile on his face.

"Well done, little Werner!"

"Mr. Wolfgang? How did you know I was home?" Werner asked, surprised.

"I just came from the cultural center," Fatty Wolf said with a mysterious smile. "I heard you recently took advantage of the sugar price hike and made a nice profit?"

Werner nodded modestly. "Just got lucky."

"Luck?" Fatty Wolf laughed heartily and pushed his way inside. "Kid, in this line of work, luck is just a part of skill. I have some good news for you."

"What news?" Werner’s mind went to what Fatty Wolf had mentioned a few days ago—about showing him some real business.

Fatty Wolf walked to the window and looked outside. After confirming no one was watching, he drew the curtains and lowered his voice. "I’ve landed a big deal. I need you to take a trip with me to West Berlin."

Werner’s heart began to race. West Berlin!

Before the Berlin Wall was built, the border between Berlin’s East and West Districts was almost completely open.

People could cross the border with relative freedom, taking the subway or bus to travel back and forth between the two sectors.

But in this political atmosphere, people who frequently went to West Berlin could easily attract the attention of the Stasi.

The body’s original owner had only gone a few times for the occasional smuggling run. But perhaps due to memory loss from the transmigration, the Werner of now only had vague, fragmented impressions of West Berlin.

For his true soul—Lin Zou—this would be his first time truly setting foot in 1961 West Berlin.

"West Berlin... what’s it like there?" he couldn’t help but ask.

A complex emotion flashed through Fatty Wolf’s eyes. "There? It’s another world, little Werner."

His voice carried a certain longing. "Shimmering neon lights, Coca-Cola billboards everywhere, streets full of shiny cars, shops crowded with shoppers... It’s full of business, full of opportunities to make money."

As he spoke, some vague memory fragments flashed through Werner’s mind—wide, bright streets, dazzling shop windows, well-dressed pedestrians...

Fatty Wolf continued, "The shop windows on Kudamm Street are filled with goods we only see in Western magazines. The cafes are packed, and the air is thick with business opportunities and the smell of money. The people there have money, and they’re willing to spend it."

Werner felt his blood race.

’West Berlin, the showcase of capitalism, the West where the streets were paved with gold... What kind of money-making opportunities are waiting for me to discover there?’

"When do we leave?" he asked eagerly.

"The day after tomorrow, eight in the morning." Fatty Wolf lit a cigarette and took a deep drag. "Remember to bring your brains and your guts. Also..." He gave Werner a meaningful look. "Wear a thick coat and bring a big bag. You know what I mean."

Fatty Wolf headed for the door. "Then, it’s off to see the real Western world."

Werner nodded, his heart full of anticipation.

After Fatty Wolf left, Werner sat on the edge of his bed, his mind racing.

’I’m going to West Berlin the day after tomorrow. I need to prepare some gear for smuggling.’

The last time the body’s original owner tried smuggling, he’d been caught because his large suitcase was too conspicuous. He was stopped by East German police at the subway station, beaten to death, and that’s how Werner had gotten the chance to transmigrate.

Even though the Berlin Wall hadn’t been built yet and you could travel freely between East and West Berlin by subway, the East German police would conduct random checks at subway stations, specifically targeting people with large luggage.

’I can’t make the same mistake this time.’

Werner made up his mind. He would add hidden compartments to his shoes and suitcase.

*************************

"You want to alter the soles?" The old shoemaker, Fritz, stared at him, his eyes cloudy. "Young man, these shoes still have a lot of life in them."

Werner sat on a small stool in the cobbler’s shop and took off his black leather shoes. They were one of the few decent possessions he’d had since transmigrating.

"Not to repair them. I want to add a hidden compartment." Werner lowered his voice. "You understand what I mean?"

Fritz’s hand stopped in mid-air, the wrinkles on his old face deepening.

There were only the two of them in the cobbler’s shop, and February snowflakes were drifting outside.

"Young man, this sort of thing..."

"Fifty Marks." Werner took out the bills and placed them on the table.

The old man’s eyes immediately lit up.

"What do you want to hide?"

"Something small." Werner made a gesture. "About this thick."

Fritz picked up the leather shoe and examined it carefully, tapping the sole with a rough finger. "The heel can be hollowed out, but the sole is too thin. It’d be difficult."

"Do the heel, then."

"Both shoes?"

"Yes, both of them."

The old man nodded, picked up his tools, and got to work. He first used a small knife to cut a square opening in the bottom of the heel, then used a specialized tool to slowly hollow out the inside.

"How long have you been doing this kind of thing?" Werner asked curiously.

"What kind of thing?" Fritz played dumb.

"Don’t play dumb. It’s obvious from your craftsmanship that this isn’t your first time."

The old man stopped his work, glanced out the door, and only spoke after making sure they were alone. "During the war, a lot of people needed to hide things. Gold, jewels, important documents... The sole of a shoe is a good place. Not easy to find during a search."

"And now?"

"Now..." Fritz gave a bitter smile. "Now, everyone wants to go to the West, but they can’t bear to leave their homes here. So they hide a few small things, just in case."

Werner nodded.

At this time in East Germany, the political atmosphere was growing increasingly tense, and many people were in a wait-and-see mode.

An hour later, the shoes were ready. They looked completely normal on the outside, but inside each heel was a small space, big enough to hold about as much as a matchbox.

"How do you open and close it?"

Fritz pointed to a nearly invisible small groove on the bottom of the heel. "Use a coin or a small knife to gently pry it open. When you close it, press down firmly to ensure a tight seal."

Werner tried it. It opened and closed smoothly, and once shut, it left almost no trace.

"Great work!" He gave a thumbs-up.

"It’s a family trade." The old man smiled proudly. "My father was a cobbler, and his father was too. When Germans do something, they value precision."

Werner put on the shoes; they felt no different than before. He took out his wallet, counted out 50 Marks, and handed them to Fritz.

"Remember," the old man said as he took the money, "walk naturally. Don’t keep thinking about what’s in your shoes. The more nervous you are, the more likely you’ll give yourself away."

"Understood."

Next up was altering the suitcase.

Werner returned home and dug out the old, worn-out suitcase. It looked perfectly ordinary, which was exactly why it wouldn’t attract attention.

He carefully probed the seams between the bottom and the side panels with a small knife, finding a few spots where he could create compartments. He pried open the inner lining with a screwdriver, carved out several small spaces inside, and then glued the lining back in place.

From the outside, the suitcase was still the same old wreck, but now it had several hidden compartments.

Werner nodded in satisfaction. Now everything was ready. All that was left was to wait for the day after tomorrow to see the real West Berlin.