— 4 — The Setup

Imagine if your close friend suddenly, unexpectedly, became one of the most powerful, influential women in the whole world. What could she, and you, do from atop that mile-high platform? End violence against women? Fight hunger? Promote literacy? Melania was in a position to do something incredible. I was awed by the possibilities.

So, what was the problem?

Her husband, Donald Trump, was the problem.

Melania was automatically an extension of him. She had never really established her own identity, and—no fault to her—she was just fine being Mrs. Trump. But now she was going to be First Lady, and “just fine” wasn’t going to cut it. She’d need an identity makeover.

She knew this truth and she needed someone to help get her there. I was the person she asked to join her on this journey. She knew I was loyal, to a fault, and that I had no ulterior motive other than to do everything in my power to help her succeed.

No Big Deal

We’d been texting, and she knew how excited I was for her, but I couldn’t wait to tell her in person. She invited me to visit her at home in Trump Tower, just two days after the election. Whenever I hung out with her in the penthouse, I entered the building from the residence side entrance on Fifty-Sixth Street between Fifth and Madison. I only used the main entrance to Trump Tower, on 725 Fifth Avenue, when I was meeting someone else from the family, for business.

I assumed the lobby would be swarming with Secret Service. Not a one! On the way up to the penthouse, the elevator operator and I chatted about election night. He was animated, smiling and laughing. I’d been riding the high for days, buoyed by the win.

As soon as I stepped off the elevator, I was greeted by a security man and his magic wand. After a quick screening, he waved me through. I walked up to the penthouse’s gold-and-diamond front door and rang the doorbell. Daga, the housekeeper, was always there to greet me, and she smiled and said, “Good to see you. Mrs. Trump will be right down.”

I walked into Melania’s living room as I’d done many times before, my heels drumming on the marble floor, the gold spiral staircase glinting in the sunlight from the floor-to-ceiling windows. I sat on the couch and waited. I always waited. I’d just assumed Melania enjoyed making her grand entrance, or else why wouldn’t she already be downstairs, knowing I was on my way up?

Melania descended the stairs. She looked perfect in a sweater and brown leather pants, not a hair out of place, as if it were just another day in her life, another afternoon catch-up with a friend. From my perspective, the disconnect between what had happened in her life and how she was acting caused a glitch in my brain. Donald had won, and Melania was going to be First Lady, right? It had happened, right? This wasn’t some parallel dimension where Melania was just First Lady of Trump Tower?

She greeted me with her perfect smile. I made a mental note to go see her dentist.

We hugged and kissed. I was giddy. “You’re First Lady! I want to hear everything!” I said.

She laughed but waved it away as if it were no big deal.

I remember thinking, How do you even begin? The magnitude of her new role was overwhelming, but she seemed unfazed.

We talked about what a future move to DC would entail, how busy she was.

“When do you move to Washington?” I asked.

“I’m not doing that yet.”

What? “What do you mean?! You have to!”

“I’m not going to just get up and go.” Brush of the hands, that’s that. Melania had spoken. “I’ll go,” she conceded. “But not until Barron is done with school.”

“How’s Barron taking all this?” I asked.

It seemed like just yesterday Melania had told me that Barron had worn a suit and tie to school. He was dressing “just like his dad.” The other kids laughed at him. Melania had told him, “Don’t listen to any of them. Be strong.”

She said Barron was fine. “I just have so much to do,” she said. “Big move!”

“Think of all of the amazing things you’ll be able to do,” I said.

“So busy,” she said.

“Who’s helping you?” I asked.

“It’s being arranged,” she explained. “I’ll have someone.”

“You’ll only have one person?” I asked. Bewildered. Flabbergasted!

I couldn’t help myself and asked, “How many does Ivanka have?”

“Who?” Melania said. “You mean Princess?!” We both bellied-over with laughter.

Melania and Ivanka were never that close, and the distance between them had been growing all year. The Trump family dynamic was complicated, and I didn’t pretend to know exactly how it worked. But I did know that Ivanka was always a daddy’s girl, and I could only imagine what that would mean as she assumed the role of the First Daughter. Ivanka made herself the stand-in for Melania during the campaign, serving as her father’s surrogate, attracting female voters. Would that continue? How involved would she be in the inauguration or the White House? Most relevant to me was how Ivanka’s undefined role would affect Melania.

The cold war between the two of them was just beginning.

It was getting late. “I hate to go,” I said, “but Zachary’s on his way home.”

“Say hi to everyone,” she said. “Can you meet me on Monday?”

We had so much more to talk about. I would reach out to my designer colleagues to help dress her for the presidential inauguration. I had no clue how many outfits she’d need, or for what events.

Melania walked me to the front door and, with a smile, said, “You’ll come with me?”

Just as I’d done so many times over the years, I said, “Of course,” without an inkling of what I was saying yes to.

I paused and looked back at her, and said, “To DC?” No response. “What will I do?”

“There is so much,” she replied. “We’ll figure it out.”

With a hug and kiss on both cheeks, I walked out the door, excited and extremely nervous in a way I’d never felt before.

“I’ll see you on Monday,” I said. “Can’t wait.”

In hindsight, with all my heart, my soul, every fiber of my being, that one time, I wish I’d said “no.”

Sixty-Nine Days Until the Swearing-In

I spent the weekend thinking about Melania and her newfound power and whether I could help her harness it for good. I asked some of my friends about the possibility of my working with Melania in the White House, and they all said, “DO NOT work with the Trumps, Stephanie! ANY of them!”

My sixth sense warned me not to trust the Trumps. But my heart said, “Melania is not really one of them. She’s one of us.”

Sixty-Seven Days Until the Swearing-In

On Monday, November 14, 2016, I went back to Trump Tower to see Melania. I prepared a list of designers that I thought would look magnificent on her.

“Michael Kors!” I said to her. It seemed like a natural fit.

She frowned at me and said, “Are you kidding me?” She didn’t believe that anyone would make her clothing because of Donald.

If I could just get the point across that she was different from Donald and had her own initiatives to do good, I felt I could sway them. Wouldn’t it be an honor and a privilege for any designer to be asked to dress the future First Lady of the United States? I soon came to realize that that was not the case. I found myself frequently asking for a favor, not offering one. More often than not, I was answered with a “no.”

She didn’t want to discuss fashion at the moment. Huh? I thought to myself. Isn’t that why I’m here?

“Over the weekend,” she told me, “the family got together and talked about all the stuff we have to do. Donald and all of us talk—about the planning of the inauguration.”

“How exciting!” I quipped.

“Donald said they needed someone with expertise to plan the inauguration,” she said. “I mentioned you, and everyone, including Ivanka, said, ‘Oh, yes, Stephanie!’ ”

I didn’t know what to say at first except “Wow!” And then “What does that even mean?”

“I don’t know the details,” she said.

“But,” I said, “I’m here to help you, first and foremost.”

Melania was so nonchalant. She wanted me to help her and also consider working on the inauguration. “You can do both.” No big deal.

It didn’t seem like a favor, but an honor. I guess I interpreted it as any producer would: Does it get any bigger than this?

I hadn’t the first clue what I was getting myself into.

Okay. Donald and Melania, as well as Jared and Ivanka, knew my résumé. They also knew I was a workaholic perfectionist. Donald knew Melania and I were close.

“You’ll get a call from Ivanka later,” she explained. “She makes the official ask. She’s going to want to say it was her idea to ask you.”

Implying… Ivanka wanted to take the credit for asking me to work on the inauguration.

“I don’t think I’d even consider working on this inauguration if you hadn’t asked me yourself,” I said.

She knew that very well. So did they all.

“After you talk to Ivanka, let me know what she says,” said Melania.

We were just two friends, hanging out. I did feel a shift in the tenor of our relationship, though. Melania was breaking her rules. The invisible wall between friendship and partnership was coming down between us for the first time.

Our eyes locked, my heart raced, and, in that moment, I knew I was going undercover to be Melania’s eyes and ears—her spy, keeping her informed and up to date on the family’s planning of the inauguration.

I was about to take on this huge new responsibility that I knew nothing about. I left Trump Tower soon after, excited and mystified.

I told David what had happened, and he seemed to think what she’d asked me to do was a very big deal indeed—not just helping her choose some outfits or plan a couple events. I started to catch on later when Ivanka called, as expected, that evening.

“Hello, Stephanie,” Ivanka trilled. “The family met earlier this week and we unanimously agreed that we wanted you to be involved in the planning of Dad’s inauguration!” She said she would introduce me to Tom Barrack Jr., chairman of the 58th Presidential Inaugural Committee (PIC), who would be my boss. I would be his senior advisor. She and her father had a relationship with Barrack already. So did her husband, Jared Kushner. Donald had asked Barrack to help bail out Kushner to prevent a foreclosure on 666 Fifth Avenue, a building Kushner bought in 2007 at the top of the market, just before the Great Recession. Barrack had come to the rescue.

The hooks were in from the moment Melania told me about that family meeting. Ivanka’s official “ask” was just a formality.

Ivanka’s introductory email to Tom Barrack said: “Stephanie would be great for you to speak with about the planning of the inauguration—as mentioned, I have no doubt she will be invaluable to you!”

When Tom and I connected, he really buttered me up. “I am so happy to meet you electronically! Ivanka has spoken so highly of you, and we are really in need of high-level event and marketing expertise. You are the living legend in that regard!” During that initial exchange, he assured me that I would be responsible for the thematic elements of the events and said, “There’s a whole team to execute, you’ll have oversight on the creative process.”

I googled my soon-to-be new boss and learned he was the billionaire real-estate financier Thomas J. Barrack Jr. Born the son of a grocer, he was now the founder, president, and CEO of the investment firm Colony Capital, Inc. As I sat there digging deeper and deeper, I was fascinated by the companies and industries he acquired, merged, intersected with, commingled, partnered with, and collaborated with. In 2005, he graced the cover of Fortune beside the headline “The World’s Greatest Real Estate Investor.”

I was surprised I’d never heard of him in the entertainment industry. He should have been on my radar—there were so many crossovers with Vogue. He’s one of the biggest low-profile “insiders,” involved in film, fashion, and entertainment. In December 2010, Tom led a group of investors, including Colony Capital and the Qatar Investment Authority, along with construction magnate Ron Tutor, to purchase Miramax for $660 million. He was also behind Michael Jackson’s 2009–2010 comeback tour. Once Michael committed to that, Colony Capital agreed to bail out his Neverland Ranch and arranged for Anschutz Entertainment Group (AEG), the concert promoter, to stage his comeback and relaunch his career. (Unfortunately, Michael Jackson died from an overdose, and the tour didn’t happen.)

The pieces of the puzzle were starting to come together. Now I understood that he amassed his fortune bailing out so-called distressed celebrities. He bailed out famed photographer Annie Leibovitz from ruin, buying out her debt for $40 million. He is also one of the winners of the US housing crisis, which washed away the life savings of millions of people. Barrack is drawn to the inefficiencies of businesses and distressed companies and turns them into investment opportunities.

