Chapter 1: Second Coming
The second inauguration of President Donald Drumpf took place under a raw January sky, just four years after his first oath of office. An icy wind whipped across the National Plaza of the United Republic of Columbia, sending red-white-and-blue bunting flapping wildly. President Drumpf stood at the podium on the Capitol's west front, squinting at the sea of spectators before him. In his mind, the crowd stretched as far as the horizon—"millions and millions" as he would later describe it—though in truth, thin patches were visible where loyalists had huddled to keep warm. Still, through his eyes, it was the largest inaugural audience ever assembled. Anyone who said otherwise was, in his own words, "just plain wrong."
Chief Justice Maureen Roberts, swathed in black robes, held out a Bible for the oath. Drumpf's right hand hovered above it, his left on the book's leather cover. He pursed his lips into what he assumed was a dignified scowl. The oath was a mere formality to him—he had, after all, already declared himself the winner long before the votes were fully counted, and this ceremony simply made it official.
"I, Donald J. Drumpf, do solemnly swear…" he began, voice amplified by a dozen speakers. It was a voice both brash and oddly flat, carrying the unmistakable accent of Queens despite decades among the elite. He spoke the constitutional words in a tone suggesting they were his gift to the nation, not an obligation. "...that I will faithfully execute the Office of President of the United Republic of Columbia, and will, to the best of my ability—" here he paused for just a beat, giving a faint smirk as if to imply the phrase was humorous, "—preserve, protect and defend the Constitution of the Republic." He emphasized Constitution as if it were a personal friend who had always treated him well, rather than a set of pesky rules that occasionally got in his way.
"—So help me God," he concluded. The Chief Justice's lips tightened—had he just winked at her? It was hard to tell. There was a brief, dissonant moment when she appeared ready to correct him (for in his confident recitation he'd actually skipped a few words of the oath), but before she could, President Drumpf turned to the crowd with both arms raised in triumph.
Applause broke out, scattered at first, then swelling to a roar from the assembled Drumpf faithful. A formation of fighter jets screamed overhead on cue, trailing smoke in the national colors. The crowd's cheering covered the mutterings of a few dignitaries on the platform who exchanged glances at the improvised oath. At the edge of the stage, First Lady Melonia Drumpf watched with an expression that hovered between a plastic smile and distant boredom, her eyes hidden behind oversized sunglasses despite the overcast day. She clapped delicately, careful not to smudge her immaculate white gloves.
Behind the First Lady stood the Drumpf family's inner circle: Ivana Drumpf, the President's eldest daughter and now an official Advisor to the President, looked on with a radiant smile that seemed almost genuine. Beside Ivana, her husband Jared Kushman—tall, composed, and eerily silent—surveyed the scene as though already calculating how to leverage it. To Jared's right, the President's eldest son, Donald Drumpf Jr., pumped a fist in the air to fire up the crowd. Junior's face was flushed with triumph and perhaps a splash of the special "victory" bourbon he had sipped earlier that morning. Next to him, his brother Eric Drumpf bounced on his heels, clapping enthusiastically with a grin that indicated he was just happy to be included. The rest of the platform was filled with cabinet members, Congressional leaders of the President's party wearing forced grins, and a few stone-faced opposition figures who attended out of constitutional duty.
President Drumpf stepped forward to deliver his inaugural address. In the front rows, attendees strained forward. Some held up phones streaming the event to social media; others waved miniature flags bearing the Drumpf name in bold gold print. A ripple of anticipation moved through the crowd as Drumpf adjusted the microphone.
He began, "My fellow Columbians, four years ago we made history, and now we're making it again, bigger and better!" His voice boomed with practiced confidence. He often spoke as if selling a product—and in many ways, he was the product. "They said it couldn't be done. They said it was a fluke the first time," he continued, prompting a chorus of boos at the unnamed "they." The President paused, basking in the adoration radiating from the crowd. "But we proved them wrong again. This is the greatest second-term victory ever. Some people are calling it the most incredible re-election in our nation's history—believe me."
Ivana stood just behind him and slightly to the side, her practiced smile never faltering. She had heard lines like this countless times, often having helped craft them. In fact, she privately thought the line about "most incredible re-election" was a tad over-the-top, but her father had insisted on it. "People love it when I say how great I am," he told her that morning, combing a stray wisp of his famously elaborate hair into place. "It drives the critics crazy, and the base eats it up." Now, hearing the applause, Ivana acknowledged he wasn't wrong about that.
The speech rolled on, a patchwork of triumphant boasts and vague promises. President Drumpf praised "the fantastic job we did in our first term—fantastic, really incredible, nobody's seen anything like it," listing what he considered victories: a booming stock market ("through the roof!"), judges appointed ("so many judges, you wouldn't believe"), and "finally getting respect on the world stage." He lingered on that last point, ad-libbing about how foreign leaders now treated Columbia "the way it should be treated, with total respect, not laughing at us like before."
As he said this, a former President sitting behind him coughed into his hand, perhaps to hide a laugh or a comment. Drumpf, hearing the sound, turned slightly. He caught a glimpse of the elder statesman—his predecessor and bitter rival, former President Barter, who wore a polite, tight smile. Drumpf smirked and returned to the microphone. "We're winning again, folks," he declared, ignoring the dissenting presence at his back. "And let me tell you, the next four years are going to be even bigger—even better. Because now," and here Drumpf wagged a finger theatrically, "now I really know what I'm doing."
On that note, scattered laughter rolled through the crowd. It was hard to tell if the laughter was with him or at him. Ever the showman, Drumpf decided it didn't matter. He chuckled along as if he'd intended to make a joke, then pivoted sharply: "No, but seriously. We are going to continue draining the swamp of corruption—" he gestured vaguely toward the cluster of career politicians on stage, conveniently excluding himself—"and we're going to build on the tremendous gains we've made."
From the corner of her eye, Ivana noticed a flicker of annoyance cross the Chief Justice's face at the mention of "draining the swamp," given the morning's display of raw patronage and family presence. Ivana's practiced smile tightened just a notch. She was well aware of the optics: nearly the entire Drumpf clan arranged around the President like an official royal court. Drumpf himself seemed oblivious or indifferent to any irony. In his mind, he was the United Republic of Columbia, and his family were its natural princes and princesses.
Down in the crowd, near the front, a middle-aged woman in a bright red Drumpf-branded beanie wiped a tear as the President spoke. "I just love him so much," she whispered to her husband, who was busy capturing a blurry video of Drumpf with his phone. "He's going to save our country." A few rows back, a younger man shouted "We love you, Mr. President!" Drumpf stopped mid-sentence to preen at the praise, flashing a thumbs-up.
"Thank you. I know," he responded off-the-cuff, eliciting a wave of laughter and cheers. It was a line he'd used before at rallies, always to great effect.
Encouraged by the reaction, Drumpf deviated further from his prepared remarks. Folding up the teleprompter in his mind, he embarked on a series of off-script pronouncements. "We're going to do things in this term that nobody thought possible, okay? We're going to fix every bad deal, crush every terrorist, balance every budget—" he listed grandly, raising a finger with each item. "And we're going to make sure that the Drumpf agenda—our agenda—lives on for many, many years to come." On that last line, his voice took on a deeper, almost reverent tone.
