I'm a Profiteer in Cold War Germany

A smile crept onto Werner’s face.

’Looks like I need to move fast,’ Werner thought. ’Before any word gets out on the market, now is the perfect time to hoard a large supply. When the coffee shortage really hits, these beans will be as good as gold!’

But he had just paid off his debt to Fatty Wolf. Even with the cut Fatty Wolf had given him as a reward last night, his total assets were only fifty Marks—not even enough to buy a single bag of coffee from Colombia.

Werner’s gaze fell once more on the bags of coffee beans from Africa. Although their quality was inferior to the beans from Colombia, once the coffee crisis hit, any real coffee beans would become a hot commodity.

"What about this coffee from Africa?" he asked, pointing to the bottom shelf.

"The quality is average, but it’s real coffee," Klaus answered casually. "The main thing is, nobody buys it. After all, the rich buy the good stuff, and the poor just make do with coffee substitutes."

’Perfect!’ Werner rejoiced inwardly. ’Products that no one thinks highly of often hold the greatest opportunities.’

At five o’clock the next morning, Werner was already out of bed.

He had specifically swapped shifts with a coworker the day before, taking the night shift, all for the sake of today’s plan.

Werner dressed quickly, grabbed the fifty Marks he had to his name, and rushed out the door.

Arriving at Klaus’s alley, Werner knocked on the familiar wooden door.

"So early?" Klaus opened the door, yawning. "Is it something urgent?"

"I want to buy coffee," Werner said, getting straight to the point.

"Buy coffee? The ones from Africa?"

"Yes. I’ll take all of them."

Klaus was taken aback for a moment. "All of them? Are you sure? There are five bags of that stuff."

"No problem. Fifty Marks. Bag it all up."

"Look, kid," Klaus said, a little worried. "The quality of that coffee really is just average, and the market’s slow right now. You might have a hard time selling it."

Just then, two more men walked in. 𝑓𝘳𝑒𝑒𝓌𝘦𝘣𝘯ℴ𝑣𝘦𝑙.𝘤𝑜𝑚

Werner recognized one of them as the man in the blue hat he had seen in the square the day before.

"Well now, Klaus, you’ve got a customer," the man in the blue hat said, sizing Werner up. "What’s this kid buying?"

"He wants to buy that coffee from Africa," Klaus said, pointing to the bottom shelf.

"Coffee from Africa?" The man in the blue hat and his companion glanced at each other and laughed. "You’re new to this, aren’t you, kid? That junk is impossible to sell. I’d advise you to buy something like cigarettes instead. At least there’s a market for them."

His companion chimed in, "Exactly. Who drinks that second-rate coffee nowadays? The rich buy beans from Colombia, and the poor drink substitutes. You’re caught in the middle."

"Young people are always trying to get rich overnight," the man in the blue hat said, shaking his head. "But business isn’t that easy, is it?"

Werner’s expression remained calm, unaffected by their words. He took out fifty Marks and placed them on the counter.

"Klaus, five bags of the coffee from Africa. Cash."

Klaus looked at the other men and shrugged. "Alright, since you insist. But let me be clear, all sales are final."

The man in the blue hat sneered from the side. "Looks like another newbie paying his dues. Kid, mark my words, you won’t be able to sell that coffee in three months."

Werner collected the burlap sack filled with coffee and gave the man in the blue hat a cool glance.

"We’ll see about that."

Back in his rented room, Werner hid the five bags of coffee under his bed. He was now penniless, but his heart was filled with confidence.

He trusted his judgment. Soon, the price of coffee would definitely rise.

But before that, he needed to do some prep work—finding potential buyers.

Werner got up, went downstairs, and began to "scout" the neighborhood.

He started by the trash cans.

In this era of scarcity, trash could reveal a lot of information.

In the trash from the upstairs couple, the Gretas, Werner found several empty coffee substitute boxes and some wrappers from imported foods. This told him they had a coffee-drinking habit and were relatively well-off financially.