When I mentioned the inauguration to friends, they reacted as if I’d enlisted in Satan’s army. “But this isn’t about Trump or the administration, it’s about making America proud,” I said—and believed it! I thought I was doing my patriotic duty.

They said: R.U.N.

Sixty-Five Days Until the Swearing-In

On November 16, I entered Le Bilboquet, a Manhattan bistro, my head spinning with ideas and my belly full of butterflies. I scanned the restaurant for a bald, tan, fit, and well-groomed gentleman.

Tom saw me before I found him, and our eyes locked. He’d commandeered a corner table. Another man was with him, his backpack on a chair. The backpack made me think this guy was Tom’s assistant.

Tom and I shook hands and then the other man introduced himself. “Rick Gates, nice to meet you,” he said. Rick was the deputy chairman of the PIC, second in charge.

First impression: Tom and Donald were nothing alike. Donald was a man of prose. He talked in rambling, often incoherent sentences. Tom was a man of poetry. He spoke in metaphor and imagery. “Each detail of the inaugural week will be perfectly strung together, to create a seamless canvas of harmony, inclusion, and democracy, as we come together as one nation and honor that quintessential and uniquely American tradition of the peaceful transfer of power,” he said. As he spoke, his hands flew around him, precisely synchronized with every expressive word.

Tom glanced over his shoulder, measuring the distance between the tables around us, and in a New York minute, we were huddled elbow to elbow. His voice dropped a notch. “No one thought the boss would win, so there’s no team in place. We need you! Your expertise! Rescue me!” he said.

Rick clearly stated there were companies in DC that would be providing services and that had been involved in planning the presidential inaugurations going back to Harry S. Truman.

Tom said “the boss” hoped I would be able to “elevate the creative design elements with glamour and elegance”—to provide my “vision” and “sprinkle” my “special brand of magic” on a couple of events and one dinner hosted by the PEOTUS (President Elect of the United States) and Mrs. Trump.

His confidence, charisma, and enthusiasm—and his faith in my abilities—drew me in. I accepted Tom’s offer to be his senior advisor, and we agreed to discuss my contract and fee once I had a better idea of the scope of my work. We parted with firm handshakes. I felt excited but a bit shaky, still unclear about what I’d just signed on to do. What I did know was that if I hadn’t said yes to Tom, Melania would have had little to no idea what was being planned, how it was being executed, or who was doing what, and how it would reflect on her. It was her right to know, and it wasn’t like Ivanka, Thomas Barrack, or Donald was going to keep her up to speed.

Sixty-Two Days Until the Swearing-In

Emails were flying back and forth between me, Rick, and Tom’s assistant. Information wasn’t being openly shared. It all became too political so quickly. I was in a league I knew nothing about, so I turned to a friend and colleague whom I trusted and whose insight and political experience, having been senior advisor and speechwriter for British prime minister Tony Blair, would provide me with invaluable advice, direction, and insight: Jon Reynaga, cofounder of Tiny Horse, an entertainment company with expertise in live TV events and digital shows. Tiny Horse’s clients included CBS and ABC. Jon knew politics.

“Besides the swearing-in, what happens at an inauguration?” I asked.

Jon said, “Sweetheart, you have no idea what you’re getting into.”

I most certainly did not.

Fifty-Eight Days Until the Swearing-In

Tom was developing a road map, and I was on board. He left early in the morning (he was forever on a plane, forever fundraising) and by nighttime he’d already texted: “Had a great working night with Steve Wynn [then a Las Vegas casino and hotel owner] and I think we have a great game plan that I want to craft with you, which gives us one big event on Thursday night, one big event on Friday, a free concert in the Mall on Thursday, and that’s really it the president and the first lady have to worry about. Whatever you want to craft for a luncheon on top of that is extra.”

That sounded like plenty to me and more than I’d signed up for, but my sleeves were rolled up and I wasn’t going to back away because he added a “free concert.”

The scope of work was expanding. “It sounds like I’m going to need to assemble a team?” I asked.

“Yes,” Tom responded.

“I need to make some calls to some of my colleagues,” I said, “with production, branding, and creative expertise.”

“Sounds good,” Tom said.

Then I inquired, “Who do I speak to about my contract?”

Tom said, “Sara Armstrong is CEO. Rick will coordinate all for you. I’m meeting with Burnett as we speak at the Soho House.”

I hadn’t yet heard the name Sara Armstrong, PIC’s CEO, but I guess I hadn’t needed to since Rick was “coordinating” my contract for me.

Fifty-Seven Days Until the Swearing-In

On November 24, Rick sent a long email about how the Trump inauguration would be “charting new territories… we have carte blanche,” but he still hadn’t sent me any information about previous inaugurations, logistics, run-of-shows (the timeline with minute-by-minute detail of an event’s schedule), vendors, venues, caterers, or suppliers. He attached some links and advised me to “watch the attached videos and build out.”

I asked Rick how the PIC financing was going to work. “You don’t need to worry yourself with that,” he said. “Tom and I are handling all of the finances. PIC’s finance team is already up and running.”

“What about using my personal Wi-Fi?” I asked. “I’m concerned due to the nature of this information regarding timing and logistics of PEOTUS and Mrs. Trump.”

“It’s fine to use your personal Wi-Fi network,” he said. “It is some encryption, although as we know anything is hackable these days.” That made me feel assured—not!

The next day, I called Melania and said, “I can’t put my finger on it, but things don’t feel right. I’m not sure why they haven’t sent me guidelines, and no one seems to think your safety is a priority.”

Melania told me not to worry. “We have security,” she said.

I wasn’t referring to the Secret Service—more like cybersecurity.

It took a week of asking but Rick finally sent me a few documents. The first Excel spreadsheet I opened was the organizational chart of all the people on the PIC, thirty-eight staffers. Tom’s name was at the top left. Except for Rick, listed second in command, and CEO Sara Armstrong, I hadn’t heard of any of them. Back to Google. Many of them were a part of the RNC.

On the right side of the org chart, my name was at the top, right next to… Mark Burnett! We were listed as special advisors for inaugural planning. Underneath our names there was an entertainment committee listed, packed with heavy hitters, top execs from Sony, MSG, and Imagine Entertainment.

I called Melania and told her the great news. “Tom has put together a stellar group! Did you know Mark Burnett was working on this?”

“Really?” she said. “I didn’t know.”

Rick forwarded me a legal outline, addressed to Tom Barrack, from Katie Walsh, the RNC’s chief of staff, and Cara Mason, its finance director, describing the role of the Presidential Inauguration Committee as “a privately funded, nonprofit, nongovernmental, partisan organization that represents the interests of the president-elect and plans and executes most of the inaugural events.” It went on to outline the overview, donations, initial letter filing with the FEC, reporting requirements, time and proposed schedule, budget, personnel and organizational chart, finance structure, and proposed finance packages.

Rick also emailed me a memo about making the inauguration a “Sea to Shining Sea” tour. They wanted Donald and his entourage to motorcade from the Pacific to the Atlantic over a period of two or three days.

Donald couldn’t walk down Fifth Avenue and the PIC was proposing to have him travel three thousand miles on unsecure routes in three days? Was this a joke? Less than a day later, the Sea to Shining Sea idea was scrapped.

The final attachment from Rick was a tentative schedule of events. I wasn’t sure what I was looking at since there were twenty-two events listed. I wondered if Rick had sent me the Trump family’s personal schedule of events by accident. But why would he even have their schedule? It didn’t take long before it clicked: of course, the family was getting in on the celebration. The PIC’s suggested list included events hosted by Ivanka, Don Jr., and Eric and his wife, Lara. With a red Sharpie and a yellow highlighter, I reviewed the list, jotted down lots of questions, and made tons of notes to self, including “Find out who is producing and executing all of these other events.” I was responsible for two balls and supposedly the most exclusive event, the Candlelight Dinner, the only dinner hosted by President-Elect and Mrs. Trump, to be held the evening before the swearing-in. The Sponsors’ Reception and the Underwriters’ Luncheon with the president-elect and vice president–elect were both big-ticket items! Major donors could pay millions for packages consisting of VIP receptions and priority booking at premier inaugural hotels. Each event had a date, a host, a location, and a number. I figured out that the number represented the ticket price (as part of a donation package). Tickets for the Victory Reception, hosted by Reince Priebus, went for $100,000. The Leadership Luncheon at the Trump International Hotel, hosted by cabinet secretaries, went for $1 million. Quite the price difference. A few of those tables would be hosted by the Trump children.

This was supposed to be the “People’s Celebration.” I emailed Rick, “What tickets are available to the public? Where can someone purchase tickets to the balls?” Could an average American afford even the least-expensive ticket? He responded, “Find attached a document that outlines the ticket prices for the official inaugural balls for each of the years going back to 2001, with comparative prices, ranging from free to $175.”

He also told me, “Don’t worry about ticket pricing.”

“What about hotels?” I asked.

The PIC and RNC were handling that, too.

I went to meet Melania at Trump Tower at 3:00 p.m. We sat together on the living room sofa, and I handed her a copy of the event schedule. We stared at it simultaneously. I’d never set foot in any of the DC venues being suggested for inaugural events and I’d never been to an inauguration, so this was as new to me as it was to her. “I prepared this venue guide with pictures of each venue and its location, capacity, AV capabilities, preferred vendors, and catering services,” I said, handing it to her.

We sat there speechless.

Neither of us really had any clue of what was going on yet.

“So,” I read aloud, “the first event listed is for a Ladies’ Luncheon, hosted by Ivanka and Lara, tickets for five hundred thousand to one million dollars apiece.”

Melania looked surprised and said, “That’s news to me.”

I agreed and replied, “It was to me, too.”

Halfway down the page, Melania was listed with Donald, hosting the Candlelight Dinner on January 19, 2017, for tickets at the $1 million donor level.

“No one told me they’re using my name to raise money,” she said, miffed.

I explained, “Donation packages for one million dollars include six tickets, and for five million dollars include twenty tickets, to the Candlelight Dinner.”

“So, anyone can buy tickets to attend my dinner?” she asked.

“I guess so,” I replied. I reached into my folder and pulled out several pages. “Here are the donor packages.” Anyone could buy their way in.

“Rick has also made some suggestions about your grand entrance,” I continued. “Instead of you and Donald walking out from behind a curtain, he wants you to rise up from underneath the stage.”

Totally amused and with eyes squinting, she asked, “What are you talking about?” I waved my arms up and down and said, “Like in a cloud of smoke and poof! You and Donald magically appear?” We laughed so hard at that.

“Seriously?” she asked.

“Sounds like a Mark Burnett production to me!” I laughed.

“I want you to send Rick a photo of the stage from my convention speech,” she requested. “I want the stage to look like that one.”

