I'm a Profiteer in Cold War Germany

Chapter 195: Chapter 105: Forged Photos

Two days later, Werner brought Lawyer Vogel to the darkroom.

"Comrade Weber, I’ve heard so much about you." Vogel’s handshake was firm. "Betelich said you are East Berlin’s most talented photographer."

Erich glanced at Werner, then took Vogel’s hand. "You’re too kind."

"We need your help." Vogel took a list from his briefcase. "There are fifteen families on here, all relatives of political prisoners. They’re applying for family reunification and need to provide photographs and related supporting documents."

Erich took the list and glanced over it.

They were all common German names. Next to each name was their age, occupation, and address.

"Political prisoners?" He looked up. "What crimes did they commit?"

"Mostly for the so-called ’crime of subverting the state.’" Vogel pushed up his glasses. "Some just grumbled a few complaints in a tavern, some tried to climb the Wall, and some passed around Western newspapers. You know how it is. In this country, many things can be turned into a crime."

"Where are they now?"

"Some are in prison, others have been released but aren’t allowed to leave the country," Vogel said. "Our job is to help them leave legally and reunite with their families in West Germany."

"These people..." Erich looked at the list. "Were they all imprisoned for seeking freedom?"

"You could say that." Vogel nodded. "They aren’t criminals, just victims of this system."

Erich gripped the list tightly.

"What do you need me to do?" Erich asked.

"Take their pictures, create the supporting documents," Vogel said. "Besides standard ID photos, we also need some ’historical photos’—proof that these families had prior connections, proof that they are indeed related."

Erich frowned. "But what if they don’t have photos like that from before?"

"Then we make some," Vogel said. "Many families lost old photographs because of the war and the partition. We’re just helping them recover this evidence so the official process can proceed smoothly."

Erich was silent for a few seconds, then said, "I understand. You need me to forge historical photos to satisfy the requirements of the bureaucratic system."

"You could look at it that way." Vogel didn’t deny it. "But you have to understand, these families truly are connected. We’re just filling a procedural gap. Without these photos, they’ll never get out, and those families will never be reunited."

Erich looked at the names on the list. Behind every name was a broken family, an interrupted life.

"Is this an officially approved project?" he asked.

"Completely legal." Vogel handed him the approval document from the Ministry of Foreign Affairs. "You’re working for a humanitarian cause. In the future, this will be a glorious entry in your file."

Erich looked at the approval document and suddenly laughed. "So this system imprisons these people on the one hand, and allows them to leave on the other? As long as you follow the right procedures and fill out the right forms, the so-called ’criminals’ can become ’reuniting family members’?"

"That is the absurdity of the bureaucratic system," Vogel said. "But we can use this absurdity to help those who truly need it."

Erich handed the approval document back to Vogel and took a deep breath. "Fine. I’ll do it. Those people deserve to be free."

Vogel smiled. "You’re a young man with a sense of justice."

"I just believe people should have the right to choose their own lives," Erich said. "Even if this country doesn’t recognize that right."

Vogel and Werner exchanged a look.

"How long will it take?" Vogel asked.

"One month," Erich said. "Fifteen families, five to ten photos per family. I’ll do my best to make them perfect, so that no official will be able to find any flaws."

"Very good." Vogel nodded in satisfaction. "Comrade Weber, you are making a contribution to history. One day, when these families are reunited, they will be grateful to you."

"I don’t need their gratitude," Erich said. "I just hope they can live the lives they want."

After Vogel left, Erich began to organize the list.

"You seem excited," Werner said.

"Because this is real." Erich looked up, his eyes shining. "These aren’t those fake propaganda photos, not those staged, happy smiles. These photos will actually change people’s destinies."

"Aren’t you worried about the risk?"

"I am," Erich said honestly. "But I’m more worried about doing nothing. Mr. Betelich, do you know why I took pictures of the Berlin Wall? Because I believe that documenting the truth is a way to fight lies. I might not be able to document the truth openly right now, but at least I can use my skills to help people escape the lies."

He placed the list on the table and said seriously, "These people were imprisoned for pursuing freedom, and now I have the chance to help them regain it. This is more meaningful than any photo I’ve ever taken."

"Erich," Werner said, "I have to remind you of something. The world won’t become a better place just because we do this. The number of people we can help is limited. We can’t change the whole system."

"I know." Erich nodded. "But if everyone did nothing just because they couldn’t change the whole world, then the world would never change. I don’t expect to change everything, but at the very least, I have to do what I can."

He paused, his gaze becoming firmer. "Besides, Mr. Betelich, I’ve figured something out. I originally took photos of the Berlin Wall because I wanted to awaken people with the truth. But now I understand that sometimes, action is more important than truth. Helping one person escape is more useful than taking a hundred photos."

Werner handed him an envelope. "Here’s the advance. Three hundred Marks."

Erich took the envelope but didn’t open it right away. "Mr. Betelich, can I ask you a question?"

"Go ahead."

"Why do you do this?" Erich looked at him. "You could just run your Black Market business safely. Why risk helping people escape?"

Werner thought for a moment, then said, "Maybe it’s because, in this absurd world, I want to hold on to a little bit of humanity."

Erich smiled. "Then we’re the same kind of person."

"Maybe." Werner smiled too. "It’s just that you’re more of an idealist than I am. But then, the world needs some idealists, or it would be too despairing."

For the next month, Erich was busy in his darkroom.

By day, he took official propaganda photos for the newspaper: workers sweating in factories, farmers harvesting crops on collective farms, children singing socialist songs at school.

He mechanically pressed the shutter, a professional smile fixed on his face, but his eyes were lifeless.

At night, he would return to the darkroom and begin creating those "special" photos.

His eyes would light up, his fingers would grow more nimble, and his entire being would radiate with passion.

The clients Werner brought were all very cautious.

They wore ordinary worker’s clothes or housewife’s attire, with hats or scarves covering their faces, sneaking into the newspaper building after nightfall.

Erich would photograph them, retouching their features and creating ID photos that matched their false identities.

One time, a woman in her thirties came with a seven-year-old boy.

Erich adjusted his camera, then squatted down to the boy’s eye level. "Don’t be scared, little one. Give me a smile. Think of your favorite thing."

The boy smiled timidly.

The shutter clicked.

Erich had the woman stand properly. "You too, ma’am. Think about when you get to the West, when you see your family."

Tears streamed down the woman’s face, but this time, she smiled. It was a smile that mixed sorrow and hope.

CLICK.

"Alright." Erich lowered his camera. "Come back in three days to pick them up. Good luck to you both."

The woman paid and left, holding her son’s hand.

Before leaving, she looked back at Erich.

"Thank you," she said. "God bless you."

"Don’t thank me," Erich said. "Thank your own courage."

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