I'm a Profiteer in Cold War Germany

Werner exhaled a puff of smoke and continued, "In East Germany, the most important part of doing business on the Black Market isn’t how much money you make, but knowing what money you *can’t* make. Joseph and his men touched something they shouldn’t have. Now, it’s time for them to pay the price."

Keller nodded, though he didn’t fully understand. "So what do we do next?"

Werner flicked away his cigarette butt, a cold smile playing on his lips. "Next... we let them send themselves to prison."

Night fell, and the scattered streetlights of East Berlin began to glow. The dim, yellow light illuminated the cobblestone roads and the political slogans on the walls: "Build a socialist Germany!" "Unity is strength!"

Werner stood at the window of his apartment, gazing toward a distant, abandoned textile factory. That was Joseph’s den, and it was also the end of this game.

On his desk lay the freshly prepared "props": repackaged chemicals and meticulously forged West Germany labels. Each prop had been carefully designed and was indistinguishable from the real thing.

Werner lit a cigarette, working out the final details under the dim light.

This would be his first real counterattack on the East Berlin Black Market, a crucial battle to prove his strength. From this day forward, no one would dare to underestimate the name Werner Betelich.

At nine o’clock at night, Werner and Keller appeared in the Red Bull Tavern. It was the information exchange hub for Black Market dealers, where news traveled faster than in the *New Germany Newspaper*.

The tavern was wreathed in smoke, the air thick with the smell of beer, tobacco, and sweat.

An accordionist in the corner was playing a melancholy folk song, while a few workers sat together, drinking and complaining about their troubles at the factory.

Werner ordered two beers and chose a table in the corner.

The spot was cleverly chosen—he could see the entire room without being too conspicuous. More importantly, a few shifty-eyed men were sitting at the next table, clearly regulars on the Black Market.

He deliberately lowered his voice to speak with Keller, but just loud enough for the men at the next table to overhear. It was a fine art, requiring an air of secrecy without being too obvious.

"Keller, what’s the status of that shipment from the Czech Republic border?" 𝒇𝓻𝓮𝓮𝙬𝙚𝒃𝒏𝓸𝙫𝒆𝙡.𝓬𝓸𝒎

Keller replied with his rehearsed lines, "Boss, that batch of high-grade chemical reagents has arrived. The quality is top-notch. The purity is much higher than what we usually see—this is lab-grade stuff."

He feigned excitement, raising his voice slightly. "Especially the sulfuric and nitric acid. The concentration is over 95%. Stuff like this is a rare find in East Berlin!"

"How much is it worth?" Werner asked, feigning concern.

"At least ten thousand Marks. Boss, we’re really going to strike it rich this time! Last time, when the Mole and those bastards looted the warehouse, we lost over three thousand Marks. If this deal goes through, not only will we get our capital back, we’ll make a huge profit on top!"

Werner noticed that the men at the next table had perked up their ears. One of them, a tall, lanky man, had even slowed his drinking.

"Keep it down!" Werner pretended to scold, but his voice remained at a volume perfect for eavesdropping. "Is this something you should be shouting about?"

"Right, right, I just got too excited." Keller quickly lowered his voice. "The goods are at the old pier, warehouse number 3. When are we moving them?"

"The night after tomorrow," Werner said casually, taking a sip of beer. "We can’t sit on this stuff for too long. It’s too risky."

"How should we price it?" Keller continued playing his part.

"Eighty percent of the market price. We’re looking for a quick sale, not the highest price," Werner said in a low voice. "If this works out, we’ll finally establish a firm foothold in East Berlin."

The tall, lanky man at the next table nudged his companion’s arm, and the two exchanged a look. Werner caught the small movement out of the corner of his eye.

The two continued their "secret discussion" for another ten minutes or so. Their conversation shifted from chemical reagents to transport routes, from price negotiations to risk management. Every detail was meticulously planned to sound both credible and irresistibly tempting.

"It’s getting late. Let’s go," Werner said, glancing at his watch. "We have big things to do tomorrow."

The two of them got up to leave, deliberately turning as they went to give the men at the next table time to remember their faces.

On the way back, Keller couldn’t help but ask, "Boss, what do we do now?"

"We wait," Werner said with a soft chuckle. "The goods are in warehouse number 3 right now. We’ll have visitors soon."

"Visitors?"

"Joseph and his greedy crew," Werner said, lighting a cigarette. "When they hear about a shipment this good, they’ll definitely try to get their hands on it. After all, even if you split ten thousand Marks’ worth of goods, it’s still a hefty sum."

Realization dawned on Keller. "You’re luring them into a trap?"

"Not just luring them." A cold glint flashed in Werner’s eyes. "I want them to walk right into it."

That night, Werner hid behind a derelict shipping container far down the pier, observing warehouse number 3 through a pair of military-grade binoculars he’d bought on the Black Market.

The night was deep, and only a few dim lights illuminated the pier. The waters of the Spree River flowed silently, punctuated by the occasional cry of a night bird. In the distance, the sparse lights of downtown East Berlin twinkled like scattered stars.

"They should be here soon," he muttered, his breath forming a small white cloud in the cold night air.

Sure enough, a dilapidated, army-green truck slowly rounded the corner, its engine’s roar piercing the quiet night. The faded characters for "People’s Flour Mill" on its side were faintly visible in the glow of its headlights.

Werner’s lips curled into a slight smile. ’These idiots actually came.’

The truck stopped in front of warehouse number 3, and a door opened with a CREAK. Four shadowy figures leaped from the cab and the truck bed. One of them was the Mole.

"Hurry up! Grab the stuff and let’s go," the Mole’s voice drifted faintly on the night wind. "Damn it, that Werner really thinks he’s somebody. I taught him a little lesson last time, and when he didn’t react, I thought he’d learned his place. I can’t believe he’s got the nerve to touch my business."

His gaze swept over the warehouse door, a vicious glint in his eyes. "Dealing in chemical reagents? Tonight, I’ll show him who’s king on this turf."

The tall, lanky man beside him glanced around nervously. "Boss, are we really doing this? What if..."

"What if what?" The Mole slapped the tall man on the back of the head. "That kid just got lucky and made a little money, and now he thinks he’s a big shot? Chemical reagents are my business. He dares to touch it?"

The other two men were already starting to pry open the warehouse lock.