I almost choked on my own saliva. Luckily my face was looking downward into my notebook as I frantically jotted down, “Send Rick a picture of the stage Melania stood on,” and thought to myself, When she delivered her plagiarized speech rumored to have been penned by Rick Gates. I don’t think she gave it a second thought, and I wasn’t going to remind her. If she was happy, then I was, too. She and Donald wanted the same aesthetic at all of the events, especially for their iconic first dance at the Inaugural Ball. “A classic, sleek, modern feel, you know what I mean?” she said. I did. Classic, sleek, and modern, like her.

I pointed to the next event listed on the schedule.

“What’s the Ivanka Trump/Leo DiCaprio Environmental Ball?” she asked. It was listed at the National Portrait Gallery.

“Maybe Ivanka is really thirsty for Leonardo DiCaprio,” I said.

“Give me a break!” she replied.

“Do you know about Don Jr. and Eric planning something called Camouflage and Cufflinks?”

“What’s that?”

“I have no idea,” I said. “Does Donald hunt?”

“No!”

Ivanka, Lara, Don, and Eric were hosting events. Did they think they were elected? And does all the donor money go to pay for these events? I just didn’t know.

“I’m sure Donald doesn’t even know about all these events,” Melania said.

“Oh, wait, there’s another event with your name on it. Your first weekday in the White House, on Monday, January 23, you’re hosting a staff appreciation reception at the White House.”

“A what? For who? Who is asking?”

“Maybe this one’s the traditional event Rick told me about,” I said. “I think you and Donald host it to thank the staff for all of their hard work through the campaign, transition, and inauguration. Let me look into it further and get back to you.”

“I’ll be back in New York,” she said. “Cancel it!”

When I later relayed that news to Tom and Rick, they were not pleased that I’d shared this information with Melania.

Fifty-Six Days Until the Swearing-In

As soon as I got home, my next call was to Jon Reynaga. “Hey,” I said. “You are not going to believe who’s on the PIC org chart!”

“Who?” he replied.

“Mark Burnett!”

“What?!” He wanted more details, but I couldn’t give him what I didn’t have. I explained the lack of communication and the delay of information. He’d already been advising me on Melania’s messaging and transition. “Rick sent me a list of twenty-two events and documents from the RNC,” I told him.

“Girl, what are you talking about?” he asked in his posh British accent. “Have you lost your mind?”

“I only agreed to oversee a couple of events and a dinner hosted by Melania and Donald,” I explained. “So I don’t know who else they have involved.

“There’s a lot more going on than I know about,” I told him. And I wasn’t just referring to the number of new events that had popped up out of thin air and were now on my radar. “I’m going to DC,” I continued. “Please come with me.” I sensed he’d jump at the chance to work with Burnett.

He made no promises but agreed to come to Washington and check it out with me.

He sent me his hourly rate and some terms for services and fees, but I told him I wasn’t asking him to commit to anything. I said, “Let’s first go to DC and take it from there,” and he agreed. We needed to see for ourselves what the PIC had already been planning. Depending on his level of interest, his role, and the scope of the work, Jon would discuss his contract directly with Tom, Rick, and the PIC.

I texted Melania, “Jon’s coming to DC with me to check out what’s going on and look at venues!”

She sent, “ .”

“I got my contract too,” I wrote, “but the PIC made it out to ‘Stepanie Wilcox’ They don’t even know how to spell my name right!”

Rick said he’d fix it and get it right back to me.

Fifty-Three Days Until the Swearing-In

Rick had planned two days of back-to-back meetings for us with members of the PIC’s senior staff, who’d update us on the scope of work and present us with key information, planning already underway, timelines, and budgets.

Our journey began on November 28. I flew to DC with Jon Reynaga and a few colleagues from my Vogue days, whom I promised would remain nameless. The five of us arrived at Ronald Reagan Washington National Airport at 9:28 a.m. The deputy directors of the PIC’s special events team, Lindsay Reynolds, a nice teacher from Ohio, and Ramsey Ratcliffe, a self-described “neutral gal” and former RNC Director for Finance Events, were waiting for us at the airport in two sparkling SUVs. With open arms and smiles, they were ready and eager to whisk us away to show us around town, but first we made a quick stop at the hotel they’d booked for us, the Trump International Hotel.

I’d only been to DC a few times before and hadn’t toured the landmark buildings that held our nation’s history, like the Smithsonian, the National Portrait Gallery, the Library of Congress, and the John F. Kennedy Center for the Performing Arts. Despite my mounting anxiety about how much work we had to do, I was inspired by the places we toured.

Inside the rotunda of the National Archives Building, I stood inches away from the Constitution, the Bill of Rights, and the Declaration of Independence. Only a piece of glass separated me from these founding documents. I stopped to reflect on the magnitude of that moment and was overcome with feelings of awe.

I had a lightbulb moment but no phone service. I excused myself and stepped outside into the chill, and I called Melania. “I’m touring venues in DC and I can’t begin to tell you how exciting this is for me to be standing in the vaults of the National Archives.” Each location was enticing and as magical as the next. I said, “I’m like a kid in a candy store!”

We’d been speaking a lot about her initiative, but we hadn’t yet figured out how she would launch and be actively involved in bringing awareness to the importance of overall well-being and the pledge to oneself to be ethical and respectful.

“This is it!” I said. “It’s perfect.”

“What’s going on?” she asked.

“You’ll soon have unlimited access to every historic building, each one with its own treasure trove of history,” I said. “And using this historical backdrop for delivering your message will be so impactful.” My head was spinning with limitless possibilities.

Melania was a treasure, too, and I wanted the world to see how special she was.

Later that evening, Jon recapped the day in an email and signed off with three words—Who Is She?—our joke, what he and I called each other, but then it became the unspoken question on the PIC people’s lips when they met me. He tacked on a PS: “Burnett may want to do an Apprentice reunion with normal and celeb contestants supporting different candidates, a show of people coming together?”

I laughed, assuming that he was joking. Did he know something about Burnett that I didn’t?

Fifty-Two Days Until the Swearing-In

At seven thirty a.m., Jon, the others, and I met in the lobby of the Trump International Hotel. We headed downstairs to the Adams Room for part two of our “kickoff” meetings and site visits. I was looking forward to putting a face to the names and meeting other members of the PIC’s team.

Listed at the top of the agenda was Rick Gates, PIC’s Deputy Director, Sara Armstrong, PIC’s CEO, and her senior advisor, Jeff Larson. In addition were Director of Budget and Treasury Heather Martin, Director of Public Events Ryan Price, and his deputy, Tim Tripepi, who were overseeing operations and budgets for all of the outdoor events.

Jon and I were prepared to discuss the overall theme and ideations, like unity and “With the People, Making America Great Always.” We didn’t get anywhere with that.

In addition to the nuts and bolts we were expecting to hear about, the agenda was packed with logistics, graphic elements for digital and printed materials, credentialing protocol, invitations, ticketing, communications, brand guidelines, vetting, and much more, all in addition to a list of events that was almost sixfold of what I’d been told about. I was curious to find out who was producing them all.

Under the headline of outdoor events, the “official public events” were listed, including the parade route and bleachers, live-streaming, entertainment and concerts, balls, and fireworks. Hargrove, the events company we were meeting later to “sign off on,” had already started building the viewing stand for the President, First Lady, and their family and guests to sit comfortably during the parade.

The scope of this job and our involvement grew exponentially overnight. The PIC looked to us for our experience and expertise. What were we going to do, walk away?

The clock was ticking. I had to leave with Lindsay and Ramsey for one last day of venue and site visits, keeping in mind the thematic and visual elements of the events I was thinking of creating.

“We just have to divide and conquer!” Jon said, and stayed back at the hotel to dive into the production and media elements.

Later, Jon, my team, and I were asked to join Rick, Lindsay, Ramsey, and the others from the PIC for lunch to meet the executives from “Team” Hargrove, the “full-service provider” that would be “providing services.”

We were relieved to hear “full-service provider.” The PIC told us they were “considering” hiring Hargrove as the general contractor to facilitate and execute all the moving parts of the inauguration, but wanted our “input” and “approval.”

“Sure!” I said. “We’d love to meet them.” But we were under the impression we were meeting other vendors, too. “Are we meeting with anyone else?” I asked Rick.

Rick was working on that…

Jon and the team met up with me for lunch in the back room of the Charlie Palmer restaurant. Carla Hargrove McGill introduced herself and her executive team, welcomed and thanked us for the “opportunity” to present their ideas, and said they were there to win us over. And they did. It was a shop started by her father in 1946, and they’d been the events company involved in planning every presidential inauguration since 1949. It was a one-stop shop. They’d provide everything! Their presentation was very impressive indeed, and Rick Gates gave the final vote of confidence, saying he’d worked with them successfully before, and with no other options and no one else to meet, Hargrove it was.

Later that afternoon, Hargrove’s vice president of events, Ron Bracco, sent the PIC a budget estimate based on their experience from previous inaugurations, cc’ing Tim McGill, CEO of Hargrove, and his wife, Carla Hargrove McGill, Hargrove’s president, all of whom we’d met earlier. Rick sent me the proposed budget (it was in excess of $29 million) and asked, “What do you think?”

I told him I couldn’t answer that question until I reviewed a detailed and itemized budget, and asked him to forward it to me.

He replied, “No additional attachments.” I wondered who had financial control of the event budget. Who was calculating it? Who was determining the expenses?

This was beginning to sound like what nightmares are made of, but I wasn’t ready to hit the panic button just yet.

Upon closer examination of the contract, I saw, in fine red print, “drafted on November 20,” which was eight days before we stepped foot in Washington, with some portions already approved by Sara. Asking for our thumbs-up seemed to be a mere formality. It was already a done deal. Why the charade? Why make it seem as if we had a hand in Hargrove’s approval process?

I was still waiting for Rick to introduce me to the other event companies he’d mentioned earlier: Freeman, Encore, and PSAV, the full-service in-house creative and technical production company for all Trump properties. (In 2018, PSAV acquired Hargrove.)

---

Back at the hotel, Jon and I rehashed our day, and he filled me in on his meetings with Rick at the Trump International Hotel. He said they had discussed the broadcast production components.

“Broadcast of what?” I asked.

“The concert and balls!”

The scope of the contracted work I was brought in to provide and had asked Jon to help me with was consulting, creative, and executive production services, basically “above the line” production work. We quickly realized that in order to pull this rabbit out of the hat, the PIC was going to need a team with extensive production and entertainment experience, and it didn’t seem like there were any staff or vendors for us to work with, especially for the large-scale broadcasting events. This is when the PIC asked us to also assume “below the line” production responsibilities, from designing to building the stages, hiring the contractors to sourcing vendors, and booking performers to dealing with TV networks.

Was Burnett in or out? We couldn’t get a straight answer.

Jon and I quickly realized the depth and scope of this project would be far greater than any of us could have imagined, and we’d never envisioned we’d have to start from the very beginning—no past inaugural broadcast plans, no prior floor plans, no run-of-shows. There was no margin for error.

Luckily, Jon and his Tiny Horse partners, with loads of broadcast, production, and digital experience, said, “We’re in!”

Thank God.

