I'm a Profiteer in Cold War Germany

A deep red velvet sofa set stood in the room, accompanied by an exquisite wooden coffee table.

Several expensive-looking oil paintings hung on the walls—all were realist works, their craftsmanship clearly masterful.

The bookshelves were filled with a wide variety of books, ranging from classic German literature to political theory.

More importantly, three other ladies were seated in the living room, all clearly friends of Mrs. Schmidt. They were of similar age and dressed respectably; one could tell at a glance they belonged to the same social class.

"Come, allow me to make the introductions," Mrs. Schmidt said, gesturing gracefully. "This is Comrade Betelich, the capable gentleman I was telling you about."

She turned to Werner and introduced them one by one. "This is Mrs. Bergman. Her husband, Franz, serves as the Vice Minister at the Ministry of Finance."

Mrs. Bergman was about forty-five, with a slightly plump figure. Her hair was permed in tight, fashionable curls, and she wore a pair of gold-rimmed glasses. Her attire was impeccable—a dark gray suit paired with a pearl necklace—but her eyes held a shrewd, worldly look.

"This is Mrs. Wagner. Her husband is the director of the municipal hospital."

Mrs. Wagner was slimmer, around forty years old, and wore silver-rimmed glasses, giving her an intellectual air. Her hair was impeccably coiffed, and she wore an olive-green dress with a small party emblem pinned to her chest.

"This is Mrs. Fisher. Her husband works in the Ministry of Construction and is in charge of urban planning."

Mrs. Fisher was the youngest of the three, perhaps twenty-six or twenty-seven, with chestnut hair and bright green eyes. Her attire was more vibrant—a beige sweater paired with a dark skirt—and she looked full of life.

Werner bowed politely to each of the ladies. "It is an honor to meet you all."

"I hear you’ve acquired a coffee machine from Switzerland?" Mrs. Bergman was the first to speak, her tone thick with curiosity.

"Yes, Madam." Werner carefully placed his briefcase on the coffee table. "This is a genuine Iglo-brand coffee machine, imported directly from Switzerland."

He slowly opened the case. When the gleaming silver coffee machine came into view, all four ladies couldn’t help but gasp in amazement.

"My heavens!" Mrs. Wagner exclaimed, covering her mouth. "It’s absolutely beautiful!"

"Look at the craftsmanship!" Mrs. Fisher leaned in for a closer look. "Every detail is so exquisite."

"This is the quality of Swiss manufacturing," Mrs. Bergman said with an appreciative nod. "I remember before the war, my family had a similar machine. My father bought it in Dresden."

Mrs. Schmidt walked over to the coffee machine and gently caressed its smooth metal surface.

"It’s so beautiful... Compared to this, the machine I have at home—the one made in East Germany—looks like an antique."

"Can you show us how it works?" Mrs. Fisher asked impatiently.

"Of course." Werner began his demonstration. His movements were practiced and fluid, a clear sign of repetition. "Ladies, please observe. This machine is very simple to operate. First, we add water up to this line..."

He explained in detail as he worked. "This dial indicates the water temperature, which it automatically regulates to an optimal 93 degrees Celsius. This pressure gauge displays the steam pressure—nine times the standard atmospheric pressure. That’s what creates the rich crema..."

The ladies gathered around, listening with rapt attention. In East Germany, the chance to interact with such sophisticated Western machinery was an incredibly rare experience.

"The machine grinds the beans automatically..." Werner took a small package of fresh coffee beans from his case—premium stock he had brought specially from West Berlin. "These are high-quality Arabica beans from South America, processed using a special roasting method."

As the machine whirred to life, the rich aroma of coffee began to fill the living room.

This aroma was nothing like the coffee substitutes common in East Germany. It was full-bodied, rich, and carried an intoxicating warmth.

All four ladies took a deep breath, their faces melting into expressions of pure bliss.

"This scent... it’s just like what I smelled in Vienna when I was young," Mrs. Schmidt said, closing her eyes, a nostalgic look on her face. "My father took me on a trip to Vienna, and we had coffee in a famous café..."

"Vienna!" Mrs. Bergman’s eyes lit up. "I’ve been there too! I went with my first husband for our honeymoon. Those cafés, those exquisite pastries... it all feels like a dream now."

"It’s all the war’s fault," Mrs. Wagner sighed. "If not for the war, perhaps we could still travel freely as we once did."

Such a topic was rather sensitive in East Germany, but in this private space, the officials’ wives clearly felt they could relax a little.

In less than five minutes, the fragrant coffee was ready.

Werner poured a cup for each of the ladies using delicate little cups. The coffee was a deep, dark color, topped with a fine layer of crema that looked utterly tempting.

Mrs. Schmidt was the first to try it. She took a careful sip, and her eyes instantly narrowed in pleasure. "Heavens... this flavor... it’s simply perfect!"

The other ladies eagerly took a sip as well.

"It’s so aromatic!" Mrs. Fisher said excitedly. "Bittersweet, with a nutty fragrance!"

"Now this is real coffee," Mrs. Bergman said with a satisfied nod. "Making coffee with the machine I have at home is a complete waste of good beans."

"The Swiss certainly have a unique talent for coffee making," Werner said with a smile. "This machine precisely controls the temperature and pressure, ensuring every cup is of the same high quality."

Mrs. Schmidt set down her cup and asked bluntly, "Comrade Betelich, how much does this machine cost?"

Werner paused for a moment before stating the price. "Six thousand Marks."

The ladies present all drew in a sharp breath.

The price was indeed steep, equivalent to more than a year’s wages for an average worker. But for their social class, it was not entirely unaffordable.

After a few moments of silence, Mrs. Schmidt said without hesitation, "I’ll take it."

"I want one as well," Mrs. Wagner declared immediately. "Can you get more?"

"I... I want one, too," Mrs. Fisher said, hesitating slightly. "But I’ll need to discuss it with my husband."

Only Mrs. Bergman didn’t commit right away. She eyed the coffee machine pensively. "It’s certainly a fine piece of equipment, but... won’t it be a bit too conspicuous?"

Her words hit on the heart of the matter.

In East Germany, owning such an obviously Western product came with certain risks. While not strictly forbidden, it could easily attract unwanted attention and gossip.

"Mrs. Bergman’s concern is quite valid," Werner said with an understanding nod. "However, as the families of cadres, understanding and studying the Western way of life is, in fact, somewhat of a necessity. One could say it’s for the purpose of better understanding the adversary in our ideological struggle."

The reasoning was clever. It gave them a legitimate justification for the purchase without making them seem like they were worshipping foreign goods.

Mrs. Schmidt immediately chimed in. "Werner is right. My husband often says that to criticize bourgeois culture, one must first understand it."

"That’s true," Mrs. Wagner agreed with a nod. "My husband at the hospital often deals with Western medical equipment and pharmaceuticals. He always says we must learn from the West’s advanced technology but resist their decadent ideology."

Mrs. Bergman was convinced. "In that case, I’ll take one as well."

Mrs. Schmidt stood up, walked to an elegant desk in the corner of the living room, and took a thick envelope from a drawer. "Here is six thousand Marks in cash," she said, handing it to Werner.

Werner accepted the envelope, which was filled with a thick stack of banknotes. "Thank you for your trust, Madam."

"When can we expect the others?" Mrs. Wagner asked.

"It will likely take a few weeks," Werner said, feigning difficulty. "The channels for such high-end goods are rather exclusive and require advance orders."

Just then, Werner decided the time was right. From a hidden compartment inside the case, he carefully removed several thin magazines.

"Ladies, I have a few other items here. I wonder if you might be interested?"