Somewhere in the VIP section, a senator from the opposition rolled his eyes. A few seats away, House Speaker Naomi Poulson sat with arms folded, her face a mask of skepticism. Poulson had sparred frequently with Drumpf during his first term, and she suspected that "many, many years to come" was not a casual phrase. Knowing Drumpf, it was a hint at something audacious—perhaps even undoing the cherished two-term limit itself. She made a mental note to keep an eye on any such moves.
For now, though, Poulson and her fellow opposition could do little but watch as Drumpf basked in the glow of his adoring throng. The President wrapped up his address with a florid flourish: "Together, we will keep Columbia great, make it greater than ever before, and believe me—the best is yet to come!" On cue, another military band struck up and the cannons on the field boomed salutes, sending plumes of white smoke into the cold air. The crowd erupted in applause and chants of "DRUMPF! DRUMPF! DRUMPF!"
He stepped back from the podium, waving and clapping for himself along with the crowd. As the anthem played, he turned to exchange congratulations. Vice President Pierce, nearly forgotten in the background, hurried up to shake Drumpf's hand. Pierce wore a fixed grin and offered the same congratulations he had given four years prior, something about being "honored to serve." Drumpf gave him a perfunctory pat on the back. The Vice President's presence in the administration was a comfort to certain traditionalists; to Drumpf, Pierce was mostly a reliable echo who stayed out of the limelight—just as he preferred.
Melonia Drumpf moved to her husband's side. The First Lady's smile was photograph-perfect yet distant. She slid her arm through his for the ceremonial departure from the stage. As they began to walk, Melonia leaned in and offered him a quiet "Congratulations." Her accent, a lilting Eastern European cadence, made the word sound coolly elegant. Drumpf nodded, giving her a quick smile before looking past her to soak in the adulation one more time.
Ahead of them, the honor guard was in place to lead the presidential party down the Capitol steps. Donald Jr. and Eric fell in step close behind their father and stepmother, like eager lieutenants following a conquering general. Ivana and Jared walked together just behind the brothers. The rest of the dignitaries trailed according to protocol.
As they descended, President Drumpf surveyed the cheering crowd below. A mischievous thought struck him. He paused on the middle of the stairway, causing Melonia to falter a step. With an impish grin, Drumpf turned to face the crowd directly, holding up both thumbs and calling out, "Thank you Columbia! I love you folks!" The crowd roared in delight. It was unorthodox to break the solemn exit procession, but Drumpf had never cared for boring traditions. Security agents flinched at the unscripted moment, but held their positions.
Cameras flashed, capturing the image of the President basking in applause mid-staircase while the First Lady balanced in high heels beside him. In one photo, later to circulate widely online, Melonia's expression captured a flicker of alarm—perhaps at the sudden stop or perhaps at the possibility that her husband might do something even more unpredictable. But within a second, she recovered her composed smile.
After milking a final wave, Drumpf turned and continued down the steps. He felt invigorated. The doubts and worries that had occasionally crept in during the campaign—rare moments of fear that he might actually lose—were long gone. In their place surged a triumphant confidence, a conviction that he was untouchable. He had defied the odds again. He had his base, his family, and now four more years with no election to win at the end of it. For a man who lived in constant pursuit of winning, this moment felt like stepping onto the summit of a mountain he'd scaled once before but now owned outright.
At the foot of the Capitol steps, the presidential limousine awaited—black, gleaming, and fortified like a tank. As Drumpf and Melonia approached, a Secret Service agent opened the door and smartly saluted. Drumpf paused to give one more nod to the crowd, then ducked inside the vehicle, followed by the First Lady. Donald Jr. and Eric hustled in after them, unwilling to miss whatever celebratory scene might unfold. Ivana and Jared took the next car in the motorcade, along with a few top aides.
Inside "The Beast" (as the presidential limo was nicknamed), warmth and the smell of new leather enveloped them. Drumpf settled into the plush seat and immediately tapped a control to slightly lower the soundproof window partition—not enough to let in the winter chill, but just enough that he could faintly hear the continued cheers of the crowd outside as the parade was about to begin. He closed his eyes for a brief second and smiled. They love me. They really love me.
Donald Jr., seated across from his father, leaned forward with a broad grin. "Dad, that was amazing. Best inauguration speech I've ever heard!" he enthused, his voice loud in the intimate space.
"Totally epic, Pops," Eric chimed in, nodding eagerly. "That crowd is crazy about you. Did you see them? Massive! Way bigger than last time, right?"
At this, Drumpf opened his eyes and gave a satisfied nod. "Of course it was bigger," he said, as if stating the obvious. "The biggest ever. I'd say at least…" He paused, conjuring a number from thin air. "At least a million more than last time." In reality, the crowd was not quite that large, but in Drumpf's world, reality bent to the shape of his ego. "The fake news media won't report it, but we know," he added, jabbing a finger toward the roof of the car, as if pointing to the invisible press helicopters above.
Melonia adjusted her coat primly and offered a mild observation, "It seemed very enthusiastic crowd." Her tone was polite, measured. Publicly she rarely said much more than pleasantries. Privately, one never knew. In that moment, however, she played the supportive spouse, giving a gracious smile.
Drumpf reached over and gave her gloved hand a pat. "They sure were, beautiful. They sure were." He then turned to his sons again. "And the speech? You both liked it, huh?" There was a hint of genuine curiosity in his voice. Praise was plentiful from his inner circle, but he always enjoyed hearing more.
"Loved it," Donald Jr. confirmed. "Especially the part where you said, uh, what was it—'now I really know what I'm doing.'" Junior chuckled, recalling the line.
Drumpf cracked a grin. "Yeah, that was a good one, wasn't it? Off the cuff," he said proudly. "I saw some of those stuffed shirts behind me getting nervous at that." He tossed his head back, recalling the looks on the faces of the establishment figures arrayed behind him—the generals, the former presidents, the opposition leaders. It gave him endless satisfaction to imagine their discomfort.
Eric laughed along. He might not have caught all the nuance, but he delighted in anything that seemed to unsettle his father's enemies. "They better be nervous. We're gonna do some big stuff now," he said, lightly punching his fist into his palm.
"Damn right we are," Drumpf replied. He leaned forward conspiratorially, even though everyone present was family or loyal. His voice lowered slightly, as if sharing a secret. "Now that the people have given me this mandate—historic mandate, second term, landslide victory—there's nothing we can't do. We've got Congress on our side," (at this somewhat optimistic assessment, Melonia raised an eyebrow almost imperceptibly—actually, the Senate was barely in his party's control and the House firmly in opposition hands, but Drumpf always counted only those he deemed loyal as "Congress"), "and we've got the courts. We've got the people. The real people."
Donald Jr. and Eric nodded vigorously. This was their father's favorite narrative: that "the people" (meaning his fervent base) were behind him and thus he could act with impunity against the "elites" or "experts" or whoever stood in his way.
Melonia glanced out the window as the limo began to move, the parade starting its crawl down Capital Avenue. Rows of cheering supporters lined the avenue, held back by barricades and watched by phalanxes of security. Many waved flags or held up signs with slogans like Drumpf: Making Columbia Greater or even Drumpf 2028 – No More Limits! That last slogan caught Melonia's eye and she blinked at it, then gave her husband a sideways look. He had clearly seen some of them too, because a smug smile was curling his lips.
