Sleet tapped the window of the Oval Office dining room. They had agreed to his turf; familiar goldwork helped him relax. TЯ★mp paused in the doorway, waiting for the room to acknowledge him.
Hakeem Jeffries, the first Black Speaker, rose, smiled, smoothed a crease in his pinstriped jacket and offered a firm handshake. Chuck Schumer remained seated, glasses low on his nose. He could look down at the president without moving his head.
TЯ★mp carefully lowered his considerable bulk into the chair, adjusted a gold cufflink and laid a Sharpie on the table.
Schumer slid an architectural rendering beside a thick bill and two framed scrolls. A small, deeply bronzed hand reached across. Schumer kept one finger on the drawing.
“Let’s talk about a trade.”
“I’m the president. You came to me.”
“We need you to turn some people.”
“Russians? Chinese?”
“Republicans.”
The lame duck considered the offer. His imagination recast Moscow, 1987 as a spy movie. Excellent upholstery. A smiling man taking notes whenever he mentioned what he wanted. The camera slowly revealed that he was the property under discussion. Somewhere offscreen, a videotape clicked into place.
Schumer cleared his throat.
“I know their weaknesses,” TЯ★mp said.
Jeffries unfolded a whip count. Democrats in ink. Republicans in pencil. Beside it lay the Public Integrity and Fair Elections Act.
“A dozen senators to start,” he said.
“No impeachment. No federal investigations.” TЯ★mp looked at Schumer, trying to make a request sound like an order.
Schumer studied the table. Jeffries took the good cop’s turn.
“We’re offering you a legacy instead of impeachment. But prosecutors don’t take their orders from us.”
TЯ★mp glanced at the papers. Deals were his specialty. Information could be delegated.
“This bill sets disclosure and divestment rules for federal officeholders,” Jeffries continued. “Twenty years of tax returns. Every member of Congress. The president, vice president, Cabinet and senior executive officials. Both parties. Redacted public copies, annual updates. Ownership, major debts, guarantees, foreign partners. Auditors get the business records.”
“Fuck that. You investigate my family, take all my money. This is a shakedown.”
“Then we’re shaking ourselves down too.” Schumer watched the sleet thicken. “You keep whatever’s lawful—even what your crypto flock paid for the privilege of believing in you. The courts can sort out the rest.”
Jeffries turned a page. “Covered investments and business interests get sold by a firm deadline. Independent trustees put the proceeds into Treasuries, including inflation-protected bonds. No personal trading instructions. Keep your primary home and reasonable living cash. No hiding assets with relatives or shell companies.”
“Do Eric and Don testify? Jared?”
Schumer remained silent. Jeffries tapped the summary.
“This covers all of us. Same rules. Funded independent enforcement. Published audits. Our majority controls the hearing calendar. The disclosure requirements stand regardless.”
He let that distinction settle.
“The rules have to survive the people in this room.”
“I still intend to make money.”
“We’ve budgeted for you staying yourself.” Schumer shrugged. “You’ll have a stake in the country paying its bills, without owning the companies asking it for favors.”
“Literally invested in America,” Jeffries added.
“A special rate?”
“The public rate.”
TЯ★mp had been hoping for useful hypocrisy.
The next pages covered donor disclosure, voluntary public campaign financing, automatic voter registration, early voting and stronger Voting Rights Act protections. The president’s eyes glazed over.
“Get us past the filibuster and sign the bill,” Jeffries said. “Campaign against anyone who blocks it. While you deliver, I’ll use our majority to hold off impeachment and House hearings.”
TЯ★mp considered this, then motioned toward the frames.
“What’s this?”
“Something else for your legacy.” Schumer’s purplish hand turned the heavy frames toward him. He and Jeffries had agreed that constitutional reform might sell better on vellum, in gold cursive, with the customer’s initials.
DJT Electoral College Amendment—Proposed No. 28.
DJT Campaign Finance Reform Amendment—Proposed No. 29.
“Two separate proposals,” Schumer said. “One changes how presidents are elected. The other allows reasonable limits on political spending while protecting ordinary speech and the press. Two-thirds of both chambers, then thirty-eight states. That takes more votes.”
“You want me to give you a veto-proof Congress?” He laughed.
“We want you to help make history,” Jeffries said. “Two amendments. Most presidents settle for a library.”
TЯ★mp inspected the gold border. The substance could wait.
“Who signed the last one? Clinton?”
“Presidents don’t sign—”
“And this is how I earn an arch?”
Jeffries and Schumer exchanged a glance.
“An approved Florida site. Nowhere in or near Arlington. It follows results.”
“The ballroom? The garden?”
“We can support preserving authorized projects with public accounts,” Jeffries said. “Otherwise, we pursue restoration. Possibly demolition.”
Schumer placed a hearing calendar beside the drawing.
“Your family’s companies. Foreign money. Fees. Guarantees. The records come out either way.”
“And after I leave?”
“State law still applies to private business. We don’t control prosecutors.”
Schumer stirred his coffee.
“Of course, cooperation has its advantages…”
TЯ★mp nodded at an offer neither man had made.
“What if I can’t turn enough Republicans?”
“You get the rallies,” Jeffries said. “Appalachia. The South. You tell them you finally drained the swamp. Work the names on that sheet until both resolutions have the votes. We have organizers in the states. You supply the crowds. We'll stand with you and shake your hand at a fake constitutional signing if you want.”
The president studied the gilded initials. His name in the Constitution. Forever.
Jeffries added one final condition. “And when Andy Beshear runs in 2028, you endorse him.”
“The Kentucky guy?”
Already TЯ★mp could see Alabama: floodlights, red hats, barbecue smoke drifting through the bleachers. Drain the swamp! Drain the swamp! They believed in him again. He could be righteous, provided somebody else handled the righteousness.
He sat a little straighter.
“Let me see the arch again. And I want to redesign the Kennedy Center.”
The Democratic leaders exchanged another glance.
“So long as the name stays.”
Jeffries added the Kennedy Center condition, then reviewed the agreement: deliver the votes, sign the Act after passage, campaign for the amendments. The rewards followed the work.
TЯ★mp uncapped the Sharpie.
Three months later, he signed the Public Integrity and Fair Elections Act beneath lavender lights. Once Congress sent both amendments to the states, the barnstorming began: Schumer supplying the holdouts’ names, Jeffries publishing the audits.
The Manchurian patriot had been retasked by his new handlers.
For once, an asset to his own country. Despite all odds he'd made it great again.
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