I'm a Profiteer in Cold War Germany

Chapter 299: Chapter 82: The United Nations’ Stage

By the time he walked out of the Central Committee Building, the rain had stopped.

Werner stood at the entrance and took a deep breath. The air carried the scent of earth and rain, fresh and damp. The sky was beginning to clear, a crack opening in the clouds as sunlight slanted down.

Werner got in the car and started the engine.

The car radio was broadcasting news from East German National Radio: "...Comrade Anger inspected the industrial district of Leipzig today, emphasizing the need to continue deepening economic reforms and increasing production efficiency..."

Werner turned down the volume and lit a cigarette.

He recalled Anger’s final words: "A smart man knows when to stop."

But Werner knew he couldn’t stop.

’This era is like a giant machine, constantly grinding forward. You either run with it or get crushed by it. There is no third way.’

Outside the car window, the streets of East Berlin were gradually filling with pedestrians.

Werner stepped on the gas, and the car merged into traffic.

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

It was already evening when he returned to Koko Headquarters.

Werner went straight to Gunter’s office. Gunter was waiting for him and stood up immediately when he saw him enter.

"How did it go?"

"Comrade Anger already called Director Schmidt," Werner said. "The audit will still proceed, but it won’t affect our normal operations."

Gunter breathed a sigh of relief, the gloom on his face fading.

"That’s great." He walked over and patted Werner’s shoulder. "I knew you could handle it."

"But we still need to be careful," Werner said. "Beck won’t just give up. He hit a wall this time, but he’ll look for another opportunity in the future."

"I understand." Gunter nodded. "In the coming days, we’ll go over all the accounts again to make sure they can’t find anything."

"I’ve already prepared a detailed report." Werner took a document from his briefcase. "It clearly explains the ins and outs of all our peripheral businesses. Please take a look. If there are no problems, I’ll prepare to submit it to the audit team."

Gunter took the report, flipped through a few pages, and then looked up.

"This is very well-written," he said. "We’ll go with this."

The two discussed more details, and Werner didn’t leave until it was completely dark.

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

In the spring of 1972, the air in East Berlin was tinged with an unusual restlessness.

Werner sat in his office at Koko Headquarters, an internal newsletter from West Germany spread out before him. Sunlight streamed through the blinds, casting patterns of light and shadow on the document.

A system prompt suddenly sounded in his mind: [East and West Germany will sign the Basic Treaty by the end of the year. Relations will normalize, and trade volume will see explosive growth.]

Werner put down his coffee cup, his gaze sharpening.

’The Basic Treaty.’

’He was all too familiar with that name.’

’As a Transmigrator, he knew the historical significance of this treaty all too well—East and West Germany would recognize each other, and trade barriers would be drastically lowered.’

’What did this mean?’

’A massive business opportunity.’

Werner immediately picked up the phone and dialed Gunter’s internal line.

"Comrade Gunter, can I come up? ...I have something important to report."

In Gunter’s office, the two of them closed the door and began to talk in private.

"Have you heard about East and West Germany signing a treaty?" Werner asked, getting straight to the point.

Gunter nodded, lowering his voice. "The higher-ups are discussing it. It’s highly confidential. How do you know?"

"I heard some whispers," Werner said. "If the treaty really gets signed, trade volume between both sides will skyrocket. We have to prepare in advance."

"Prepare for what?"

"Stockpiling goods." A glint appeared in Werner’s eyes. "West German companies will definitely pour into the East German market. What will they need? Office equipment, production tools, high-end consumer goods... We need to start stockpiling these things now."

Gunter pondered for a moment.

"What about funds? This will require a large amount of foreign currency."

"I have a way," Werner said, pulling out a plan he had prepared in advance. "We’ll use a transit account in Switzerland to make purchases in batches. On the surface, it will look like normal trade, but it’s actually a strategic reserve."

Gunter took the plan, read a few pages carefully, and then looked up.

"Werner, your instincts are truly sharp." He paused. "But this is too big. I can’t approve it on my own. I need to report it to the higher-ups."

"Then report it," Werner said. "But be quick. Time waits for no one."

Over the next few months, Werner used his channels in West Germany to secretly purchase large quantities of goods: typewriters, photocopiers, precision instruments, high-end furniture, electronic equipment... everything he predicted would be in high demand after the treaty was signed.

To cover his tracks, he stored the goods in various warehouses across East Germany, claiming they were "regular inventory."

Anna came to see him once and found that he had barely slept all week.

"Are you crazy?" she asked, looking at Werner’s bloodshot eyes. "You’ll collapse if you keep this up."

"It’s not time to collapse yet." Werner lit a cigarette. "Once the treaty is signed, I can take a break."

"Will the treaty really be signed?"

"It will." Werner’s tone was certain. "Brandt and Anger both need this treaty. One wants to ease relations with the East, and the other wants East Germany to gain international recognition. It’s a win-win."

On December 21, 1972, the Basic Treaty between East and West Germany was officially signed.

The moment the news broke, Werner was in his office. He stood at the window, looking out over East Berlin, a slight smile playing on his lips.

The next day, orders flew in like snowflakes.

West German companies scrambled to enter the East German market, and East German companies were in desperate need of Western equipment and technology.

The goods Werner had stockpiled in advance instantly became hot commodities, their prices more than tripling.

That quarter, Werner’s department earned thirty million West German Marks.

Gunter specifically called him to his office and poured him a glass of the finest Scotch whisky.

"Werner, you’re a genius," Gunter said, raising his glass. "To your foresight."

"To Koko," Werner said, clinking his glass against Gunter’s.

Werner’s personal income hit a new record. His commission alone exceeded two million West German Marks.

He bought several properties in West Germany—an apartment in Frankfurt, a villa in Munich, and a house with a sea view in Hamburg. His deposits in a Swiss Bank also reached an astonishing figure.

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

On a runway at New York’s Kennedy Airport, an IL-62 passenger jet bearing the East German coat of arms taxied slowly.

Through the cabin window, Werner watched the Manhattan skyline appear through the morning mist.

The Empire State Building, the Chrysler Building, the recently completed World Trade Center Twin Towers—those steel totems of the capitalist world glinted in the September sun.

"First time in New York?" Deputy Minister Steinhaus of the Ministry of Foreign Affairs asked from the adjacent seat, turning his head.

"Yes, Comrade Minister." Werner looked away from the window.

"Take a good look," Steinhaus said, lighting a cigarette. "We are here today to witness history."

September 18, 1973. The day East and West Germany would simultaneously join the United Nations.

Of course, Werner knew the significance of this date.

’As a Transmigrator, he knew better than anyone: this was the peak of East Germany’s international standing, proof of a brief equilibrium in the Cold War. In another sixteen years, the Berlin Wall would fall, and this country would cease to exist.’

But right now, no one knew the future.

As the plane landed, Werner saw a Lufthansa Boeing 707 already parked on the tarmac—the West German delegation’s plane.

The two planes were no more than fifty meters apart, like two rival knights facing off in a dueling arena.

"Interesting," Werner murmured.

"What?"

"Nothing," Werner said, standing up and adjusting his tie.

He was wearing his best suit today—a custom-tailored, dark blue three-piece suit from West Berlin, a white shirt, and a black tie. In his pocket was a brand-new East German diplomatic passport, stamped with a special entry seal for the United Nations.

A wave of hot September air hit him as he walked down the gangway. The air was thick with the salty tang of the sea, mixed with car exhaust and greasy smoke from hot dog stands.

"Comrade Betelich," a voice called out from the crowd.

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