As the motorcade rolled forward, a marching band struck up a jaunty patriotic tune just ahead. The President's limo was approaching a section where the organizers had set up bleachers for VIP supporters and donors. In one of the front rows, an enthusiastic man in a bright red cowboy hat and matching Drumpf-emblazoned jacket was holding up a huge banner that read: "Four More Years? How About Forever!" The man waved it frantically as the limo approached.
Drumpf responded by reaching up and giving the still-cracked window a quick thumbs-up. The roar from that section of the crowd got even louder. Through the glass, muffled chants were audible: "Four more years! Four more years!"
Inside the car, Donald Jr. laughed. "They don't ever want you to leave, Dad."
"Why should I?" Drumpf quipped, half-joking, half not. "We're just getting started." He tapped a finger on his chin as if considering something. "You know, in some countries they don't have this artificial two-term thing. If the people want you, you stay. Maybe we should think about that."
Eric's eyes widened with excitement. "For real? You mean, like, change the law?"
Drumpf shrugged theatrically. "Just thinking out loud. But a lot of people are saying it's not a bad idea. When you have a great leader—why not keep him, right? Why limit greatness?" The two adult sons exchanged glances filled with glee. They loved this kind of talk. It made them imagine a future where the Drumpf dynasty could truly cement itself.
Melonia said nothing, but her posture stiffened almost imperceptibly at her husband's musing. It was difficult to tell if she was concerned or merely indifferent. Her public face remained a serene mask.
The limousine came to a brief halt as a group of choreographed baton twirlers pranced by in front of it, part of the parade schedule. President Drumpf drummed his fingers impatiently on his armrest. He was not one to enjoy waiting behind others, even in a procession held in his honor.
As they waited, a brief commotion became visible outside the left window. A young woman, wearing a pink knit hat and holding a small poster, had apparently slipped through a gap in the crowd and darted toward the motorcade. Her poster read, in hand-drawn letters, "Not My President". She managed to get close enough to yell something at the limo—her voice lost in the din—before security officers swiftly intercepted her, pulling her back behind the barricade with professional efficiency.
Inside the car, Melonia started slightly at the sudden movement outside, but Donald Jr. had already noticed and scowled. "Dad, protester at 9 o'clock," he muttered, as if reporting an assassin.
Drumpf turned to his left and caught a glimpse of the woman being dragged away, still kicking and shouting inaudibly. Though he couldn't hear her, he could guess the gist. His face darkened for a split second. "Pathetic," he muttered. "Probably paid by someone to do that. They always have a few crazies."
Eric craned his neck to see but only caught the back of the protester's sign before she was out of view. "Losers," he agreed loudly.
The President snorted, then something dawned on him. He leaned forward to press a button that allowed him to speak to the driver or lead Secret Service agent. "Can we not drive so slow? Get this thing moving," he barked.
A crackle of response came through an intercom: "Yes sir. We have to maintain parade pace for the moment. We'll be clear of the formation in about five more minutes."
Drumpf released the button with an annoyed huff. "Five minutes stuck looking at the back of dancers," he grumbled. Then he raised his voice, addressing no one in particular. "And did you see that? That nasty woman jumping out with a sign. Totally dangerous. Could have been a threat."
"Already taken care of, sir," came the reassuring voice of an agent sitting in the front passenger seat, turning slightly toward the President. Until then he had been unobtrusive, but he clearly felt the need to allay the President's concern. "Local police have her in custody."
Donald Jr. smirked. "She's lucky it wasn't one of our guys out there. Some of those crowd folks looked ready to tear her apart." He wasn't entirely wrong; a few among the Drumpf faithful had attempted to lunge at the interloper, enraged that someone would dare mar this day for their hero.
Drumpf's scowl melted into a self-satisfied smile. "Ah, the beauty of the First Amendment," he said sarcastically. "People abusing their freedom to try to spoil a beautiful moment. Sad."
Melonia gave a vague "hmm" of agreement, unsure if an actual response was expected. She had seen countless minor incidents like this over the last four years—hecklers at rallies, protests outside their events—and they rarely fazed her husband for long. He had an uncanny ability to blot out criticism almost as soon as it appeared, like wiping a smudge off a mirror.
Sure enough, by the time the car started rolling again, Drumpf's attention was already back to the adoring crowds. As the motorcade continued, the President spent the remaining few minutes of the ride pointing out signs he liked ("See that one? 'Drumpf Country'—I love it!") and occasionally remarking on which groups along the route had "the best spirit."
Finally, the limousine turned off the main avenue and headed towards the grand Pennsylvania Plaza Hotel, where the inaugural luncheon was scheduled. The procession passed through tight security cordons and came to a halt at a VIP entrance. An attendant quickly opened the door. Cold air whooshed in, along with the distant sound of the ongoing parade for the other vehicles behind them.
Drumpf stepped out first onto a plush red carpet that had been rolled out. Cameras were already flashing as members of the press awaited a quick photo-op before the private luncheon. He straightened his overcoat, and with Melonia on his arm, he gave a wave that managed to look both presidential and peculiarly self-congratulatory.
The Drumpf sons emerged next, each buttoning their expensive coats and beaming like they were the ones just sworn in. Ivana and Jared arrived seconds later from their car. The whole family assembled briefly for the cameras—an image of a dynastic clan in victory. Ivana placed her hand on her father's back, a subtle gesture of solidarity and a claim to closeness. It was a picture that would grace many front pages and websites by evening: the Drumpfs triumphant.
Inside the hotel's grand ballroom, tables were set with crystal and china for the luncheon. Dignitaries began filtering in through side entrances. Some were allies, eager to bask in the President's favor; others were the reluctant officials of opposing factions, fulfilling their polite obligations. The room buzzed with conversation, anticipation, and the clinking of glasses as servers poured champagne.
President Drumpf, however, lingered just outside the main doors with his Chief of Staff, Reince Halverson, who had scurried over to greet him. Halverson was a thin man with nervous energy, perpetually appearing slightly overwhelmed. He had survived the first term in his role mostly by learning when to stay out of the President's crosshairs.
"Congratulations, Mr. President," Halverson gushed, bobbing his head. "Truly an historic day."
"Of course it is," Drumpf replied breezily. He took the opportunity to remove his overcoat and hand it off to an aide, revealing his long navy suit and trademark extra-long red tie beneath. "You got the papers I asked for?"
Halverson blinked. "Papers, sir?"
"The executive orders, Reince," Drumpf said impatiently. "The ones I want to sign this afternoon. Day One stuff. We talked about this."
The Chief of Staff fumbled with the folder he was carrying. "Yes, yes, of course! Right here, sir." He produced a leather-bound folder and opened it, revealing a neat stack of documents with little colored tabs. "We have them ready for you: the rollback of the ethics rules, the new directive on cabinet hiring flexibility, and the one about the—um—project funding reallocation." He lowered his voice on that last item, aware that it was essentially a brazen diversion of funds that would certainly spark controversy.
Drumpf grinned and clapped Halverson on the shoulder, oblivious or uncaring about the man's discomfort. "Excellent. We'll do it right after lunch. Maybe during dessert, even." He was like a kid eager to unwrap presents. Only these presents were proclamations of power, ready to be unleashed.
