I'm a Profiteer in Cold War Germany

Chapter 113: Chapter 23: The Old Fox’s Downfall

"Yes." Krupp seemed to see a glimmer of hope, his voice growing urgent. "This route belongs to Werner. It was his people who led us. It must be Werner framing me, planting that spy equipment in my shipment!"

Vonke was silent for a few seconds, then said slowly, "Do you have any proof?"

"What?"

"Do you have proof that this sewer route belongs to Werner? Proof that he’s the one who planted the spy equipment in your shipment?"

Krupp opened his mouth, but no words came out.

He had no proof.

Keller had disappeared and couldn’t be found.

There were no documents for that sewer route, not a single trace of Werner.

As for how the spy equipment got into his shipment, he couldn’t explain that either.

It was all just his word.

Krupp slumped into his chair.

He finally understood—Werner hadn’t just framed him; he had erased every single clue.

Schneider, that idiot, had given a confession that only helped Werner. And Keller had vanished, impossible to find.

He had been played perfectly, with no chance to turn things around.

Vonke continued, "Let me summarize the evidence. First, you forged photographs to frame Werner Betelich, which shows you possess forgery techniques only a Western spy would have. Second, spy equipment was discovered in your shipment—a Minox camera, a codebook, and maps of military installations. Third, you’ve been active in the black market, giving you opportunities to meet many suspicious individuals and establish secret smuggling routes."

He stared at Krupp, his gaze icy.

"All the evidence points to one conclusion: you are the East Berlin contact for a Western intelligence agency, engaged in espionage. You forged the photos to frame Werner because he is one of our loyal informants, and you wanted to eliminate him."

"No..." Krupp’s voice was trembling. "I just do some black market business. I’m not a spy for the West..."

"The evidence doesn’t lie." Vonke stood up and gathered his files. "Krupp, you are officially under arrest. The charges are treason and engaging in espionage. Your black market business will be seized, and your men will be tracked down."

He walked to the door, then glanced back at Krupp.

"If you want to reduce your sentence, you’d better confess everything—your connections to Western intelligence agencies, who your accomplices are, and what you’ve done."

Krupp lifted his head, his eyes vacant.

"Comrade Vonke, I really didn’t... I’m just a businessman..."

Vonke said nothing more, pushed the door open, and walked out.

After the door closed, Krupp was left alone in the interrogation room.

The harsh incandescent light still beat down on him, leaving him nowhere to hide.

He slowly lowered his head, burying his face in his hands. It was as if he had aged ten years in an instant. His suit was more wrinkled than before, his tie was completely crooked, and his salt-and-pepper hair was disheveled. All traces of his former, old-school gentlemanly demeanor had vanished.

After decades of navigating the black market, weathering countless storms, he had finally fallen—and at the hands of a young man in his twenties.

What’s more, he didn’t even have a chance to fight back.

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

In an old apartment building in the Prenzlauer Berg District, several uniformed Stasi agents were searching Krupp’s office.

They went through every drawer, examined every document, and pried open the hidden compartment in the floorboards.

The silver tea set on the desk was placed into an evidence bag, the old map of Berlin was taken down from the wall, and the hardcover books on the shelf were opened one by one, checked for anything hidden inside.

Old Carl stood in the corner, his face pale.

He’d thought about running, but two heavily armed guards stood at the door.

An agent pulled a ledger from a desk drawer. He flipped through it quickly, his eyes lighting up. "Captain, there are records here."

The lead agent walked over and took the ledger.

It was densely packed with records of various transactions—dates, goods, amounts, contacts—all accounts from his black market business.

"Take all of this with you," the agent said. "And bring everyone here back for interrogation."

Two agents grabbed Old Carl by the arms and shoved him toward the exit.

He glanced back at the office—the yellowed map on the wall, the wooden crate in the corner, the cigar box on the desk. All of it belonged to Krupp, testaments to his glory days in the black market.

But now, it was all over.

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

The office of an abandoned textile mill.