Later, I was working in my room, and I must have dozed off on the bed. My computer, still on my lap, pinged with an incoming email from Rick to Ivanka Trump, cc’ing me. “Hope you are well. Tom asked me to send you the current schedule of events that the family will need to attend during the inauguration. We have been with Stephanie in DC for the last two days working on finalizing the events and venues. I highlighted the events in yellow that the family will be expected to attend,” he wrote.

Why on earth is Rick sending a tentative schedule to Ivanka before Donald and Melania have seen it? Has Ivanka been elected president?

I sent a hasty reply to Rick: “Why did you send Ivanka the schedule?”

“Ivanka wanted the schedule,” he said. “Tom asked me to send it.”

Ivanka had asked Tom and Rick had complied. The food chain couldn’t have been clearer. Ivanka was at the tippy top. Their priority was the First Daughter.

“PLEASE do not send this to anyone else,” I implored Rick, copying Tom. “We are not ready for anyone else to see this. We have due diligence to discuss.”

Tom’s reply: “We have budget to discuss.”

I waited a bit to calm down and then emailed Ivanka at one thirty a.m. “Ivanka, hi. We will speak tomorrow, but [the schedule] is still too premature to share with anyone. I will walk you through it when we talk. Have a good night.”

Before shutting my eyes, I forwarded Melania Rick’s email to Ivanka. Ivanka had her insider source, and so did Melania. The more Melania became dependent on me as her confidant and advisor, the more I committed to having her back throughout the transition period, from election night to the swearing-in ceremony and into the White House, and through the launch of her initiative. I became a double agent of sorts, which was thrilling and also terrifying, because spies usually end up gagged and immobilized.

Fifty-One Days Until the Swearing-In

I called Melania with the good news: “Jon’s all in!”

“That’s great,” she said. “Is everything else okay?”

I couldn’t answer that question, so I told her so. “I just don’t know yet. On the drafted schedule, there are three events slated to take place at the Trump International Hotel.” I didn’t believe it would be in the family’s best interest to have the Candlelight Dinner and champagne toast at the hotel, unless, of course, Donald was covering the costs.

“I don’t know anything about that.” That phrase was fast becoming her refrain.

I presented my suggestion. “I think Union Station would be spectacular for the Candlelight Dinner!”

Melania asked, “Inside the train station?”

“Yes, right inside,” I said. “It’s grand and magnificent.”

“Send me what it would look like,” she said.

One more item for my to-do list. With as much pixie dust as I was apparently expected to have on hand, there wouldn’t be enough to do this on my own. I thought to myself, Boy, did I screw up by agreeing to get involved and work on any of this. I still didn’t have a full grasp of what this was. Who was putting all of these events together? And how did they all end up on my lap all of a sudden? (Ultimately, there were a total of eighteen events; several were canceled, thank God.)

Rick wanted to know what I thought about Hargrove’s budget.

Outrageous, I maintained, doubting the budget we saw was what Hargrove had charged Obama.

Jon understood and expressed the same concerns, but we didn’t feel we could walk away. With our take-no-prisoners attitude, we felt it our “patriotic duty” to help with the inauguration—that the ceremony represented the “best of American democracy,” namely, “the peaceful transition of power,” and we would figure this out.

I called Tom and asked, “Twenty-two events, live TV broadcasts, and $29 million?”

“The timing and number of broadcast selections is subordinate to my selection of venues, events, and the programming of them,” he replied, unfazed. “We need to be definite, concise, and understandable in what we ask from [Hargrove].” He told me to focus on the original three events, not the broadcast, and “if you want to oversee these other events too,” they weren’t going to turn me away.

Later that day, Rick Gates reached out to make sure I was okay and sent me an urgent email: “Will MT [Melania Trump] participate in a lady’s luncheon or host an event as First Lady? Will she want to attend the wreath-laying ceremony—tradition is that she should. Will she be willing to attend the Military Ball—very big deal to the military. How does she want her name to appear on the program? Melania K. Trump or Melania Knauss Trump?”

He’d gone straight to me to ask about Melania’s schedule. This was significant because it meant he and Tom knew how close Melania and I were. We’d preferred to keep it on the down-low, so I could watch out for her best interests and feed her info on the sly, but it didn’t take long for them and the PIC staff to figure out that whenever Donald complained about something he’d heard from his wife, the intel had come from me originally.

As for how her name would appear on the program, Melania said, “I want to be listed as First Lady Melania Trump.”

“That’s your official title but not until after the swearing-in ceremony,” I said.

“Then call me First Lady–Elect.”

“We can’t do that because you weren’t elected.”

“That’s what I want.”

“Karen Pence is using Mrs. Karen Pence.”

She didn’t care. “First Lady–Elect!” became her mantra whenever programs and invites came up. This was one of the only times she didn’t get her way. She was listed as Mrs. Melania Trump.

Tom was on his way to Los Angeles to meet with Burnett to talk about getting A-list performers for inaugural events. We were in New York that day, and Rick organized a teleconference at Tom’s office at Colony Capital at 712 Fifth Avenue with several top entertainment executives. The LA group talked a big game. Exactly what we expected. We had Mitch Davis, Clive Davis’s son, on the line.

Mitch said he’d prepared a “talent grid” that listed artists and their affiliation with the GOP and/or Donald Trump, if any. If we could get two or three of these acts—Aerosmith, Carrie Underwood, Celine Dion, Kelly Clarkson, Kiss, the Killers, Meat Loaf, Mavis Staples, Pat Benatar, and Lynyrd Skynyrd, to mention a few—it would blow people’s minds. We had our doubts, but Mitch tried. He was put between a rock and a hard place.

After the meeting, Jon texted, “Mark Burnett is NOT working on the production of the concerts at all, so we 100% must enlist Hargrove or another vendor to do it.” Shit. Easy come, easy go. I wondered how he found that out. No one told me.

Next up on that very long day, I met with Melania at Trump Tower, carrying bags and boxes so she could review and sign off on menus, décor, paper stock. I was weighed down by anxiety, too. Melania knew that the scope of my responsibilities had increased many times over.

“We don’t have any A-list performers locked in, or B-list for that matter,” I said. “We don’t even have an office to work in! I have at least ten people in and out of my apartment all day. It’s not fair to David and the kids. And can you please tell me why Rick Gates has an all-access badge to Trump Tower?”

“He does?” she asked.

“He took us to Don Jr., Eric, and Ivanka’s office suite. He knew where the security button was located. We all just walked right in.” In Don Jr.’s office, Rick made himself right at home and sat down in Don’s chair.

“Really,” Melania said, seeing that I was getting upset again. Her voice was a balm. I felt better just being in her presence.

We had a lot to go over. We sat down at her dining room table and spread out all of the printed material for her review. She told me, “When Donald comes home, I want you to tell him what’s going on.”

An hour later, he walked into the dining room as chipper as could be. “Hi, baby,” he said to Melania.

She was looking at Pantone colors but flashed him a quick smile.

“Hello, Stephanie. How are you?” he asked.

I began to stand and he said, “Stay, sit, sit. Time magazine—I’m on the cover again!” He was the 2016 Person of the Year.

Melania laughed and said, “Oh, Donald. That’s great!” Her tone was coquettish, hyperfeminine, an open invitation for him to keep going.

He said, “I’ve been on the cover a dozen times already.”

I said, “Donald, you’re going to be the president,” implying that his new job was a bigger deal than a magazine cover.

He said, “Yeah, right! Great!” and then continued to describe the Time cover, and the one before, and the one before that. After ten minutes, he said, “Wow, you ladies look like you’re busy! Look at all of this.”

Melania said, “So much to do. We are so busy, but no worries.”

“That’s my girl!”

Melania leaned her shoulder into mine. “Tell him,” she said.

“It’s nothing,” I said, but he wouldn’t let me chicken out and waved for me to speak. I exhaled. “Honestly, the PIC is a shit show. They are disorganized, incompetent, and can’t produce the material we need. My team’s been working around the clock and we can’t get the answers we need and we’re not really sure who to turn to.”

“What about Tom?” Donald asked. We both knew Tom was spending most of his time fundraising.

“I met Sara Armstrong, the PIC CEO,” I said, “but she’s not really in charge. She’s just there to sign off on budgets.”

“So who is in charge?” he asked.

“I’ve been working primarily with Rick.”

“Rick who?”

From the corner of my eye I could see Melania’s back stiffen.

“Rick Gates,” I said.

Donald exclaimed, “Rick?! Rick Gates?! Who’s Rick Gates?!”

Was he serious? “He’s the deputy chairman of the inauguration,” I said.

Melania shot him a C’mon smirk.

Donald’s reaction was so visceral. Was he telling me the truth? I’d bet my life on it!

“Oh, Rick. Rick Gates!” Donald paced himself into a tirade. “That son of a bitch stole seven hundred fifty thousand dollars from me. I’m going to sue him! He’s the one… It had to do with Don McGahn.”

Now I was totally confused. Who was Don McGahn? Did this have to do with the campaign? The transition? A lawsuit? What was it with these people and lawsuits!

Donald stopped pacing and stood in front of Melania and me, his face scarlet. If I hadn’t known so much about food allergies, I would have thought he was going into anaphylactic shock.

“Give me your phone! I’m calling Tom Barrack. I want Rick fired right now! That bastard. He stole my money!” He reached out to take my phone.

I looked to Melania for help. If Donald called Tom from my phone, I’d be the biggest tattletale on the block.

“Tom will kill me for saying anything,” I said. “Donald, please, no, you can’t.”

“Melania!” Donald roared. “Call Tom. Use your phone!”

Melania did what he asked. I’m sure Tom thought Melania was butt-dialing him, but he answered.

“Tom,” Donald said, “I’m here with Stephanie and Melania.”

Those words alone were the kiss of death.

I felt nauseated and texted Tom, “URGENT. I am at DT house.”

Donald was hopping mad and going off the deep end.

“Tom!” Donald yelled. “I want Rick FIRED! What’s he still doing around?”

I wished I hadn’t said anything. I was nervous knowing that I’d stepped on Tom’s toes and ticked him off by telling Donald and Melania how I felt working with the PIC.

Donald hung up the phone and looked like he needed to blow off some steam.

“I’m going upstairs,” he said.

As Donald exited the dining room, a young man walked inside the apartment carrying a brown paper bag. Donald asked him, “What are you doing here?”

A bit shaky, the man said, “I’m delivering your turkey sandwich for dinner, sir.”

Donald grabbed the bag and told the kid to sit down. He looked like he was just out of college. The president-elect said to him, “You’re in charge of the inauguration now. Stephanie, fill him in. Tell him what he needs to do.”

I couldn’t tell if Donald was serious about tapping the twenty-five-year-old body man to be the new deputy chairman of the PIC—and that’s what made it terrifying.

The guy stared like a deer in headlights. Melania and I looked at each other like, Do you want to start or should I?

She said hello to him and he nodded. I introduced myself and he said, “Nice to meet you. I’m John McEntee.” He was petrified.