"Yes, sir," Halverson said, mustering a smile. He had been warned that the President wanted to hit the ground running in Term Two, but the aggressiveness still surprised him. Tweaking ethics rules on day one? It was bold, undeniably—also likely to prompt outcry. Halverson swallowed hard, pushing that thought aside. It was his job to make it happen smoothly.
Satisfied for now, Drumpf turned back to his assembled kin. "Shall we eat? I'm starving. Campaigning makes you lose weight—terrible, really," he joked to no one in particular, patting his slightly protruding belly. In truth, he had lost maybe a few pounds in the hectic final sprint of rallies, but his well-tailored suit hid any difference.
The presidential party strolled into the ballroom to a round of applause from the seated guests. A military band in the corner struck up "Hail to the Chief" once more, just in case anyone had forgotten who the man of the hour was. Drumpf walked with a noticeable swagger in his step. Melonia glided beside him, expression cool and model-like. The sons followed, and Ivana glowed at her father's other side, waving graciously at familiar faces in the crowd.
They took their places at the long head table, which was draped in velvet and adorned with floral arrangements in the national colors. As President Drumpf settled into the grand central chair, he surveyed the room like a king at his coronation feast.
To his right sat First Lady Melonia; to his left, Vice President Pierce. Next to Melonia, Ivana sat poised, and beyond her Jared took his seat, already leaning over to whisper something reassuring to a senator who looked nervous. The Drumpf sons, not being government officials, had spots slightly further down but still at the head table, displacing some usual dignitaries. Donald Jr. ended up next to the Secretary of Defense, whom he greeted with a firm handshake and a "We love what you're doing with the military, just love it," as though he were a co-owner of the administration. Eric landed beside the Governor of Columbia's largest state, offering an enthusiastic "Great to see you!" even though they had never met.
Food was served promptly—an elaborate three-course meal that few attendees would remember, given the excitement. As waiters delivered the plates, small toasts were offered by various party elders. The Speaker of the House was notably absent from giving a toast; though present, Speaker Poulson had diplomatically deferred the honor to an opposition Senate leader to avoid an awkward moment. Instead, a senior senator from Drumpf's party stood and raised a glass.
"To President Drumpf," the senator proclaimed, his voice hearty. "A historic victory and a new chapter for our great Republic. May your second term be even more successful than the first, and may the nation thrive under your leadership."
"Hear, hear," murmured the crowd politely, with the loyalists more enthusiastic than the rest. Glasses clinked. Drumpf himself lifted his crystal flute of champagne and nodded, as if the toast were both obvious and well-deserved.
He couldn't resist adding to it. Rising halfway from his seat, he held up his glass and interjected, "And let's not forget—my administration's success is Columbia's success. We're in this together, and we are just getting started!" He winked at the room and took a sip as applause rang out. Champagne bubbles tickled his nose, and he suppressed a tiny burp, smiling to himself.
As people returned to their meals, a low hum of conversation resumed. At the head table, Drumpf leaned back in his chair, one arm draped casually behind Melonia's seat. He listened with half an ear as Vice President Pierce to his left started a polite conversation about the day's event.
"…truly inspiring speech, sir," Pierce said earnestly. "If I may say so, you really captured the spirit of the country's optimism."
Drumpf nodded absently, not particularly interested in small talk at that moment. His eyes roved the room, noting who was chatting with whom, who looked happy, who looked uneasy. As his gaze drifted, he caught sight of a cluster of faces at a table near the back: some opposition lawmakers were huddled together, speaking in low tones. One of them, an outspoken congresswoman who had been a thorn in Drumpf's side for years, glanced up and met his gaze. She did not smile, but held eye contact with a defiant calm before Drumpf moved his stare along.
A flicker of annoyance crossed his features. He recognized that look; it irked him that even today, some people refused to show him respect. I'll take care of that soon enough, he thought darkly. In his second term, he planned to settle scores. There were those in government who hadn't "been loyal," and he had plans to make them irrelevant or worse.
Just then, Ivana leaned in from his right, gently touching his arm. "Dad," she said softly, "Senator Riley here was just saying how excited he is to work with us on the new infrastructure initiative." She gestured gracefully to the silver-haired gentleman across from her, who indeed was a key committee chairman.
President Drumpf snapped out of his reverie and fixed a broad smile on the senator. "That's fantastic, Senator. It's going to be a beautiful project, you know. Huge. We're finally going to get those bridges and roads done right—maybe even a few new airports, why not?"
The senator bobbed his head, smiling. "Yes sir, looking forward to seeing the plan."
As Ivana smoothly facilitated this congenial exchange, she also shot her father a quick meaningful look that said "Focus". Part of her unofficial role was to keep him engaged where needed, and distracted from potential irritations—like the brooding he'd been doing a moment ago.
Drumpf winked at his daughter conspiratorially, appreciating her tact. He then turned to Melonia. "Everything good, my dear?" he asked the First Lady.
Melonia had been delicately picking at her roasted chicken entree. She gave a small, gracious nod. "Yes, of course. It is a lovely event." Her public elegance rarely faltered, though one might notice she had spoken very little all afternoon.
Donald Jr., who had been chatting boisterously a few seats down, suddenly leaned forward to catch his father's attention. "Hey Dad," he said, not quite shouting but loud enough to cut through other chatter, "how about a toast from you? The people are loving this. Give 'em one of your classics."
Some nearby guests looked toward the head table in anticipation, hearing the suggestion. Drumpf never minded having the floor. He stood up again, this time fully, and lifted his champagne glass once more. The room quieted, with all eyes turning to him.
"If I may…" Drumpf began, grinning. "I just want to say a big thank you to everyone here today, our friends, our family… everyone who helped make this victory possible." He gestured expansively, the overhead chandelier light gleaming off his golden cufflinks. "We had a tremendous campaign. Tremendous. And we're going to have an even more tremendous administration."
A smattering of laughter and cheers encouraged him to continue. "Some presidents, you know, they get re-elected and they sit back. They say, 'Okay, I've done my job, now I'll play it safe.' But not me. Not us." He looked towards his family members, giving a nod to each of his children and to the First Lady. "We're going full speed ahead. We're going to surprise a lot of people, accomplish a lot of great things. Real historic things."
At this, Ivana and Jared exchanged a knowing glance. They were aware of the broad strokes of the plan: sweeping executive actions, aggressive moves that even some in their party considered bold or reckless. It excited and concerned them in equal measure. But publicly, their faces were all pride.
Drumpf raised his glass higher. "To the United Republic of Columbia," he declared, "and to kicking off four more years of winning!"
"Cheers!" came the enthusiastic reply from the loyal crowd. Glasses clinked all around, and this time nearly everyone drank, including some of the reluctant opposition members who decided it was better to appear gracious than to stand out in dissent at that moment.
The President drank deeply from his glass, finishing the champagne in one gulp. As he sat down to applause, he felt the warm glow of both the alcohol and the adulation. This was his day, his victory. And in this moment he believed, utterly and without doubt, that he was in complete command of his fate and the nation's.
Lunch went on with more pleasantries. Dessert was a rich chocolate cake—reportedly one of Drumpf's favorites—and as it was served, a few attendees joked about not making it too rich or the President might claim it for himself. In truth, Drumpf did love the cake; he was known to call it "the best cake you've ever seen" whenever it was served at state dinners.
