I'm a Profiteer in Cold War Germany

Chapter 160: Chapter 70: The Charitable Profiteer Robin Hood

Werner didn’t reply.

Two days later, in the church square of Friedrichshain.

A rare March sun broke through the clouds, shining down on the square where hundreds had gathered. They were all local residents, mostly working-class families. The men wore faded work clothes, and the women held their children, their faces filled with cautious hope.

Werner stood on a makeshift stage, flanked by Pastor Weber and several Church volunteers. Below the stage were rows of cardboard boxes filled with supplies.

"Neighbors, brothers and sisters," Pastor Weber’s voice boomed across the square through a megaphone. "Thank you all for taking time out of your busy lives to attend today’s charity event. Our Church, along with some compassionate individuals, has prepared some essential supplies for you..."

Werner’s gaze swept over the crowd, and he quickly found his target.

Stein stood at the edge of the square, a Leica camera in hand, pointed at the stage.

Werner shot Keller a look. Keller immediately walked over to Stein and struck up a seemingly casual conversation.

Onstage, Pastor Weber was still speaking. "...These supplies include bread, potatoes, canned goods, and other daily necessities. We hope to help families in need get through these difficult times..."

As soon as he finished, the volunteers began to distribute the supplies.

Werner stepped down from the stage and personally handed items to an old woman at the front of the line.

"Here you are, Ma’am." He placed a bag of flour and two cans of luncheon meat into the old woman’s cloth sack.

The old woman took the items, her eyes welling up with tears. "Thank you, thank you so much..."

"You’re welcome," Werner said with a smile. "We’ll be doing this once a month from now on. If you’re ever in need, please come."

The old woman nodded repeatedly and left, clutching her items.

Nearby, Stein raised his camera. CLICK. He captured the scene.

Werner continued to hand out supplies.

A young woman holding a child, an old veteran leaning on a cane, a little boy in patched-up clothes... He gave generously to each of them, a gentle smile always on his face.

The sound of Stein’s shutter grew more frequent.

Keller sidled up to Werner and said in a low voice, "Boss, that guy’s really going at it with the camera."

"Let him," Werner said. "The more, the better."

An hour later, all the supplies had been given out.

The crowd gradually dispersed, and quiet returned to the square. Pastor Weber walked over to Werner, who was counting the remaining empty boxes.

"This must have cost you a fair bit today, didn’t it?" Pastor Weber asked.

"Not that much," Werner said.

"Was it worth it?"

Werner looked up at Stein, who was packing up his camera in the distance. "We’ll see if it was worth it in a few days."

***

「A few weeks later.」

Werner spread a copy of the *Hamburg Evening Post* on the table. His own picture was on it.

In the photo, he was handing a bag of flour to an old woman. Her eyes were crinkled in a smile, while his face bore a perfectly humble grin.

The headline was huge: "THE ROBIN HOOD OF EAST BERLIN—A MERCHANT HELPING THE POOR IN HIS OWN SPECIAL WAY".

Werner quickly scanned the article.

Stein’s writing was sensationalist, painting him as a "charitable speculator" who survived between the cracks of the East German system while still maintaining a conscience.

The article mentioned the Church’s charity event, his distribution of supplies to the poor, and the tearfully grateful residents—but not a single word about the Black Market.

What about those photos taken in Prenzlauer Berg? Not one was used. Instead, there were heartwarming scenes from the charity event: him handing flour to the old woman, children laughing around the supply boxes, Pastor Weber watching with a gratified expression.

The article described him as a "well-connected merchant," implying he acquired goods through "special channels" and then used "a portion to help the people of East Germany."

His identity as a Black Market dealer was obscured, reframed as a "distributor of goods in a gray area," while the charity work was magnified to become his main accomplishment.

Werner understood Stein’s calculation.

This West German reporter didn’t want to expose a Black Market merchant; he wanted to use him to satirize the East German regime.

The article dedicated significant space to describing the empty shelves of state-run stores, the rigidity of the rationing system, and the hardships of the people’s lives—only to then cast Werner as a "folk hero doing good amidst the ruins of a failed system."