“Have you ever produced an event before?” I asked. “Run an organization?”

He just shook his head. You could see sweat bubble on his brow. “I don’t understand,” he said. “What just happened?”

I gave McEntee a brief rundown of the inauguration and told him, “Let’s keep this between the four of us for now, okay?” After he left, McEntee later told me, he fled straight downstairs to the campaign office and recounted his version of the whole story to Trump advisor David Bossie. (John McEntee became Donald’s personal assistant, his body man, and accompanied the president everywhere. Whenever John and I saw each other, we smirked at our inside joke about that night. He was eventually fired from the White House, in March 2018, for online gambling and tax issues, but he went straight to a job at America First Policies, a 501(c)(4) nonprofit raising funds to promote Trump’s agenda for 2020, where so many ousted Trump White House staffers landed softly after their expulsion. In January 2020, he was back at the White House, as director of the Office of Presidential Personnel.)

Fifty Days Until the Swearing-In

At 5:43 a.m., Tom texted me, “Wheels down! Seeing JK [Jared Kushner] and then will call you! Saw Showstoppers [the lavish Vegas act] at Wynn [hotel and casino in Las Vegas] with Steve [Wynn] last night! It was perfect! Still sick about Rick.”

I was supposed to meet Rick that morning. Did he know he’d been fired yet? For that matter, did he think I was the cause? “Do I meet with Rick?” I asked Tom.

Tom wrote, “My advice is to be very careful and probably leave this alone. He is trying to figure out why this happened. He had had quite a bit of contact with DJT before he moved over to us without incident. In fact, DJT was quite kind to him! RP [Reince Priebus] has told him [Donald] that he also is quite confused and that this was not a result of the Don McGahn $750,000 issue!… I am meeting with JK at 7:15 and will call you when I’m done.”

Did PEOTUS know who Rick Gates was or not?

Tom and Jared’s meeting must have resolved things, because Rick was still the deputy chairman of the inauguration, just no longer working for the PIC. He was now working at Colony Capital. He just couldn’t show his face around Donald anymore.

“All cleared up,” Tom texted me. “Unfortunately, [Donald] has the wrong Rick. My advice would be to stay away from this because nothing good is going to come from it!”

Another thing to “stay away” from.

(The mystery was eventually solved. There was, of course, only one Rick Gates. Donald genuinely appeared not to know him—at least that’s the interpretation I got—and Tom and Reince were convinced that Donald must have been thinking of a different Rick.)

“I want nothing to do with this,” I told Tom. “I have a job and I am doing it. If it’s the wrong Rick, then tell DT [Donald Trump] when you see him.”

Around this time, I was talking to someone on the PIC about Rick Gates, and she told me that he had been Trump’s deputy campaign manager, brought in by (convicted felon) Paul Manafort, and that he’d stayed on after Manafort was fired. Was Donald that clueless? Was someone pulling Rick’s strings?

Ivanka reached out again that day, asking for an updated schedule.

Barron was in the news again. YouTube videos showed him nodding off during his father’s speech on election night. What ten-year-old kid doesn’t want to be asleep at nearly three o’clock in the morning? I heard Melania’s words in my head: “Give me a break!” I was upset for Barron, a kid I’d known since his birth, and angry for Melania.

Melania wanted to put out an op-ed asking the nation (and the press) to uphold the long-standing tradition of respecting the privacy of the president’s young children. It started, “Today, First Lady–Elect Mrs. Melania Trump released the following statement…”

Jon read it and asked, “Who drafted this? Sounds like Rick! She is not the First Lady–Elect. She doesn’t hold an elected position but a ceremonial one. Protocol office will know but until she becomes FLOTUS, I think she is officially called ‘Melania Trump, the wife of President-Elect Donald Trump.’ Basic mistakes like that cannot be made! And seriously, someone who knows the protocol should be checking this for her. The tone sounds cold from a mother.”

No one, except for me and my team, was looking out for Melania’s best interest whatsoever.

More responsibilities were added to my plate every day. I was at my wit’s end and flooded with stress hormones. On top of the inauguration, where I needed staff to help manage and execute all that was being asked of me with a tiny team, no budget, and no contract, I was also helping Melania by giving her advice, meeting with stylists and designers, and creating exclusive editorial content with media companies for her.

Almost daily, I went over what I’d seen and heard with Melania and reviewed her schedule. The Chairman’s Global Dinner was not on it.

“Don’t you think you should go?” I asked.

“I’m not changing my plans,” she said. “This event was not on my original schedule, and I did not plan for it. Donald can go if he wants. I’ve got too much to do.”

Steve Wynn’s Showstoppers was booked for Tom’s event’s entertainment. Since we were having so much trouble securing talent, I thought Showstoppers could perform at one of the balls, too.

Rick Gates, Hargrove execs from DC, Wynn’s team from Las Vegas, and Production Resource Group (PRG) worked together to bring Steve Wynn’s Showtoppers from Vegas to Washington. The show was scheduled to finish its Vegas run on December 31, 2016. The inauguration was three weeks after. Rick was told performers would need to be paid during the interim, at a cost of $350,000 per week. A million-plus dollars to pay people to do nothing, and then a fee for the actual performance, along with travel and accommodations. Final pricing had to be worked out with Rick, Tom, and Wynn.

Steve Wynn decided Showstoppers and Alabama would perform only at the Chairman’s Global Dinner at the Andrew W. Mellon Auditorium on January 17 as the kickoff inaugural event, but we were still going to see about one of the balls. That morning, Hargrove submitted a $2.75 million budget for the stage decking, stage décor, and technical production requirements at the Mellon Auditorium. By evening, I saw almost the same budget, line for line, on PRG’s letterhead. WTF was going on?

Forty-Nine Days Until the Swearing-In

Ivanka asked me to come to her office in Trump Tower to discuss her women’s lunch or dinner (scheduling was still up in the air). She asked, “Can I suggest that you work with Abigail [Klem], president of my company, and Rosemary [Young], head of marketing, to brainstorm this event further?” She was sunshine and kisses, as always. “My preference [for the dinner] is Wednesday the 18th,” she said, and added, “My interest in hosting depends on the quality and theme of the event.” Get off your high horse! Why was I doing this event in the first place? What she told me she wanted was “an incredible group of female entrepreneurs and thought leaders.” What I wanted to say to her was, “You mean Hillary Clinton and Michelle Obama caliber?” I bit my tongue. She then said, “I’d also like to integrate young girls into the program.” Then there was a big but: “Only if we can make it an impactful event” would she “love to do it.” Ivanka enlisted not only Abigail and Rosemary, but also Reince Priebus and Katie Walsh, cc’ing them on the email. Wow! Ivanka had leverage. “You should be in good hands but please let me know if you don’t get the direction that you need from Reince and Katie, and I will step in,” she said. Oh, and one last thing she said: “It would be great to have a cross section of industry and also invite top female cabinet members.”

After we discussed the event, her team asked my advice on their marketing strategy to help her separate from her apparel and jewelry brand businesses. The messaging had to be right—that she was leaving her companies in good hands while she moved to Washington, DC, even though she’d claimed publicly she wasn’t going to be involved in the White House. Having me meet with her team and asking me for non-inauguration strategy blurred the lines, because I was technically working for the PIC. But this was a familiar situation since I was also an unpaid advisor to Melania. I tried to be helpful. Ivanka sent me a nice note after the meeting, saying, “Thanks, Stephanie. Looks like [the women’s lunch] is going to be a special event! So glad you are involved.”

But… why was the PIC planning an event for Ivanka at all? And how had I gotten roped into it?

Tom texted, “How was your meeting with Ivanka?”

The two of them were as tight as an apple and its peel.

“We have so much to do for each of them,” he wrote, meaning each of the Trump family members.

I replied, “We needed talent, catering, invitations, guest lists, security, floor plans, tents, everything.” Nothing seemed to be coming together, because no one and nothing were ready to go, or existed.

I’d sent Melania a vision board of Union Station, the historic train station transformed into a glamorous party space for the Candlelight Dinner. “It’s great!” she said. The renderings she’d received were inspired by the breathtaking décor at the 2005 Met Gala in the American Wing, which I’d worked on with David Monn, the extraordinary event designer.

I told Rick, “After seeing the many other venues available to us, why use the Trump Hotel unless they are giving it to us rent-free? I really would like to discuss moving the Candlelight Dinner to Union Station. Thoughts?”

“Great!” Rick replied. “Union Station is a beautiful venue. Also gives us more space. I like the idea. I think as long as we do some sort of event at Trump Hotel, we will be good.”

At least the day ended on a bright note when Rick emailed, “Michael [Alpert, of Ashkenazy Acquisition] gave the PIC Union Station to use rent-free!”

“Amazing!” I replied. “It’s the perfect spot.”

Forty-Eight Days Until the Swearing-In

My first text to Tom that morning was “This is so unsettling…”

Team Hargrove was on its way to meet with us in New York City at Colony Capital. I texted Tom: “I do not like being involved in crosshairs or intrigue. What we are doing is so historic that I can’t believe people are taking advantage in such a crucial time for our country. Everything’s become a big mess…”

Tom found himself reassuring me constantly. “Just spoke with the big man. We have a change of plans, which is going make our life much easier. On my way to the office.”

I wondered what “the big man” (Donald) had to say.

Central command was my dining room table. We needed an office! The PIC’s offer to lease us a space a few blocks from Trump Tower in a barren room where we’d be required to build out offices and pay rent seemed wasteful, so we turned it down.

I took my request to Rick again, who then asked, “Would Trump Tower be okay? Or do you want something away from TT?”

Of course we wanted to work from Trump Tower. Why would we want to work anywhere else?

Rick introduced me to Brad Parscale, the “digital director” who was “largely responsible for the great win.” Brad was Jared Kushner’s all-things-digital genius and would eventually become the campaign manager for Trump 2020; he initially said he could allocate office space on the fifteenth floor to us. We walked through the empty floor in Trump Tower. “It’s a bit of a mess,” he said. “The campaign team just moved out.” I didn’t care what it looked like—there were offices and there was space.

After I left, Parscale reached out to Jared: “What is this whole thing about?” he’d asked. “Stephanie Wolkoff wants the campaign to pay for six to ten people on the campaign floor?”

What? I’d asked nothing of the kind. Why was this so hard? Trump Tower was full of empty offices and conference rooms. I had seen them with my own eyes. We couldn’t use just one?

Jared said, “They should be paid by the inauguration. This isn’t campaign related.”

Tom explained to me, “[There’s a] battle on the finance side. The transition team and campaign are raising money against us [the PIC] on DJT’s Victory Tour. This is very harmful to PIC fundraising.”

These details were above my head, and frankly not my responsibility. All I knew was I. Just. Needed. An. Office. Tom texted me to “STAY AWAY!” So we did.

A week later, free of charge, we started using his conference room at Colony Capital at 712 Fifth Avenue—a hop, skip, and jump from Trump Tower. Phew.