As forks scraped on plates and coffee was poured, Drumpf caught Halverson's eye down the table and subtly tapped his wrist, signaling it was nearly time. Halverson gave a quick nod and slipped out of the room.
Moments later, as guests were finishing their desserts, the double doors of the ballroom opened and Halverson re-entered pushing a small portable desk on wheels. On it lay a leather folder—the executive orders—and an ornate pen. Photographers who had been milling about sensed what was coming and raised their cameras.
"Ladies and gentlemen," Halverson announced somewhat meekly, "the President has a few official items to attend to before we conclude."
Conversation hushed and all eyes turned to President Drumpf. He stood, buttoning his suit jacket. "We're going to make a little history right now," he said with a broad smile. He stepped over to the portable desk as aides dutifully moved plates out of his way. "No time like the present, right?"
In truth, this was largely a staged flourish—the orders could have been signed later in the Oval Office, but Drumpf loved a show. And what better time than at the culmination of his triumphant day, in front of many of the nation's power brokers, to flex a bit of muscle?
He picked up the first document from the folder and glanced at the title, though he already knew it by heart: an executive order loosening ethics restrictions on executive branch officials. Essentially, it would make it easier to hire whom he wanted and for his appointees to have outside business entanglements—reversing some rules put in place before his first term.
"With this, we're cutting through the red tape, folks," Drumpf announced. He uncapped the pen with a small flourish and scrawled his unmistakable jagged signature across the line. Cameras clicked rapidly, capturing the image of the President wielding power.
He held up the signed document for a moment—briefly showing it as presidents often do—though few in the room could read its text from afar. To them it looked like a ceremonial act, but the substance was significant. A couple of seasoned officials in the audience traded wary glances; they understood this seemingly bureaucratic change could open doors to even more unchecked dealings.
The next order was placed before him. Drumpf signed it with equal flair—this one reassigning a large pool of federal funds to a pet infrastructure project that Congress had refused to fully fund. It was legally dubious, essentially appropriating money by decree, but he didn't mention that. "We're finally going to get it done," he said simply, as if that justified all.
Finally, a third document: an order granting his Cabinet secretaries broad exemptions from certain oversight measures. Drumpf signed it swiftly. "We're empowering our leaders to do what they need to do, without a bunch of second-guessing," he explained to the room at large.
There was polite applause after each signature, mostly from the loyalists. Others clapped sparingly, aware that something unusual was happening but unwilling to protest here and now.
In the back, one congresswoman muttered to a colleague, "So much for draining the swamp." Her compatriot responded under his breath, "He's pumping in raw sewage." They both sipped their coffee with forced smiles.
After the final signature, Drumpf capped the pen and handed it ceremoniously to Ivana, who stood by in her advisor role. She accepted it with a proud smile, knowing this too was a calculated image—passing the torch, or rather the pen, to his heir apparent in many eyes.
"Thank you, Mr. President," she said sweetly, holding the pen as if it were a historic artifact.
And with that, President Donald Drumpf beamed at the room. "Welcome to Term Two," he declared.
The luncheon concluded with that bold statement hanging in the air. Some rose to applaud, others followed out of propriety. Drumpf soaked it in one last time before exiting the ballroom with his family, surrounded by a tight cordon of Secret Service.
As they left, Melonia walked a pace behind her husband, her face unreadable. Donald Jr. and Eric practically bounced with each step, excitedly talking in low tones about how "awesome" the signing was. Ivana and Jared kept close, both of their faces set in confident, satisfied expressions.
Out in the hallway, away from most prying eyes, Drumpf let out a breath he didn't realize he'd been holding. The big day was nearly over, and by all measures, it had been a grand success for him. But rather than feeling like resting, he felt energized. He looked at his children and his wife, and then beyond them as aides and Secret Service bustled around. Lowering his voice so only they could hear, he said, "Alright, team. That was a good warm-up. Now the real fun begins."
Ivana's smile widened slightly and she gave a small nod. Donald Jr. rubbed his hands together in anticipation. Eric exclaimed under his breath, "Let's do this."
Melonia simply smoothed a stray hair back into place and managed a small smile that could have meant anything.
As they moved towards the motorcade that would take them to the next inaugural event—a parade review stand, then later the inaugural balls—President Drumpf felt a surge of what could only be described as glee. He was back, for four more years. Surrounded by his kin and loyalists, unencumbered by reelection concerns, he was ready to push every limit, break every norm that dared stand in his way. The future, for the moment, belonged to Drumpf.
And so, the second term of President Donald J. Drumpf began: with pomp, pride, and a promise—at least in Drumpf's own mind—that the best was yet to come, especially for himself. What lay ahead, nobody in that jubilant corridor could fully predict. But one thing was certain: the United Republic of Columbia was in for a ride even wilder than the last. And the Drumpf family, flush with victory and ambition, was more than ready to take the wheel and floor the gas.
Chapter 2: Family Business
The sun rose on the first full day of Drumpf's second term, casting a pale winter light over the White House. Inside the Oval Office, a select group had gathered for an early strategy session. President Donald Drumpf sat behind the Resolute Desk, leaning back in his leather chair like a CEO at the head of a conference table. Arrayed before him were several top officials—and, conspicuously, two of his children.
Ivana Drumpf perched elegantly on one of the chairs typically reserved for cabinet secretaries. Dressed in a tailored cream-colored suit, she looked every bit the part of a high-powered presidential advisor, which, in fact, she was. Next to her slouched Donald Drumpf Jr., who eschewed formal suits in favor of a sporty blazer and no-tie look that he imagined conveyed both power and casual confidence. To one side stood Jared Kushman, tablet in hand, ready to chime in with data or solutions as needed. Eric Drumpf was absent this morning—officially, he was tending to "business matters," which usually meant sleeping in after a late night of celebrating.
Also present were Chief of Staff Reince Halverson and National Security Advisor General Clayton, along with a few other senior aides who had learned to arrive promptly whenever the President summoned them. A couple of them exchanged glances at the sight of the President's family occupying key seats, but none dared say anything. By now, they were used to the fact that in Drumpf's world, family members were as powerful as—if not more than—any cabinet secretary or general.
President Drumpf sipped Diet Thunder Cola (the diet soda he preferred now, after a trademark dispute prevented him from stocking Diet Coke) from a crystal glass and cleared his throat. "Alright," he began, "I want to talk about our priorities. We've got a lot to do. Big plans, folks. Huge."
Halverson nodded dutifully and opened a notebook. General Clayton folded his hands behind his back, military-style, and listened attentively, though his jaw tightened slightly at the casual atmosphere. The General was a career officer who believed in clear chains of command and couldn't help but bristle at the irregular presence of unelected participants.
President Drumpf gestured broadly. "First off, we need to follow up on those executive orders from yesterday. Reince, you're on that, right?"
"Yes, sir," Halverson replied. "They've been filed and transmitted to the relevant departments." He hesitated. "Though, sir, I should mention there's already some pushback on the ethics rules changes. The Office of Government Ethics is requesting a… clarification on how these changes align with existing law."
