I'm a Profiteer in Cold War Germany

"Whoa, West German stuff!" A young stevedore’s eyes lit up. "You’ve got connections, buddy."

"Just got lucky and snagged a few packs." Werner lit a cigarette and asked casually, "When are you guys unloading this shipment of Soviet goods?"

"Tomorrow afternoon, but..." the young worker lowered his voice. "I hear there’s a problem with the seals on one of the truckloads. Old Mueller’s got a real headache over it."

"What kind of problem?"

"The color of the seals is wrong. It won’t pass inspection according to regulations," another worker chimed in. "This shipment is worth a pretty penny. If it has to be sent back, the shipping costs alone would be a killer."

Werner was secretly pleased. ’The system’s information has been verified.’

He continued to probe. "So what’s the plan? They can’t just let it sit there, can they?"

"What else can be done?" The young worker spread his hands helplessly. "It’ll have to be disposed of as scrap. The guys from the scrapyard will come to buy it, and they’ll offer two or three hundred Marks at most for the whole truckload of cans."

"Two or three hundred Marks?" Werner feigned surprise. "How much of a loss is that?"

"Tell me about it. Sold legitimately, this truckload is worth at least over a thousand Marks." The worker sighed. "But rules are rules. Nothing us common folk can do about it."

Werner nodded. ’I have a clear picture of the whole situation now.’

A truckload of canned food worth over a thousand Marks could only be sold for two to three hundred due to a problem with the seals. The difference in price represented a massive profit margin.

If someone could contact the scrapyard in advance, buy the shipment for a price slightly higher than scrap value, and then resell it on the Black Market, they could make at least a threefold profit.

And Fatty Wolf was exactly the kind of person with the ability and connections to do it.

"Thanks, fellas. Consider the smokes a friendly gesture." Werner handed another cigarette to each man, then said his goodbyes and left.

Now that he had gathered the information, it was time to find Fatty Wolf. He set off down Under the Bodhi Tree Street, heading toward Alexanderplatz.

Alexanderplatz was the heart of East Berlin. On the surface, it was a normal commercial district and transportation hub. The towering television tower was under construction, and slogans and propaganda posters for socialist construction were everywhere.

But in the alleyways surrounding the square, another world was quietly in operation.

This was the site of East Berlin’s largest Black Market—no fixed stalls, no loud hawking, only furtive transactions and cautious glances. Everyone knew these deals were happening, but no one was willing to speak of them openly.

Werner bought a cup of coffee at a cafe on the edge of the square and pretended to wander around aimlessly.

The cafe owner was a small, thin man in his fifties with the cautious expression typical of East Germans. He sold a low-quality beverage made from roasted oats instead of coffee beans.

"One Mark." As the owner took the money, he glanced at the West German cigarettes in Werner’s hand, a flicker of envy in his eyes.

Werner sipped the bitter "coffee," continuing to observe the activity around him.

Soon, he spotted his target—Fatty Wolf Wolfgang was leaning against a utility pole, speaking in low tones with a middle-aged man in a fur hat.

"Boss Wolfgang." Werner walked over and nodded in greeting.

Fatty Wolf looked up at him, a trademark smile on his face, but his eyes held a boss’s authority. "Young Werner. Business going well?"

"It’s alright. Boss Wolfgang, I just heard something that might be useful to you." A sharp glint flashed in Werner’s eyes.

"What news?" Fatty Wolf’s smile vanished, his expression turning serious.

In the Black Market, valuable information was money, and the intelligence Werner had provided before had always been accurate.

The man in the fur hat had already tactfully walked away.

Werner glanced around, and after making sure no one was paying attention, he lowered his voice. "Tomorrow at 2:30 PM, there’s a truckload of Soviet canned goods at the Spree River Pier. It can’t pass inspection because of a problem with the seals, so it’s going to be disposed of as scrap."

Fatty Wolf’s eyes immediately lit up. "A problem with the seals? What do you mean?"

"The color of the seals doesn’t meet the standard, so by regulation, it can’t be accepted into the warehouse. It has to go through the scrap disposal process," Werner explained. "I went to the pier specifically to ask around. That truckload is normally worth at least over a thousand Marks, but the scrapyard will only pay two or three hundred to take it."

Fatty Wolf’s breathing quickened.

As a veteran of the Black Market, he instantly understood the value of this information. "If we can contact the scrapyard guys beforehand..."

"Exactly. Buy it for four or five hundred Marks, then release it onto the Black Market in batches. You could make eight hundred to a thousand Marks on the whole truckload." Werner nodded. "You have people at the pier. Something like this shouldn’t be difficult for you."

Fatty Wolf excitedly slapped his thigh. "Attaboy! This information is worth a fortune! How did you find out?"

"I have my channels," Werner said with a faint smile. "My information is usually on the mark, just like when I warned you that other shipment was going to be inspected."

Fatty Wolf recalled Werner’s previous "miraculous predictions" and nodded in satisfaction. "Alright, I owe you one. Is there anything you need?"

This was the exact question Werner had been waiting for. "I’ve got some merchandise that isn’t moving right now, and I’m looking for a safe place to store it temporarily. Do you know of any suitable spots?"

"Storing goods?" Fatty Wolf raised his eyebrows. "Planning to hoard a large stash?"

"Not hoarding," Werner shook his head. "It’s just some stuff I brought back from West Berlin. I haven’t found the right buyers yet, and it’s not safe to keep it at my place."

Fatty Wolf nodded. The explanation was reasonable. After all, there was no apparent reason to hoard goods at the moment; prices were relatively stable. "True, they’re cracking down lately. It’s not safe to keep too much at home."

Fatty Wolf mulled it over for a moment, a shrewd glint in his eye. "You should go see John, that retired US Army old-timer. He’s been operating in this area for over a decade, started his business back during the Allied occupation. He’s got a few safe and reliable places. Plus, he’s well-connected. Even the Stasi are reluctant to mess with him."

"John?" Werner made a mental note of the name.

"That’s right, John McDonnell. He used to be a logistics officer for the US Army’s VII Corps and stayed in Berlin to do business after the war." Fatty Wolf lowered his voice. "The old guy is sharp. He specializes in wholesaling all sorts of goods from West Berlin to sell over here in the East, using both legal and gray-market channels. Most importantly, his warehouses have never been raided."

"Sounds good," Werner nodded. "But I bet his storage fees aren’t cheap."

"They’re not, but safety comes first." Fatty Wolf clapped Werner on the shoulder. "And the old guy is cautious. You’ll have to convince him you’re not an undercover agent from the Stasi. He’s seen that trick too many times."

Werner laughed to himself. ’An undercover Stasi agent?’

’If he knew I was a Transmigrator, he’d probably be even more shocked.’

"Where can I find this John?"

"After 3 PM, near the small chapel behind Marx-Engels Square. He often chats with Pastor Weber there; they’re old friends," Fatty Wolf continued. "The Pastor is a good man. Sometimes he helps us store things too. The Church, you know, always has its special advantages."

’Pastor Weber...’ Werner silently committed the name to memory. 𝐟𝐫𝕖𝗲𝘄𝚎𝗯𝕟𝐨𝕧𝐞𝚕.𝕔𝕠𝐦

"Don’t forget to act quickly on that canned goods tip," Werner reminded him.

Fatty Wolf clapped Werner’s shoulder in satisfaction. "You’ve got a good eye, kid. Keep this up, and you might just secure a firm foothold in this business one day."