The early fall rain had started as the cars began to line up at the White House rear entry. Within ten minutes, twenty of the Trump loyalists were gathered in the Oval Office. Building staff were not present, but an ample bar had been laid out in the rear corner.
“Well done, Mr. President!” said Russell Vought, principle author of Project 2025 and now holder of the keys to the Office of Management and Budget.
“It was a nice playbook to follow, Russ. I laughed every time someone accused me of using it; they were so easy to steer off course.” President Trump finished with a “ha!”
“Yes, remarkable execution, Donald,” said John Thune, Republican leader of the U.S. Senate.
“John, it’s Mr. President,” said the president, curtly.
“Gentlemen, I have a surprise guest for you: the person who made all this possible, besides me, of course!” A round of laughter slowed the president, who continued. “I give you the judge I appointed who successfully delayed, dodged, and distracted prosecutors in my classified documents case. Come on in!” he shouted toward the hallway. In walked Aileen Cannon to boisterous applause.
Trump gave her a hug. Waving to the luxurious surroundings, he said, “Without Aileen, ‘my office’ would have been a lot smaller!” Another round of laughter and applause burst forth.
“Well, that was my job, sir: to keep you out of trouble!”
“I think Aileen should be the next Supreme Court judge. What do you say, gents?”
The room erupted in approval. Stephen Miller, Deputy Chief of Staff and architect of the administration’s deportation policy, emerged from the corner, scotch in hand. “I’ve already drafted the talking points, Mr. President. ‘Judicial courage,’ ‘constitutional fidelity,’ and my personal favorite, ‘protecting presidential prerogatives.'”
“Beautiful, Stephen. Just beautiful.” Trump turned to the room. “You know what I realized? The first insurrection failed because we asked. We pleaded. We gave them a choice.” He paused for effect. “This time, we just did it. We didn’t storm anything. We walked through the front door.”
Kash Patel, new Director of the FBI, raised his glass. “To Schedule F and the complete overhaul of the federal workforce. Thirty-five thousand civil servants reclassified in the first month alone.”
“Forty-two thousand now,” Vought corrected with pride. “Every regulatory agency, every inspector general office, every corner where those little bureaucrats thought they could hide behind ‘expertise’ and ‘institutional knowledge.'” He made air quotes with his fingers, drawing chuckles.
Mike Johnson, Speaker of the House, had been quiet until now. “The Impoundment Control Act repeal was genius, Mr. President. Congress appropriates the money, you decide whether to spend it. The Founders would have approved.”
“The Founders didn’t have a deep state to contend with, Mike.” Trump moved to the bar and poured himself a Diet Coke. “But you know what really worked? The emergency declarations. A banking crisis here, a border surge there, an infrastructure emergency everywhere. Turns out you can do almost anything with an emergency.”
Tom Cotton, Junior Senator from Arkansas and Chairman of the Senate Intelligence Committee, leand forward. “The three-hundred-fifty detention facilities are operational, Mr. President. ICE is reporting capacity for two million.”
“Two million!” Trump’s eyes widened with genuine delight. “That’s what I call efficiency. And the press? What are they saying?”
“They’re busy arguing about whether to call them ‘detention centers’ or ‘processing facilities,'” Miller said with a thin smile. “By the time they settle on the right terminology, we’ll be at five million.”
Vice President JD Vance cleared his throat. “Sir, there’s still some resistance in the military. The Joint Chiefs—”
“Are temporary,” Trump interrupted. “I’ve got my list. Don’t worry about the military. When you control the promotions, you control the military. It just takes a little time.”
Cannon, who had been listening quietly, spoke up: “May I say something, Mr. President?”
“Of course, Your future Honor.” The room chuckled.
“When I dismissed those cases, the legal community said I was destroying the rule of law. But I understood something they didn’t: the rule of law only works if people believe in it. And you’ve shown us that belief is optional. Consequences are for people who accept them.”
The room fell silent for a moment, the only sound the rain pattering against the windows.
“Aileen gets it,” Trump said softly. “The Constitution is beautiful, folks. Beautiful. But it’s not a suicide pact. It’s not a… what do they call it, Russ?”
“A democracy, sir.”
“Right! It’s not a democracy. It’s a republic. And in a republic, someone has to be in charge. Someone has to make the tough decisions. Someone has to protect the people from themselves.”
Vought raised his glass again. “To the unitary executive.”
“To the unitary executive,” the room echoed.
Outside, the rain intensified. Lightning flashed across the National Mall, briefly illuminating the Washington Monument before darkness returned. Inside, the celebration continued, glasses clinking, voices rising in triumph.
No one noticed the young staffer in the hallway, the one who hadn’t been dismissed, the one who’d been asked to stay late to “handle the bar service.” She stood frozen, phone in her trembling hand, recording app running. She’d been recording for twenty minutes.
But as she looked at her phone, then at the almost closed door, then at the armed Secret Service agent at the end of the hall, she realized what Cannon had said was true.
Consequences are for people who accept them.
She stopped the recording. Deleted it. Put her phone away. And went to fetch more ice.
The second insurrection had succeeded because there was no insurrection at all. Just a meeting. Just some drinks. Just some men in suits, using the words written in old books, following the rules right up until the moment the rules no longer mattered.
And when it’s all legal, when it’s all by the book, when every executive order is signed and every procedure followed, who’s left to say no?
By the time anyone thought to ask that question, the answer was already clear: no one who had the power to do so. And everyone else had learned to fetch the ice.
Draft and direction by James Chandler. Finished piece by Claude AI.