Drumpf rolled his eyes dramatically. "The Office of Government Ethics," he repeated in a mocking tone. "Bureaucrats. Pencil-pushers. Tell them the people voted and this is what they want." He waved a hand as if swatting away a fly. "If they have a problem, they can come see me. I'll give them a clarification they won't forget."
Ivana crossed her legs and leaned forward. "I can handle that, Dad," she offered smoothly. "We expected some blowback. I'll have our legal team draft a response to OGE explaining the executive order's legality and necessity. It will emphasize that greater flexibility is needed to attract the best talent."
General Clayton raised an eyebrow at the phrase "best talent" but remained silent for now.
Drumpf snapped his fingers approvingly. "Exactly. That's why you're here, honey. You know how to talk their language." He looked around the room. "Ivana's got a law degree. She's an expert, okay? Top of her class." (This wasn't precisely true; Ivana had been an above-average student, but certainly not top of her class.) "If she says it's needed, it's needed."
"Yes, sir," Halverson said, jotting a note. He made a mental note to involve the White House Counsel's office—assuming there were any lawyers left there not pulling their hair out over the latest orders.
"Now, on to real business," Drumpf continued. "Infrastructure, our big bill. We're gonna get it through this time." He looked to the General and Halverson. "We have a list of projects, right? Roads, bridges, that whole thing?"
Halverson nodded. "Yes, Mr. President. The staff has updated the list from last year's proposal."
Before he could continue, Donald Jr. interjected, "We should definitely include that coastal highway project. Would be huge for tourism, especially near our resort in Palm Bay." He grinned, then quickly added, "And great for the locals, of course."
Halverson coughed lightly. "The Palm Bay highway expansion is indeed on the list," he said diplomatically, not touching the comment about the resort.
General Clayton couldn't help himself. Clearing his throat, he said in a measured tone, "Mr. President, pardon me, but should we be discussing specific projects with, ah, private interests in mind?" Though he phrased it carefully, the implication was clear: the General was uneasy about blending policy with the Drumpf family's business benefits, especially in front of the President's son who had no official governmental role.
The Oval Office went momentarily silent. Ivana's smile tightened just a fraction. Jared looked up from his tablet, eyes flicking between the President and the General. Donald Jr.'s grin faded into a scowl as he realized he was being indirectly criticized.
President Drumpf set down his glass of Diet Thunder Cola. His gaze fixed on General Clayton, and a shadow of displeasure crossed his face. "General, Don is here because I invited him. He's got a good eye for business, okay? Real estate, development, the guy knows what makes a project work."
General Clayton held his ground. "Sir, of course. I only meant that typically these planning discussions are kept within official channels to avoid any—"
"Any what, General?" Drumpf's tone sharpened. "Conflicts of interest?" He leaned forward, placing both palms on the desk. "Let me tell you something: this whole notion of conflict of interest—" he made air quotes with his fingers "—is a nonsense concept invented by people who don't know how to get things done. I trust my family. They want what's best for me and for the country. If my son thinks a highway at Palm Bay is a good idea, maybe it's because it is a good idea."
Donald Jr. crossed his arms and shot Clayton a triumphant look. Ivana maintained a diplomatic smile, but her eyes were icy as she regarded the General. Jared pursed his lips, preferring not to speak but clearly siding with the President.
Halverson went pale, staring fixedly at his notebook as if hoping to disappear into it. He had witnessed scenes like this before—an official voicing mild dissent and the President pouncing. It never ended well for the dissenter.
General Clayton realized he had stepped onto thin ice. He stiffened to attention. "Mr. President, I meant no disrespect. I'm only concerned about optics and keeping our processes smooth."
Drumpf reclined slightly, not fully mollified. "Optics, schmoptics. I won the election bigly, General. The people know who I am and how I operate. They want me to run this like a well-oiled machine, not like some kind of think tank. And guess what? My family is a part of that machine. A very important part." He pointed a finger at Clayton. "You worry about national security, which you're great at. I'll worry about running the country and who should be in the room. Got it?"
A tense pause. Then Clayton, red creeping up his neck, inclined his head. "Yes, sir. Understood." His voice was clipped, the words forced out through a clenched jaw.
Drumpf flashed a winning smile as if the matter were now settled pleasantly. "Fantastic. See, wasn't that easy?" He looked around. "Anyone else got a problem with my family helping out?"
The room was silent save for the faint hum of the ventilation. A couple of aides shook their heads vigorously.
"Good," Drumpf said. "Now, where were we? Infrastructure." He tapped the desk, and Halverson jumped back into his summary, trying to ignore the lingering tension.
They spent the next twenty minutes reviewing broad strokes of the infrastructure plan. Ivana chimed in on messaging, suggesting they brand it the "Freedom Infrastructure Initiative" for better public appeal. Jared provided a few statistics pulled up on his tablet about job creation. Donald Jr. brought up a couple more project ideas—each conveniently near properties the family owned—such as a new airport terminal he insisted would be "great for the economy" in a city where Drumpf Industries had a golf club.
General Clayton contributed only when the conversation touched on ports and cyber infrastructure, areas that intersected with security. Even then, his tone was subdued. He clearly understood that any second challenge could cost him his seat at the table entirely.
When the discussion wrapped up, Drumpf clapped his hands together. "Excellent work, everyone. This is what I like—brainstorming with smart people I trust." He looked pointedly at Clayton, as if to re-emphasize trust.
"Yes, thank you team," Ivana added, ever polished. "We'll refine these ideas and then coordinate with the legislative team to get a bill ready."
People began to shuffle to their feet. The meeting was effectively over. As aides gathered their papers and tablets, President Drumpf beckoned Ivana and Donald Jr. to stay behind. He also gestured for Jared to remain.
Halverson quickly exited, not wanting to intrude on what was clearly a family huddle. General Clayton left as well, his face neutral but his mind likely racing. He had received the message loud and clear: the Drumpf family was untouchable. As the heavy Oval Office doors shut behind the last staffer, the atmosphere in the room relaxed.
Drumpf rose from his chair and walked around the desk to join his children. "Take a seat, kids," he said, motioning to the couches in the seating area of the Oval Office. Ivana and Jared settled together on one sofa, while Donald Jr. plopped down on the opposite couch, casually resting an ankle on his knee.
The President himself remained standing for a moment, gazing out the window that overlooked the Rose Garden. Winter-bare branches of the trees swayed gently outside. He turned back to them, a broad grin on his face. "So, how do you like the first day of school, huh?" he joked.
Ivana laughed softly. "We've been here before, Dad. But it's different now."
"Yeah," added Donald Jr., "now it's like senior year. No worries about another election. We can do, well, pretty much anything." There was a gleam of excitement in his eyes that made him look boyish despite the flecks of gray in his beard.
"Exactly," Drumpf said, looking pleased. "I wanted to have a quick chat while we're alone. We're going to be doing a lot together, and I want to make sure we're on the same page about how we operate." He sat down next to Jr. on the couch, leaning forward with elbows on knees, an unusually earnest posture for him.
"Family first," he said, lowering his voice slightly even though no one else was in the room. "That's the rule. I trust you more than any of those other people. You know that."
Ivana nodded, her expression warm. Jared gave a little nod as well, though he maintained a thoughtful silence.
Drumpf continued, "In the first term, we had to tip-toe around a lot of nonsense. Ethics lawyers, investigations, fake scandals about conflicts… All that junk. This time, it's going to be different. We're cleaning house. Anyone not with us is out. And I'm bringing you all even closer."