Forty-Seven Days Until the Swearing-In

Jon suggested we combine our professional strengths under one umbrella. “We’ll call it WIS Media Partners,” he said. “WIS” was a reference to our joke “Who Is She?” Tiny Horse, the media company Jon cofounded with his partners Melanie (Mel) Capacia Johnson, Owen Leimbach, and Kyle Young, would partner with SWW Creative (me) to work together producing the events of the 58th Presidential Inauguration.

Rick told us all to contract directly with the PIC. Tom reminded me to keep my contract “simple.”

In coordination with the PIC, I’d have general oversight of the creative and design development of the inauguration. Jon, Mel, and other executives from Tiny Horse would oversee the operations, communications, TV broadcast, and digital rights deals, as well as executive produce the broadcast components.

Forty-Six Days Until the Swearing-In

We had a meeting scheduled with Mitch Davis, hoping to get some good news on performances. Our list of entertainers: zilch. Trump needed a Hail Mary or the Godfather, and we got them both with Mark Burnett and the team he recommended.

December 5, 2016, was a big day. Jon flew to New York with former vice president of Tiny Horse, C. J. Yu. “C. J. is the best!” he said. “He worked for Burnett.”

Jon, C. J., and I met at my apartment, and then the three of us joined Rick to visit Mark Burnett at his vast apartment at the Ritz-Carlton Hotel. Mark welcomed us with open arms. Even though C. J. had worked with him before, for some strange reason they acted as if they vaguely remembered each other. I felt like I was the only one not in on the joke.

I found Mark to be magnetic, gracious, and enthusiastic. I opened my presentation book and showed him what we were planning for the overall theme. He said, “It’s incredible! Brilliant! You’ve got fantastic ideas, elegant Stephanie.” Like Donald, Mark liked to put an adjective in front of your name and voila!, instant brand. So, to him, my brand was “elegant SWW.” Really, he gushed.

There we were, sitting with the king of broadcast himself. And Burnett had some good ideas up his sleeve! He knew just the right people; Chris Wagner and Jim Roush of the Roush Wagner Company (RWC), award-wining television broadcast producers who could manage everything, were his go-to people. The PIC could finally exhale because they now had access to a top-of-the-line team of professionals whose credits included such notable productions as the Academy Awards, the Golden Globes, and the Emmy Awards, and reality TV shows like American Idol, The X Factor, Shark Tank, The Voice, and the MTV Music Video Awards. Their experience producing logistically complex live events in an efficient manner and on budget was invaluable due to our limited time frame. Burnett was our savior, going back and forth from LA to New York, and staying in communication with the executive producers and in close proximity to me.

All the while, as this was happening, I was working with Melania on her transition, initiatives, and styling, too.

Forty-Five Days Until the Swearing-In

Thanks to Mark Burnett, at last we had a great team with experience on top TV shows and live events. Chris Wagner and Jim Roush incorporated Inaugural Productions (IP), a.k.a. DC Productions, and subcontracted top-tier executive TV producers; communication and digital consultants; and skilled technicians to deliver the broadcast productions.

Our responsibilities grew tenfold. But we believed that with our combined extensive production experience and strong ties to the entertainment and fashion community, Inaugural Productions and WIS Media Partners were going to pull this off!

In an effort to maximize the PIC’s resources and economies of scale, WIS was also asked to assume oversight and management of some internal and external coordination between the PIC and many of its different vendors, including Hargrove, Design Cuisine (a catering company), and Amaryllis (a floral design company), to name a few. I was like a piece of chewing gum, getting stuck between budget reviews that I ultimately had no authority to question or approve. I stretched as far as humanly possible, and in every direction, trying to be heard. I didn’t have the power of the pen, so, at the end of the day, it was all a masquerade. Little did I know then how this would come to haunt me later.

IP’s $25 million broadcast production budget was preapproved by Thomas Barrack and PIC CEO Sara Armstrong, along with the PIC finance team, the PIC’s treasurer, Douglas Ammerman, PIC’s budget director, Heather Martin, and, always in copy, the RNC’s Jeff Larson.

Things seemed really complicated. Operating Agreements, Scope of Works, Master Service Agreements, proposals, and vendor budgets flooded my inbox. So many different versions, with revisions and comments, that it was impossible to keep track of them all. To me, contracts are like gobbledygook. Thankfully, I had learned an invaluable lesson from Melania: I told everyone to “speak to my lawyer.”

Jon sent me an email letting me know WIS Media Partners LLC was incorporated to develop, produce, and manage the events of the 58th Presidential Inauguration. I was a part of WIS’s senior level executive design and supervisory team.

After the PIC realized it could not deliver the broadcast production PEOTUS had envisioned and relayed, PIC asked WIS to assume this responsibility as well. For the production and broadcasting of the live performance events, WIS contracted IP for the Make America Great Again! Welcome Concert, a two-hour live event to take place on January 19 at the National Mall, plus a two-hour live broadcast of the musical performances, speeches, and presentations that took place at the Freedom and Liberty Inaugural Balls on January 20. This was all under the oversight of WIS Media Partners.

As WIS’s oversight grew, I made myself very clear to Jon. “I will not assume the financial responsibility,” I told him. “I’m not okay with this.” I didn’t have time to read the scope of work. Jon needed to, as I said, “speak with Tom and Rick to make sure the agreement is between you [Tiny Horse] and the PIC, not you [Tiny Horse] and SWW!” And to Call. My. Lawyer.

Jon replied, “That’s easy BUT let’s discuss. I think there are significant benefits to you to make it all under SWW.”

With all the crazy numbers swirling around, that was the last thing I wanted to do, so I immediately reached back out to my lawyer Larry, a partner at Grubman Shire Meiselas & Sacks, P.C., who told me, “Your partner’s [Jon’s] legal team represents him, they don’t rep you! Have him call me.”

So I told Jon, “Call Larry!”

Jon was calling and emailing me nonstop. “Are there any updates? We need to sign the Operating Agreement today. Please advise.”

I emailed my lawyer and said, “My biggest concern is that if millions are going into WIS, and we are paying IP, I do NOT want to be financially responsible. I am ONE person and Tiny Horse is a major company.”

Larry replied, “I am growing concerned about these people, the way they are pressuring you to sign in this manner. I want to understand why they need this. You need to be sure the agreement is right and not be pressured into signing when it’s not quite ready.”

This legal dialogue continued for weeks. Larry reached out again and again to Jon, Mel, and their legal counsel and said, “Will someone please forward a copy of the agreement for our review? There is no attachment on the emails we are receiving.”

Why didn’t the PIC just pay Inaugural Productions directly? Their fee comprised more than 90 percent of our budget. It seemed odd that WIS subcontracted them when our staff retained less than 5 percent of the budget. Shouldn’t they have subcontracted us?

I didn’t like that WIS was front and center, but, to make matters worse, there was a new effort in place by all parties to lower WIS’s profile and push SWW to the front of the line. The more I fought and resisted, the more I felt like a target.

After being repeatedly told by my partners that I was overreacting and that it was “easier this way” and “better for me,” my answer was always the same: “Please run it through my lawyer.” To this day, my lawyer has never signed off on this arrangement.

In addition to thinking about the big picture, I was focused on the tiniest details, like fonts. I had invitations to source and samples to approve. I tried to get the MAGA font from Brad Parscale, but he always lost my emails. Melania put me in contact directly with Rhona Graff, senior vice president at the Trump Organization, Trump’s gatekeeper, the woman who knows all. Within minutes, we had the goods. FYI: the font is Berthold Akzidenz Grotesk Bold Extended.

The barrage of emails and “action items” never stopped. Rick sent me tons of emails, always in need of immediate attention.

The action items from Rick that day were all about the swearing-in ceremony.

For example, he wanted me to ask Melania if she had any suggestions for the swearing-in; the only thing we knew for sure was who would administer the oath of office to President-Elect Trump. That one was easy. Since John Adams in 1797, it had been administered, with few exceptions, by the chief justice of the Supreme Court. I asked Melania which Bible(s) the president wanted to use. A single Bible or stacked? Which on top? Open or closed? Who would deliver the invocation? The benediction? Were there musical selections? Poetry readings? Who would perform the national anthem?

I had no idea what Donald wanted, and he probably didn’t either!

Melania’s reaction to all of these questions was, “You have to speak with Donald.”

I was on a mission to find out the answers, and that I did. For the Bibles, he chose his childhood Bible, given to him by his mother in 1955. “I want to use the Bible my mother gave me,” he told me. “It’s inscribed.” I actually teared up. The second Bible on the stack would be the one Abraham Lincoln used in 1861. Tom Barrack told the Times, “[Trump] is humbled to place his hand on Bibles that hold special meaning both to his family and to our country.” The only other president besides Lincoln to use that Bible? Barack Obama.

Forty-Four Days Until the Swearing-In

Talent was a must! The messaging “Donald’s the biggest and best talent!” was wearing us all out and certainly not attracting other talent. Inaugural Productions took the lead, with WIS Media Partners still retaining oversight and responsibility. IP was WIS’s only vendor.

To get us up to speed, Mark Burnett suggested IP hire talent producer Suzanne Bender, known for America’s Got Talent, Dancing with the Stars, Showtime at the Apollo, and American Idol, to name a few.

“I love Suzanne,” Jon said. “We worked together on AGT!”

The first order of business was to establish Suzanne’s fee. She seemed reluctant to join, but when the rest of the group agreed to double her fee, she was on board. The talent-scouting team was quickly in place and responsible for allocating a portion of IP’s budget for performers. Jon and Mel worked directly with Chris Wagner, and Suzanne Bender with PIC CEO Sara Armstrong.

Everything seemed under control, but that feeling was short-lived.

Like a broken record, I kept expressing my concerns about budgets. Also like a broken record, I became everyone’s problem.

Jon emailed me. “Rick and Sara were given budget yesterday.… Frankly, the pressure to reduce the budget is internal, mainly from you, Stephanie, so that’s why we’re analyzing each line item diligently. If we are to deliver the show DJT wants and in line with the creative we’ve proposed, then PIC already knows this will be $20M to $28M.”

As if there weren’t enough cooks in the kitchen, Rick introduced us to a talent producer from Texas, Walter Kinzie, the CEO of Encore Live. Jon Reynaga and I had no idea who Kinzie was. Rick seemed to know him and bent over backward to praise him when he talked about the talent he’d bring in, acts like Josh Weathers, the Green River Ordinance, the Band Perry, and Chris Janson. (Honestly, I’d never heard of any of them. Sorry, guys!)

“I smell a scam,” texted Reynaga. “Walter is not known by ANYONE in the industry.”

C. J. said, “You may know [Walter] from such events as… Blue Apron’s employee appreciation lunch and Mattress Firm’s regional bus tour.”

C. J. wasn’t joking around. He sent us a link. Who was this guy?

Kinzie went on and on about a concert at the Verizon Center, or maybe at the convention center, scheduled depending on what was available. He was planning a concert for the night after the swearing-in. I had not heard a thing about this event, but once Rick told us it wasn’t under WIS’s purview and the PIC was handling it, we wanted to know why we were wasting all of this time with people and events “we didn’t have anything to do with.”