The photos of the Black Market deals didn’t fit this narrative. Stein needed a contrast, a positive figure to highlight the failure of East Germany’s planned economy, not a mere law-breaking merchant.

Werner put down the newspaper, the corner of his mouth twitching into a smile.

In the end, Stein had written his story about East Berlin, but the angle had completely changed—from exposing the dark side of the Black Market to praising the bright side of "private charity."

Those troublesome Black Market photos were now buried at the bottom of a drawer. He had become a tool in Stein’s critique of the East German system, but this tool had, coincidentally, saved him.

"Robin Hood?" Keller, sitting across from him, grinned like a fox in a henhouse. "Boss, you’re a big shot now. Yesterday I went to the Black Market, and three different people asked if I worked for the ’charitable speculator.’ The way they looked at me, tsk tsk, it was like they were looking at the God of Wealth."

"Don’t call me that ridiculous name," Werner said, glaring at him.

"But it’s catchy," Keller said with a shrug. "The West German reporter wrote you up as a hero. What do we have to worry about? Even Saint John’s Church has come looking for us."

Werner didn’t say anything, just kept staring at the newspaper. Next to the photo was a caption: "In resource-scarce East Berlin, this mysterious merchant helps those most in need... in his own way."

He recalled Pastor Weber’s visit the day before.

Pastor Weber had been sitting across this very table, holding the same newspaper, looking at him with a complicated expression.

"Werner, Saint John’s Church in Berlin, Savior Church in Potsdam, and Holy Mother Church in Dresden," Pastor Weber had said. "They all want to participate in your ’charity work,’ and they also want to use your channels to transport supplies."

"Pastor, you mean..."

"I’m not against it," Pastor Weber interrupted, his voice calm but his eyes sharp. "Werner, we both know what’s going on. You’re doing charity, but you’re also doing business. I have a good idea of where those supplies are going."

Werner’s heart skipped a beat, but his face remained impassive.

Pastor Weber sighed, his voice softening. "Son, I know it’s not easy to survive in this city. You have your connections, you have your business, and I won’t meddle. But..."

The old pastor’s gaze turned serious. "The Church’s trust is not unlimited. I can turn a blind eye, but only on the condition that you let me see real poor people being helped, real charity taking place. If I ever find out the Church is just a front for you, that those supplies have become your private assets..."

He didn’t finish, just shook his head. "Werner, don’t disappoint me."

Back then, Werner had extended his hand. "Deal. Pastor, I guarantee, every single charity event is real."

Pastor Weber had grasped his hand, his gaze earnest. "Remember what you said today. The Church can be your partner, but don’t treat it like a tool."

"Boss?" Keller’s voice pulled him back to the present. "What are you thinking about?"

"I’m thinking..." Werner stood up and walked to the window. "About what this reputation can bring us. Pastor Weber has already agreed. The key now is how to build this network."

Outside the window were the gray streets of East Berlin. The late March weather was still cold, and pedestrians on the street walked with their necks huddled into thick coats. As usual, a long line snaked from the entrance of the state-run store all the way to the street corner.

"It can bring us trust," Keller said, coming over. "Didn’t you see? The Church trusts us more now. Even churches in other cities want to work with us."

"It’s not enough," Werner said, turning around. "Trust has to become a network, and the network has to become a system. Besides..."

He paused and lowered his voice. "Pastor Weber isn’t stupid. He knows we’re using the Church as cover to do business. But why doesn’t he expose us? Because we really are helping the Church, and we really are helping the poor. That’s the bottom line. As long as we stick to it, he’ll continue to cooperate."

"So, what’s next for us..."

Werner walked back to the table and spread out a map of East Berlin, on which the locations of various churches were marked in red pen.

"Listen, Keller. What does the Church have? It has branches all over the city, a base of support among its congregation, and most importantly"—he tapped the map—"it has legal channels for transporting supplies. What we need to do now is exploit those channels to the absolute fullest."

Keller leaned in to look at the map. "Boss, you mean..."