The trash from the elderly woman who lived alone next door was even more interesting—inside was a crumpled West Germany Mark bill, though it had been torn in half. Werner secretly shook his head. ’The old lady is getting on in years; she must be confused to have thrown away money like waste paper.’ This also indicated, however, that she had relatives in West Germany and was likely in a good financial situation.

Before the Berlin Wall was built, travel between East and West Germany was still relatively free. People often visited relatives and friends, and many had a whole network of family on the other side.

But Werner knew that soon, the Berlin Wall would go up overnight. When that happened, many families would be brutally separated, forced to live on opposite sides. Seeing each other would become harder than climbing to the heavens. They could only rely on letters and phone calls, but the phone lines were all heavily monitored, so they had to be extremely careful about what they said.

In the trash can of the small shop across the street, Werner discovered some interesting details: a few notes left by customers with questions like, "Do you have any coffee?" and "When are you getting a new shipment?"

There was also a torn-up supply list. While he couldn’t read the whole thing, he could make out words like "shortage" and "customer dissatisfaction." It seemed this shop often had customers asking for coffee but had an insufficient supply.

After some investigation, Werner had locked onto several potential buyers.

Now everything was ready. All he had to do was wait for the event his system had predicted to occur.

At exactly three in the afternoon, a commotion erupted downstairs.

Werner immediately rushed to the window and looked down. A crowd had gathered on the street, deep in a heated discussion.

He hurried downstairs and squeezed into the crowd.

"What’s going on?" he asked a neighbor.

"The government just announced," the neighbor said, his face full of worry, "that starting tomorrow, the monthly coffee ration will be reduced from two bags per person to one."

’It’s happening!’ Werner barely suppressed his excitement.

"Then where else can we buy coffee?" someone asked.

"The state-run stores are a lost cause," another person said, shaking their head. "Even coffee substitutes are going to be rationed. If you want real coffee, the Black Market is your only option."

"The prices on the Black Market are going to go insane."

"What can you do? We can’t just stop drinking coffee, can we?"

Werner pretended to be just as worried, joining the discussion while secretly observing everyone’s reactions. He needed to determine who the real potential buyers were.

Back in his room, Werner started to formulate a sales plan.

First up were the Gretas upstairs. Werner picked up a bag of coffee and knocked on their door.

"Werner? Can I help you?" Greta asked as she opened the door.

"Mrs. Greta, I heard the coffee ration is being reduced," Werner said, pausing intentionally. "As it happens, I have a bag of real coffee beans right here..."

Greta’s eyes lit up. "Real coffee beans?"

Werner opened the bag and let her smell them. The rich aroma of coffee immediately filled the air.

"How much?"

’The news just broke, and the market hasn’t fully reacted yet. I can’t ask for too much.’

"Twenty-five Marks."

"That price..." Greta frowned. "But this coffee doesn’t look like it’s very high quality. The color is a bit dark."

"Mrs. Greta, you’re right. This certainly isn’t the best coffee," Werner admitted frankly. "But things have changed. Starting tomorrow, the coffee ration will be cut in half. Even the substitutes will be rationed. These are real coffee beans. Though the quality is average, it’s much better than that barley powder, isn’t it?"

Greta considered it for a moment. "What about the good coffee on the Black Market?"

"Good coffee?" Werner smiled. "Mrs. Greta, once the word gets out, those beans from Colombia will go for at least one hundred Marks a bag. And you still might not be able to get any, since supplies are limited."

The color drained from Greta’s face. "One hundred Marks? That’s a quarter of our monthly salary!"

"That’s why you should be happy to get any real coffee at all right now, without being too picky about the quality," Werner said, striking while the iron was hot. "Besides, coffee is coffee. Once you grind it up and brew it, the difference in taste isn’t that big."

Greta gritted her teeth. "Alright, I’ll take it."

The first sale was made, but it had taken more effort than Werner had expected.

Werner knocked on the door of Mrs. Schmidt, the elderly woman who lived alone.

"Who is it?" the old woman asked cautiously.