“Walter is going to pay all this money to talent and then take a cut for an event we don’t know about,” texted Jon. “Something dodgy is going on.”

Melania was clueless about this concert, too, nor had she heard of Walter Kinzie.

As we discovered, Rick had hired Walter Kinzie, a school friend of Don Jr.’s, to produce a concert separate from the concert on the Mall at the Lincoln Memorial and the Freedom and Liberty Balls at the convention center, ones IP was doing. The concert Kinzie was working on for Don Jr. and Eric was the evolution of Camouflage and Cufflinks. “Bald Eagle” ticket buyers (for $1 million) would get to meet the new president. “Grizzly Bear” buyers (for $500,000) would get to go on a hunting/fishing trip with Don Jr. and Eric. (How fun!) One of the affiliated sponsors of the event was the National Rifle Association. All the music acts were red-state faves. The Trump boys created a nonprofit for the event called the Opening Day Foundation, with two directors, Gentry Beach and Thomas O. Hicks Jr.

I wrote to Jon, “It’s like the Country Music [Association] Awards, only with people you’ve never heard of.” He sent back an LOL. “I’m not laughing!” I replied.

Was there really a gun-lover event planned on Trump’s first day in office? Planned behind his and Melania’s backs? “I’m furious,” I wrote to Jon. “We have to stop this.” After a supposed “peaceful transition of power,” the phrase I’d inked into memory, Trump was kicking off his presidency with guns and saddles ablazing? Note to self: Follow up with Melania.

Burnett was official. On December 7, Maggie Haberman and Nicholas Fandos of the New York Times reported that Donald, Tom Barrack, and Burnett had “kicked around ideas for his inauguration in his office at Trump Tower.”

They wrote, “Mr. Barrack said Mr. Burnett was actively involved in producing the inauguration week festivities. He will have a large team to work with, as the committee’s staff in Washington is expected to swell to more than 300 people by Inauguration Day.… ‘Mark is a genius, and the president-elect loves him,’ Mr. Barrack said.”

Tom wrote, “Mark [Burnett] had the greatest idea for a ticker-tape parade in New York City, and then Trump traverses to the top of Trump Tower and helicopters off to Washington!”

My response: “The city is going to LOVE cleaning that up. LOL.”

Forty-Three Days Until the Swearing-In

Things were getting a bit tense with Jon. He’d started to call me a micromanager because I insisted on reading every email that came to me, from C. J., Wagner, our lawyers, my lawyers, Lindsay Reynolds and Ramsey Ratcliffe, Hargrove, and Tom and his assistants. I read and reread all correspondence so no one could say to me what I was saying to them: You’re not giving me what I need. So, yes, I micromanaged. Guilty as charged!

Jon wrote, “If you want to review all emails you can. You will go crazy.”

He got that right.

Mitch Davis was following up with the band Kiss for the outdoor concert on the National Mall, and if they fell through, the boss gave Tom and Mark Burnett the green light to go with Mark’s idea to do a “With the People”–themed event and invite unknown bands and acts to perform.

Jon and C. J. were racing ahead with the infrastructure of the broadcast for the concert. I was focusing on the creative and programming.

Plus, something bad was going on with my neck. The pain was indescribable. It ached and cramped all the time. I was taking tons of OTC pain meds just to function.

I perked up whenever Mark Burnett emailed me. “How are you?” he wrote. “See [in the recent article in] Variety that I made sure they mentioned you!! You are the General. I am your soldier. I will come back next week again. [Music executive] Irving Azoff is calling all his clients from us for [the concert on] the Mall.”

I replied, “I will take you up on that! Thank you.”

“YOU ARE THE BEST! Your vision and insight are priceless!!” His emails were priceless. For the Candlelight Dinner, I pushed for a full orchestra. Burnett texted, “Yes yes yes!!!!!! An orchestra is so much more elegant, like you!!”

You see what I mean? Butter.

Rick Gates, on the other hand, barraged me with emails about ticket design, entertainment, production, the website, as if I weren’t laboring twenty hours a day on the creative.

Forty-Two Days Until the Swearing-In

Rick Gates reached out to let us know he was working on a budget with Production Resource Group [PRG], who’d be providing the event technology for Steve Wynn’s Showstoppers at one of the balls. Rick said, “Our head of production assembled a budget of potential costs for transferring the show to a Ball. He’s quite familiar with Showstoppers, as the company he owns was responsible for creating the design, technology, and AV for the show at the Wynn.”

If Showstoppers was coming to DC, it would be a crime for them not to perform at one of the inaugural balls, to be broadcast for all to see. Rick Gates presented what he called a “30,000-foot level take on what it would look and feel like at an Inaugural Ball, and a production budget range estimate for discussion/review.” So far, so good, I thought. The email continued: “This budget keeps in mind the level of standards of the original, along with new approaches to the main background scenic (LED with video set changes), all designed for a convention center hall and this scale of an event. If the final direction/intent is to completely re-create the entire show, exactly as seen in Vegas now, the budget below would increase. If this direction/intent is for the performers to perform a selection of acts/numbers on a simpler static side stage, the budget below would decrease. Budget Implications $3,900,000–$5,000,000 Total Budget Estimate Range.” Wynn’s Showstoppers performed only at the Chairman’s Global Dinner.

Forty-One Days Until the Swearing-In

On December 10, I was cc’ed on an email between Lindsay Reynolds, Ramsey Ratcliffe, and Patricia Tang, the Trump International Hotel Washington’s director of sales and marketing. It said, “For eight days, Sunday through Sunday, for all space including room rental and minimum [food and beverage], the price is $3,600,000.”

The buyout amount, before the costs of the events, would cost the PIC $3.6 million. That figure couldn’t be right. I thought to myself, Surely there’s a mistake here—wouldn’t Donald be donating the space or charging a steep discount? There was no way this was the going rate. This amount appeared to be quadruple the standard price. Besides the problematic optics, it seemed ethically wrong.

Forty Days Until the Swearing-In

Melania and I were meeting again at Trump Tower, deciding on her inauguration looks, when Burnett texted me. I mentioned that I was with Melania right then. “Please give my love to her,” he wrote. “Roma [Downey, his wife] and I adore her. Cameron [his son and Melania’s ring bearer] says hello. I am here for you… 24/7. Regarding music. Unless it’s a huge performer. We don’t want it, right?”

Melania nodded. Only the tippy top for Donald!

He said he’d had a conference call with the set designer of The Voice and his “video screen team” to talk about the Candlelight Dinner. “I explained theme is SWW ELEGANT. THINK OSCARS. THEY GOT IT. I ALSO GOT INTEL HEAD OF GOVT RELATIONS FOR DRONES IF DESIRED [caps his]. I think the drones would add [to the experience]. And it would be free.”

Drones for the concert on the Mall and/or the swearing-in ceremony? Burnett thought big and bold.

On December 11, there was a very bizarre meeting about entertainment. No A-listers wanted to be associated with Trump. “What happened to Steven Tyler?” we asked. “What about Kiss?” They just disappeared.

There was one bright spot that made me bounce in my chair. Jon Voight was on the call. Mitch recruited Voight, and he in turn tried to recruit others. “Jon just saw Andrea Bocelli in Manhattan and had an idea with GOP friendly Katharine McPhee,” said Mitch.

I said to Voight, “Very much looking forward to connecting,” and I genuinely was. Finally! Someone who wanted to be a part of the inauguration.

Thirty-Six Days Until the Swearing-In

We had one more A-lister on board: Andrea Bocelli, the opera superstar, was a friend of Donald’s and he’d vaguely agreed to perform at an inaugural event. Boris Epshteyn, the PIC director of communications, thought we should announce it to the world. “TMZ, Page Six,” he wrote. “We go wide.” But Bocelli was not yet confirmed. If he released that, it would make us all look bad.

A little after seven thirty in the evening, he sent me a draft of the announcement that included this: “Top-line entertainers from all over the world are reaching out in order to perform at events related to the inauguration. The president-elect, however, is hesitant to invite any performers who supported Hillary Clinton and helped artificially inflate crowds at her events.”

Why would Clinton supporters like Beyoncé or Bruce Springsteen have any interest in performing at Donald’s events? They wouldn’t. It made no sense. And the media already knew we couldn’t get top-line entertainers.

He emailed, “[Donald] wants to push on this.”

I convinced Boris to hold off until Bocelli was official.

Ivanka texted me that evening. “Random question. Is the Candlelight Dinner on Thursday night black tie? A ball? Press will be there?” This couldn’t wait? It was over a month away.

I told her I’d have someone get back to her.

Mark Burnett reached out. “Is there a party on Jan 21? Alabama performing?? TMZ just asked me to confirm. Hunting trip with Don Jr. sponsored by McIntosh [a political fund-raising firm]?? It’s nonsense. Right??”

TMZ broke the story about Eric and Don Jr.’s (canceled) Camouflage and Cufflinks event. It looked horrible that the boys were trying to sell face time with the newly elected president.

I told Mark, “We just found out Steve Wynn wants Alabama performing at the Chairman’s Dinner before Showstoppers,” but “as for Don Jr., I have no idea about the party on January 21?!”

Mark was outraged. “Someone is back channeling press. It’s apparently 16 people who pay one million $ to go on hunting trip with Don Jr. and Eric?? And it’s on Jan 21, the same day as million-woman march??? You’re not producing this. Right?”

I wrote, “We have NOTHING to do with this. This is all Don Jr.”

“Well, I don’t want us lumped in,” Mark said. “I think you need to make this very clear. Imagine your friends asking you about the HUNTING DINNER??” He was so right!

Thirty-Five Days Until the Swearing-In

Back in New York, I attended a meeting with President-Elect Trump in his office. The space was packed with boxes, trinkets, and piles of paper. And I thought I was a hoarder! His office looked like a garage sale. Andrea Bocelli; his wife, Veronica Berti; his son; and their security guard were already there. I sat in back. Bocelli dropped the bomb: his wife and family had been receiving death threats about the possibility of his upcoming performance, and for that reason, he was going to have to back out. He and his wife couldn’t have been more friendly, and no one could blame them for canceling.

Thank God I’d stopped Boris from sending that statement!

It was a huge blow to Donald, though. We all agreed to put forward the story that Bocelli had offered to perform because of their friendship, but Donald had told him that he wasn’t needed, “thanks but no thanks.” After handshakes and kisses, the door closed behind them.

“Stephanie,” Donald said, “tell me what’s going on with the inauguration planning.”

Tom had told me not to present anything—not a tablecloth or a color theme or a table chart—directly to the boss, but he couldn’t be angry at me for following Donald’s orders, could he? My objective was to make Donald and Melania happy. Rick, perhaps, had other objectives—for starters, at times he seemed more concerned about making the Trump children happy. If I told Donald and Melania about the inauguration plans, it could prevent others from pushing their own agendas.