Donald Jr. could hardly contain his excitement. "So does that mean… titles?" he asked eagerly. "I mean, I've always been happy to help from the outside, but if you want me in an official capacity…" He trailed off, letting the implication hang. He had longed for an important-sounding role, something beyond being the campaign rabble-rouser and executive vice president of Drumpf Industries.
Drumpf chuckled. "Don, you like titles, don't you?"
Jr. grinned. "Well, you know, it helps. People take you more seriously if you have one."
Ivana interjected smoothly, "We just have to be mindful of not overwhelming the public with too many appointments at once. But I agree we should formalize roles." She turned to her father. "What did you have in mind, Dad?"
Drumpf pointed to Ivana and Jared. "You two are already senior advisors. That continues. In fact, Ivana, I want you to take on even more. How'd you like to be in charge of a major initiative? Say, revamping the country's job training programs? Something big and visible."
Ivana's eyes lit up. "I'd love to, of course. We could call it the Columbia Workforce Empowerment Initiative. I've done some work in that space before—women's entrepreneurship and job creation. We could expand on that."
"Perfect," Drumpf said. "Make it happen. Announce something soon, big splash. Press will love it." He then turned to Jared. "And you, Jared—how's the Middle East peace coming?"
Jared cleared his throat softly. He had been tasked with negotiating a comprehensive Middle East peace plan in the first term, an assignment many laughed at. He did come up with a proposal that mostly went nowhere, but it was enough to tout as an accomplishment. "We've made some progress, sir. Certain bilateral agreements, you remember… But if you're asking if I'd like to continue…"
Drumpf waved a hand. "Yeah, yeah, keep that. But I also have a new job for you. We're going to start a special Office of American Innovation or something like that again, but bigger. Technology, infrastructure, healthcare—whatever. I want you to lead it. Essentially, you'll be my point man to shake up the agencies, bring in outside ideas, cut waste. All that."
Jared nodded, hiding any surprise. "Of course. I'll start outlining a plan. There are a lot of private sector partners interested in working with the government on such initiatives."
Privately, Jared was pleased; this broad mandate meant he could dip his fingers into any pie that interested him and claim credit for successes across the administration. The possibilities for both policy influence and, potentially, personal connections and benefits were vast.
"Good. Now, Don," Drumpf said, patting his son's knee. "How about a role for you?"
Donald Jr. straightened up, trying to look composed and not like an overexcited kid. "Whatever you need, Dad. I'm all in."
"I was thinking," the President mused, "we need someone to interface with the grassroots supporters and, also, maybe coordinate with our friends in Congress for when they need some arm-twisting. Kind of an outside-inside guy. You've been great on the outside; maybe it's time you had a formal title like… hmm… Special Representative for the Base, or maybe Chairman of some Presidential Advisory Board on Second Amendment and Rural Affairs or something."
Jr. blinked. The title was wordy and not clearly a traditional position, but it sounded important enough and would give him license to travel, speak, and throw his weight around on behalf of the administration. "That sounds awesome. I could rally the troops for any legislative fights, keep our people engaged. And with a title, I can go on TV more as part of the administration, not just as, you know, your son."
Drumpf laughed. "You'll always be my son, but yeah, this way you're official. We'll get something drawn up. Maybe just an Executive Order creating the position. The media will howl, but when don't they?"
At this, all four of them chuckled. It was them against the media and "the swamp," as always.
Ivana tapped her father's hand. "What about Eric?" she asked gently. "Do we have something for him, or is he happier staying full-time with the business?"
Donald Jr. smirked slightly; he and Ivana both knew that their younger brother was not as politically astute or ambitious, but he also got jealous if left out entirely. Jr. was thinking perhaps it was best to keep Eric occupied with the company to avoid any gaffes in government work.
Drumpf shrugged. "Eric's doing great running Drumpf Industries day-to-day. That's important too—someone's got to mind the store, right? But maybe we can have him head up one of those business advisory councils. You know, the kind that meets occasionally, gives recommendations on the economy or manufacturing."
Ivana nodded diplomatically. "That could work. It gives him a role without taking him away from the business."
"And he'll love it," Drumpf added. "He can go tour factories and do photo-ops about creating jobs or something. It'll make him feel involved."
Donald Jr. and Ivana exchanged amused glances; they both understood what their father meant: keep Eric busy but out of anything too critical. It was an unspoken family dynamic.
Jared, who had been quiet during the discussion of Eric, chimed in now, perhaps to move things along. "We should coordinate the announcements of these roles carefully. Perhaps stagger them over a week or two so it's not just one big 'Drumpf family takes over government' news cycle."
Drumpf waved off the concern. "Eh, either way the media will spin it like that. But that's okay. Our supporters love this, you know. They love that we're a family working together. It's like a… a dynasty, like kings and queens of old."
He meant it as a positive, though any historian would cringe. Ivana gave a tolerant smile—publicly she'd avoid such monarchic comparisons, but in private she didn't mind the imagery.
Donald Jr. liked it outright. "Damn right, a dynasty. They've had their political families like the Kennedys or whatever. We're the Drumpfs." He puffed his chest slightly.
Jared then suggested, "Perhaps we could even use the family angle to our advantage. For instance, Ivana could lead a delegation to an international summit as the First Daughter, which has a nice ring to it, while also being a senior advisor. And Don can headline some rallies not just as a campaign surrogate but as an official representative of the administration's outreach. It blurs the lines in our favor."
Ivana tilted her head. "There is a G20 meeting in a few months. Traditionally, it's just heads of state and foreign ministers. But maybe I could attend some side events on entrepreneurship or something."
Drumpf snapped his fingers. "Absolutely. We'll make it happen. Those other countries, they'll be impressed to see a successful businesswoman, who's also my daughter, representing Columbia. It's a double win."
General Clayton's hypothetical concerns about nepotism were clearly the last thing on their minds now. The Drumpf family meeting was brimming with excitement for their expanded roles.
A knock on the door interrupted them. It was an aide letting the President know that the press pool was gathering for a scheduled briefing and that a certain Senator was waiting to speak with him.
"Time to wrap up," Drumpf said. He stood, buttoning his suit jacket. "We're going to have an amazing term, folks. And remember, family and loyalty—that's what got us here."
He placed his hands on Ivana and Donald Jr.'s shoulders affectionately. "This is going to be great. I couldn't ask for a better team. Trust me, no other president has ever had this kind of talent right in the family."
Ivana gave him a peck on the cheek. "We won't let you down, Dad."
"You'd better not," he joked, wagging a finger, then pulling her into a quick side hug. He then gave Donald Jr. a quick hug as well, and clapped Jared on the back. It was an unusually tender moment from a man not known for displays of affection, perhaps spurred by the headiness of victory and this private alliance.
As they all headed out of the Oval Office, the mood was upbeat. Ivana and Jared went off to draft plans for their new assignments. Donald Jr. practically bounced down the hallway, already composing tweets in his head about his new patriotic mission.
Drumpf, for his part, walked toward a gaggle of waiting reporters for an unrelated announcement about an upcoming summit. As he approached the press, a journalist called out, "Mr. President, there are reports you plan to appoint your son to an official position. Can you comment?"
