94 OCTOBER 2019 THE ATLANTIC
empty month after month, and socially conscious
condo owners called for the Trump name to be
scraped off their buildings.
Meanwhile, at Mar-a-Lago, patrons whispered
that “the boys” were draining the club of its class with
cost-cutting measures after numerous charities can-
celed functions there. When a rumor went forth that
Eric had ordered lower-quality steaks to be served
at the restaurant, members erupted in outrage: His
father never would have allowed this.
Eric blamed the Trump Organization’s setbacks
on partisan politics. “We live in a climate where
everything will be used against us,” he told The Wash-
ington Post. But within the president’s orbit, there was
a growing sense that his sons were driving the com-
pany into the ground.
Trump, who’d pledged to recuse himself from busi-
ness decisions, relied on golf buddies to update him on
the company during his weekend trips to Florida. Their
reviews seemed to confirm his worst fears. Before
launching his campaign, he’d fretted that his kids
weren’t ready to take over the business. Now, with Don
MIA and Eric flailing, he became preoccupied with
what would be left of his company when he returned
to it. According to a former White House aide, Trump
talked about the issue so often that administration offi-
cials worried he would get himself in trouble trying to
run the Trump Organization from the Oval Office.
But as the 2020 campaign season entered its early
stages, even Eric turned his attention toward politics.
His wife, Lara—a conservative activist from North
Carolina— was an outspoken surrogate for Trump.
Eric had been holding back, worried that his father
would disapprove; after all, someone needed to mind
the shop. But the president encour aged Eric to join
his siblings in the fray. There would be plenty of ways
to cash in later. This was the family business now.
VII.
Watching Trump’s children appear on Fox News, one
gets the sense that they’re still auditioning for their
father’s affection. Ivanka speaks in dulcet tones about
how proud, so proud, she is of her dad. Don bashes
the “fake-news media” with performative force. Eric,
the least camera-ready of the three, clings to talking
points, lavishing praise on Trump whenever he gets
stuck. (In an interview earlier this year, Eric repeated
variations of “He’s the greatest guy in the world”
in such reverential tones that even Sean Hannity
seemed un comfortable with the obsequiousness.)
Trump watches these segments from the West Wing and offers a running
commentary to whoever is around, according to a former aide. His attitude
toward each of his adult children on any given day is shaped by how they are
playing on cable news. Ivanka tends to draw rave reviews, while Don’s are
more mixed, with the president muttering things like “Why did he say that?”
and “He doesn’t know what he’s doing.” Recently, though, his perspective
on his two oldest children seems to have shifted.
In June, Ivanka accompanied her father to Osaka, Japan, for the G20
summit. After the meetings, the French government posted a video clip
that showed the president’s daughter standing amid a gaggle of side- eyeing
world leaders as she tried awkwardly to force her way into the conversa-
tion. The clip went viral, spawning a hashtag—#UnwantedIvanka—and
a wave of parody Photoshops inserting her into great moments in his-
tory: mugging for the camera at the March on Washington, grinning next
to Winston Churchill at Yalta. News outlets around the world covered
the snub. Pundits called it a damning indictment of Trump’s nepotism,
while foreign- policy experts argued that Ivanka’s lack of credibility could
harm U.S. diplomacy. A quote from an anonymous Indian diplomat recir-
culated in the media: “We regard Ivanka Trump the way we do half-wit
Saudi princes.”
The episode laid bare the depth of Ivanka’s miscalculation. She had
thought when her father took office that the surest path to power and status
was to plant herself in the West Wing and mingle with the global elite. But
after two and a half years of trying to burnish her credentials as a geo political
player, Ivanka had become an international punch line. There was, it turned
out, no market for a genteel brand of Trumpism.
Don, meanwhile, threw himself into his father’s reelection campaign,
while quietly plotting his own future. According to Repub licans familiar
with the discussions, he considered running for office somewhere in the
Mountain West, where his love of guns and hunting could help woo voters.
A privately commissioned poll in Montana—passed around enthusiastically
among Don’s inner circle—showed that 75 percent of the state’s Republicans
viewed him favorably. In April, it was announced that Guilfoyle would join
the Trump campaign as a senior adviser.
While Don mulled his options, some allies talked him up as a potential
chairman of the Republican National Committee. Others suggested he
launch a right-wing political outfit that would allow him to hold rallies and
bestow endorsements. The word kingmaker started getting tossed around.
Even the president began to appreciate his son’s political value. During
a family gathering at the White House, Trump was overheard questioning
Don about whether he’d been using the company plane while shirking his
day job. A Republican senator in the room intervened to say that without
Don’s work on the campaign trail, the party might not have kept its Senate
majority. Trump seemed pleased: “I believe it.”
On a steamy June evening, Trump officially launched his bid for re election
with a raucous rally in Orlando. This time, Ivanka and Jared sat in the audi-
ence, while Don—the president’s most skilled warm-up act— strutted across
the stage to fervid applause. Bellowing into the microphone until his voice
went ragged, he crowed about “crushing the bastards of ISIS” and made fun
of Joe Biden for “groping” women. As he neared the end of his speech, Don
lifted his arms in the air as if conducting an orchestra, and the arena erupted
in chants of “Four more years!”
In that moment, there was little question what the future of the
Trump family would look like. After a century and a half of striving,
they had money, and fame, and unparalleled power. But respectability
would remain as distant a mirage as it was when Friedrich was chasing
it across the Yukon. While no one knew when Donald Trump would exit
the White House, it was clear what he would leave behind when he did:
an angry, paranoid scrap of the country eager to buy what he was hawking—
and an heir who knew how to keep the con alive.McKay Coppins is a staff writer at The Atlantic.