Werner sat behind a worn-out desk, on which lay a ledger and several bottles of developing fluid.

In the corner were several stacked wooden crates filled with goods from West Berlin.

Eva walked in carrying two cups of coffee, the aroma filling the small basement. It was real, good coffee, the kind Werner smuggled from West Berlin. The number of people in East Berlin who could drink coffee like this could be counted on one hand.

Eva placed one cup in front of Werner and, holding the other, sat down on a nearby wooden crate.

"I heard Krupp was arrested," Eva said softly, looking at Werner with a complex gaze.

Werner took the coffee and took a sip, the rich, bitter taste spreading across his tongue. "Mm, it happened this morning."

"The black market is in an uproar," Eva said. "I ran into a few regulars at the foreign trade store today. They do some small business on the black market too, and everyone is talking about it. They’re saying Krupp was a Western Spy, caught red-handed by the Stasi with a shipment full of spy gear."

She paused, her fingers tracing the rim of her cup.

Having worked with Werner for so long, she had some understanding of the black market’s rumblings. When a major player like Krupp went down, news traveled fast. Even someone on the periphery like her had heard about it.

"Just rumors," Werner said, putting down his cup and lighting a cigarette.

"But..." Eva hesitated, her voice sinking lower. "They’re also saying that Krupp tried to frame you, but his own plot was exposed. Now that he’s fallen, you’ve become the biggest player in the East Berlin black market."

Werner didn’t speak, just smoked his cigarette quietly.

Eva watched him, her eyes filled with a complex mix of emotions—admiration, worry, and some other indefinable feeling.

The dim light from the desk lamp played across Werner’s face, making his features stand out in sharp relief.

Eva remembered the kiss that never happened in the storeroom of the foreign trade store.

Since then, a subtle understanding had developed between them—part unspoken agreement, part deliberate avoidance.

"Werner," Eva finally couldn’t help but ask, "It was you, wasn’t it?"

Werner looked up at her. "What was me?"

"Framing Krupp." Eva’s fingers tightened around her cup. "You planted the spy equipment in his shipment, didn’t you?"

Werner was silent for a few seconds, then finally nodded. "Yes."

Eva sucked in a sharp breath.

She knew Werner was smart, and ruthless, but she never thought he’d go this far.

"But... where did you get that stuff? That was Western spy equipment..."

Her voice was filled with clear worry. "You don’t actually... have connections to Western spies, do you? Werner, this is too dangerous. If the Stasi find out..."

"They won’t." Werner gave her a reassuring look. "I got the equipment from a West German businessman. They were samples he gave me during a deal. I had no use for them, so they came in handy."

He didn’t mention Joshua’s name, nor did he explain the specific details. Eva didn’t need to know. The less she knew, the safer she would be.

Eva still looked at him with worry. "But what if the Stasi trace it back to you..."

"They can’t." Werner’s tone was certain. "Krupp tried to destroy me with fake photos, so I buried him with real evidence. It’s only fair. And I didn’t leave a single trace throughout the entire process."

Eva looked at Werner, and suddenly the man before her felt both familiar and strange.

A few months ago, he was just a newcomer on the black market with no connections. But now, he had become the mastermind capable of manipulating the situation and taking down a black market kingpin.

Her heart was beating a little fast, and she wasn’t sure if it was from worry, or something else.

"Aren’t you afraid the Stasi will suspect you?" Eva asked, her voice barely a whisper.

"Suspect what?" Werner smiled. "I didn’t do anything. Krupp’s men transported the goods. The spy equipment was found in his shipment. From start to finish, I’m the victim—he tried to frame me with forged photos, I reported his smuggling to the Stasi, and after their investigation, they discovered he was the real spy."

He flicked the ash from his cigarette. "I never showed my face. The Stasi won’t find a single piece of evidence connecting me to any of it."

"But Vonke isn’t stupid," Eva said. "He must know you did it."

"So what if he knows?" Werner stubbed out his cigarette. "He has no proof. And even if he suspects, he won’t say a word."