Drumpf gave a shark-like grin and said, "I'll be announcing some great new additions to our team soon. You'll hear about it. We have the best people joining us—truly the best. And you know what? They've been by my side all along." There was a twinkle in his eye as he emphasized the last part, but he took no further questions on that and launched into his prepared statement about the summit.
Later that week, headlines would indeed read things like "Drumpf Son to Take Official Role in White House Outreach" and "First Daughter Ivana Drumpf to Lead Workforce Initiative". Predictably, critics howled about nepotism and government turning into a family business. The editorial pages of major papers decried the move: "This is exactly why nepotism laws exist," one wrote. Another quipped, "The United Republic of Columbia or the United Republic of Drumpf?" Late-night comedians had a field day, joking that Thanksgiving dinner could double as a Cabinet meeting.
Within the White House, however, it was business as usual—family business. The new arrangements were met with resignation or quiet enthusiasm depending on whom you asked. Senior officials who had hoped to hold more sway realized that they might always be second-fiddle to one of the Drumpfs if interests clashed. More pragmatic aides started cozying up to Ivana and Donald Jr., recognizing where the real power flowed.
One afternoon, Chief of Staff Halverson found himself briefing Ivana on a matter before even informing the relevant department secretary. It felt strange, but it was what the President wanted. And Halverson valued his job enough to adapt. In another instance, a foreign ambassador who needed a favor bypassed the State Department and instead arranged a lunch with Jared Kushman, knowing that was likely a more direct line to getting Drumpf's ear.
Even the Secret Service adjusted: new code names were issued reflecting the elevated status of the adult Drumpf children since they would be traveling and working more in an official capacity. Ivana, already code-named "Swan" from the first term, got a renewed detail. Donald Jr. was given the code name "Mountaineer" (a nod to his hobby of hunting and outdoorsmanship) as he prepared to crisscross the country on behalf of the administration.
In the coming weeks, the lines between the government and the Drumpf Organization blurred further. A few eagle-eyed observers noticed that whenever the President visited a city for an infrastructure project announcement, somehow a property owned by his company was nearby and benefitted from the improved roads or new airport routes. If someone pointed this out to Donald Jr., he'd grin and say, "Total coincidence, but hey, what's good for the country can be good for business too, right?"
Ivana, on a trip to an international conference, was introduced not only as a White House advisor but also gently mentioned her background as an executive in the Drumpf Organization. Foreign dignitaries, eager to curry favor, discussed potential business opportunities alongside policy in meetings with her.
Within the West Wing, staffers jokingly (and quietly) started referring to certain policy initiatives by nicknames like "Operation Golden Goose," hinting at how many golden eggs the family might be collecting as policies bent toward their interests. One junior aide in the communications office quipped in private that the White House switchboard should answer with "Drumpf Enterprises, government division, how may I direct your call?" It was dark humor that made the rounds in whispers—everyone knew better than to let it reach the ears of the inner circle.
For his part, President Drumpf felt vindicated. All his life he had run his company as a family affair, trusting only blood and a handful of loyalists. Now he was running the country the same way, and despite the backlash, his approval among his core supporters remained rock solid. They loved seeing the photogenic Ivana in meetings with foreign leaders ("classing up the joint," as one radio host put it), and they cheered when Donald Jr. roared into their towns in a government jet to rally them for the President's agenda. They had voted not just for a man but for the idea of a larger-than-life First Family, and that's what they were getting.
One evening, a couple of weeks into the term, the Drumpf family gathered for a private dinner in the residence quarters of the White House. It was a rare moment with just the family—no aides, no cameras. Steaks (well-done, as the President liked) were on the menu, accompanied by ketchup and high-end wine from a vineyard owned by a Drumpf-friendly billionaire.
Donald Jr. regaled everyone with a story of his recent trip to a rural town where he'd gone to push the infrastructure plan. "They had a banner: 'Thank You President Drumpf and Don Jr.' Can you believe it? I mean, I'm not elected or anything, but they treated me like a king!" he said, cutting into his steak. "We had such a crowd, Dad. One of the locals even called me 'Mini-Drumpf' on the microphone." He laughed, clearly flattered.
President Drumpf smirked. "Mini-Drumpf, I like that. Keep up the good work, son."
Ivana mentioned an upcoming delegation she was leading to Europe for economic talks and how ministers there were scrambling to secure bilateral meetings with her. "They figure getting in my good graces might help with you, Dad," she said, sipping her wine. "And they're not wrong."
Melonia, who had been listening quietly, finally spoke in her soft, accented voice. "It's good you all help him. Family should be together. Just be careful, yes? The press, they like to attack such things." She offered a faint smile. Melonia largely kept out of policy or business talk, but as First Lady she was not oblivious to the noise outside.
"Oh, the press," Drumpf waved a hand. "They've been out to get us from day one. Nothing new. But they've got no power compared to us now. People see through them." He speared a tomato off his salad. "Besides, the more they whine about nepotism, the more our base says 'Hey, that means he's sticking with who he trusts rather than the snakes.' It actually works in our favor."
Jared added, in his mild tone, "Public trust in media is indeed very low. And our narrative that the family has sacrificed a lot to serve the country resonates with many folks."
Ivana smiled at her husband. "Exactly. We emphasize how we didn't have to do this, how we stepped away from business day-to-day to help the nation. It plays well if we message it right."
President Drumpf looked around the table at his family. This was his empire. The United Republic of Columbia was under his leadership, but also under their influence. He felt a swell of pride—or perhaps self-satisfaction. "We're making history, you know," he said, leaning back. "Never been done like this before. Washington, Jefferson, those guys… they didn't know how to use family. Losers," he joked, prompting chuckles.
Eric, mouth full of mashed potatoes, added cheerfully, "To the Drumpf dynasty!" raising his glass of soda. Everyone raised their glasses—wine, soda, whatever they had.
"To the Drumpf dynasty," Donald Jr. echoed, eyes gleaming.
Glasses clinked. Melonia raised hers a beat late, adding a quieter, "To family."
As they drank, an observer might find the scene almost wholesome—if that observer didn't know the broader context. Here was a close-knit family, celebrating each other's roles in a common endeavor. The dark comedy, of course, was that their common endeavor was the running of a nation as though it were an extension of their private enterprise.
By the end of that evening, President Drumpf retreated to his bedroom, content. He had once famously said, "I alone can fix it," about the nation's problems. Now, it was more like "We, the family, can fix it—and benefit from it."
And so the pattern for the second term was set: decisions often made around dining tables or in the cushy confines of the family quarters rather than in formal Situation Rooms; key advisors sharing DNA with the Commander-in-Chief; state and personal interests entwined like the red and white stripes on the flag. The critics could howl at the moon, but the Drumpfs were in charge. And they were intent on showing that for them, at least, family and power were not separate concepts at all.
In the halls of the White House, an old portrait of a past President seemed to gaze down quizzically at the new order of things. But down on the ground floor, in the gift shop, a hot item was flying off shelves: a novelty T-shirt with cartoon caricatures of the Drumpf family under the slogan "Team Drumpf: Family First." Tourists bought them eagerly, some ironically, many earnestly.
Family first, indeed. For better or worse, the United Republic of Columbia was now a family business. And business was booming.