Ivanka joined Donald and me for the meeting, and I presented to the two of them.

I grabbed my binder, went over to Donald’s side of his desk, and sat with my knees on the floor. He sat in his red leather chair, leaning back, clasping his hands, ready for me to proceed. Ivanka hovered over me.

I went through hundreds of pages, covering all eighteen events. Ivanka made comments and asked questions. “Will there be a red carpet?” “Where do we walk during the parade?” “What about seating at the swearing-in?” “After-party?”

About the parade on Pennsylvania Avenue, Donald said, “I don’t want floats.”

“Okay,” I said.

“I want tanks and choppers. Make it look like North Korea.” There was no way… He really wanted goose-stepping troops and armored tanks? That would break tradition and terrify half the country.

When Ivanka heard North Korea, she didn’t bat an eye.

About our lack of securing a top performer, she said, “My father is the biggest celebrity!” He smiled at her.

But we had to have someone. Was Donald going to sing the national anthem himself?

I walked out of the meeting ruffled and worried. I texted Jon Reynaga, “North Korea–style military parade. Bad idea?!”

I hit send and my phone rang. Rick. “A little birdie told me you attended the Bocelli meeting,” he said.

Huh? Who had told him I was in there?

Donald came out of his office and said, “Stephanie, come with me.” I hung up on Rick and followed Donald down the hall. He said, “Great job, really great job.” I was thrilled that the president-elect was flashing me the classic double-thumbs-up pose. (I’m easy to please.)

PEOTUS walked me to a nearby conference room that was cluttered with MAGA and Apprentice paraphernalia. He introduced me to the woman at the table. “Stephanie, this is Monique Breaux. She’s working on the Oval Office. Monique, Stephanie is a pro. She did the Met Gala and has a great eye. I want you to run her through what you have here,” he said, made an about-face, and left.

Melania had mentioned Monique to me. Apparently, she did a lot of decorating for the Trump Organization and worked very closely with Ivanka.

The evening before, I had asked Melania, “Don’t you want to decorate the Oval Office?”

Of course she did, but she told me, “If Donald wants Ivanka to do it, then let her, I don’t care.”

“Don’t you think you should?!” I asked. “You’re the first lady.” Does Ivanka have any boundaries?

“Yes,” she finally admitted. “I want to decorate the Oval Office.”

Monique showed me her vision boards, swatches, and samples. She was keeping it Trump traditional with silks, velvets, and lots of tassels. The golden/yellow/slightly greenish hues of the colors reminded me of the off-color surprises in my babies’ diapers when I was breastfeeding them.

“I’d really like to see how this photographs,” I said. “Do you mind if I take a few pictures?”

“Not at all!” she said, smiling proudly. “I’m also designing a custom carpet for the Oval Office.”

“I’d love to see it,” I said as I snapped away.

Once I’d seen enough, I left the conference room, went to Rhona Graff’s office, and gently knocked on her door. “Come in, Stephanie,” she said. “What did you think about Monique’s designs?” she asked me.

“I’m not sure I should get in the middle of this,” I told her. But since you’re asking… Sure, I wanted the job of decorating the Oval Office to fall upon the First Lady, but I also knew TV and I knew Donald. “Monique’s not thinking big-picture,” I told Rhona. “It’s the Oval but it’s also going to be Mr. Trump’s set for at least the next four years.

“The shimmering threads she has for wall coverings just don’t work,” I said ever so gently. “It’s gold mixed with green, and we all know Donald hates green!” I said. “No matter how tan he looks, he’ll look drained out.”

Rhona nodded and said she would speak to Donald, but I knew that was it. Monique was out, and my girl was in.

Within minutes, I told Melania about Monique’s gold braids and she said, “Are you kidding me?”

Ivanka and I spoke later that day. I told her, “Rick called me right after the Bocelli meeting. He said a ‘birdie’ told him I was there. I want you to know that I would never disclose to anyone what was said in the room between your dad and Bocelli.”

She sharply replied, “Stephanie, you better figure out how to make things work with Rick [Gates].”

My heart stopped beating for a minute. She had actually shown her hand. Rick’s “little birdie” was definitely Ivanka. They told each other everything, just like I told Melania everything. Rick was, in effect, Ivanka’s spy and protector. No wonder Gates had an all-access security badge for Trump Tower. I needed to be very, very careful around him and assume that talking to him was like speaking directly to Ivanka.

If Ivanka controlled Rick, and Rick had allegedly written Melania’s convention speech, did that mean Ivanka was behind that major faux pas/sabotage? If she felt threatened by Melania, she’d make her look bad in the press and block her efforts—and the efforts of others, like me, made on Melania’s behalf.

Still, later than night, Monique emailed, “Lovely meeting you today. I have sourced more gold fabrics and spoken to [White House operations people] regarding the quality, timelines and gold yarn colors in the rug. Let me know when we can connect in the next week to finalize golds and wall finishes.” I didn’t have the heart to reply. Rhona had to do the dirty work the next day.

Thirty-Four Days Until the Swearing-In

I thought that Melania should wear and showcase the extraordinary talents of American designers only, and ideally those who were also immigrants. As one of America’s most famous immigrants, she could use her visibility to celebrate and endorse the creativity and accomplishments of others like her who came to America and made their mark.

When I laid out my sartorial vision and excitedly explained to Melania how it could send a unifying message to balance out her husband’s anti-immigration rhetoric, she said, “But I want to wear Lagerfeld!”

Thirty-Three Days Until the Swearing-In

Hallelujah, we had talent. Jackie Evancho, then sixteen, who rose to fame on—wait for it—a Mark Burnett Production, America’s Got Talent, signed on to sing the national anthem at the swearing-in ceremony. All other music that day would be from Donald’s approved song list, the same one he used at rallies, heavy on senior white dudes like the Rolling Stones, Creedence Clearwater Revival, Elton John, and Luciano Pavarotti.

Thirty-Two Days Until the Swearing-In

“My team has asked to get their contracts signed. Can you please facilitate?” I asked Rick. He replied, “Can you guys please provide a breakdown of the $1.62m in the proposed contract.” We’d done that already. WIS Media Partners was paid $1.62 million with the financial responsibility to pay WIS’s and IP’s executive teams’ supervisory fees. WIS retained $1.195 million of the fee to pay Jon, Mel, C. J., me, and eleven other employees. PIC authorized WIS to pay $425,000 to the three executive producers, Chris and Jim from IP, and Carol Donovan, a TV producer, for their broadcast production fee. WIS was also tasked with overseeing and paying IP’s $25,000,000.00 preapproved broadcast budget.

Part of the problem with signing up talent was we didn’t yet have an approved budget and we’d been chasing down the PIC CEO Sara Armstrong to generate contracts and approve advance payments. But it was impossible to get anywhere with her. She had no authority to make decisions, but she was great at following them. The PIC made getting paid a huge hurdle, not just for the talent, but for us, too!

Rick wrote an email to Tom and me confirming that “we are removing the public concert on Friday night. We will reflect the changes in the new schedule.” He was referring to the Camouflage and Cufflinks event that was to have been hosted by Don Jr., Eric, Gentry Beach, and Thomas O. Hicks Jr., and produced by Walter Kinzie. The Trump boys must have been looking to put my head on a stick, but Mark Burnett also wanted that event axed.

Thirty-One Days Until the Swearing-In

Melania had a meeting scheduled with David Monn, an event planner and interior designer, “to talk about potentially working with her in the White house at some point, somehow,” she told me. Jamie Burke, the director of presidential transition personnel in 2016, organized for them to get together. (Jamie Burke is currently the commissioner at the President’s Commission on White House Fellowships and president of the 45 Alliance.)

Melania and David’s meeting had nothing to do with the inauguration or me. But I have to admit, when she told me about the upcoming meeting with David, I was elated. “Do you think I should ask David for help with the inauguration?”

Melania paused and said, “Great idea.”

Music to my ears. I sent him an email but he was unavailable “doing a wedding in South Africa.” Of course he was! Too good to be true.

Melania sent me a draft of her holiday letter that she hoped to release to the press that ended with “Wishing you a Merry Christmas and prosperous New Year!” It was signed, “First Lady Elect, Mrs. Melania Trump.”

Face palm. Here we go again.

I texted, “Honey, I love you, but you were not elected.”

“Protocol office says it’s fine!” she told me.

I went back to look at previous administrations’ wording. None of them said “First Lady–Elect Michelle Obama” or “First Lady–Elect Laura Bush.” Melania did. Not. Care.

On December 20, Ivanka set up a “family logistics” telecom meeting with Tom and Rick (and me and Jon) to run down a set agenda and invited Don Jr., Eric, and Tiffany Trump, and copied Rhona and Lindsay Santoro, former Trump family chief of staff. It was a huge time suck, but whatever. It had to happen eventually. Ivanka wanted to know the nitty-gritty. We ran through an overview of the inaugural activities and schedule, logistics and transportation, the swearing-in ceremony, broadcast rights, and digital “behind the scenes.”

A couple of hours after the family conference call, Tiffany Trump wrote to Rick to ask about her transportation to DC, and if her boyfriend could sit with her and stay at Blair House with her. She also asked how many outfits she’d need and if hair/makeup stylists would be available to her, and then signed off, “Thank you so much!” Tiffany seemed genuine and humble. A very different style than her sister…

Rick was on it. He responded to Tiffany right away, assuring her that she could bring her boyfriend and a small entourage. He even gave her packing and style tips. “You might want to throw in an extra daytime ensemble in case you want to change after the Wreath Laying Ceremony and the Welcome Concert on Thursday,” he wrote. “If you have some specific needs [for hair and makeup] let us know and we will see what can be arranged. Hope this information helps.” When it came to the Trump kids, Rick was like the concierge at the Four Seasons.

Thirty Days Until the Swearing-In

Rick emailed Ivanka the seating chart, and she was assured by Rhona that her mother, Ivana Trump; her grandmother Marie Zelníčková; and her childhood nanny Dorothy Curry were in the VIP section and very well taken care of. Ivanka asked me, “Are these good seats? Any suggested changes?”

I wasn’t sure which seats she was referencing—hers and Jared’s, or her mom’s.

Ivanka was very focused on Ivanka. Seating position and photo ops were of paramount importance, especially during the swearing-in ceremony, “the most iconic moment of the inauguration,” she told me. If she could have swapped spots with Melania, you bet she would have!

Thanks to Ivanka’s concerns, I got my hands on a seating chart. Up until that point, I had not been involved in the seating, nor had I seen a seating chart. With diagram in hand, I told Melania about our meeting. Melania specifically requested that I find out for her where on a drawing she, Barron, and her parents were placed, and she wanted to approve the seating order, and she did.

Ivanka was the least of my worries, though. I was increasingly frustrated by Hargrove’s lack of urgency and compliance. I wrote to Vice President Ron Bracco, cc’ing president Carla Hargrove McGill, “I am concerned. I have not seen anything [but creative] for these events. We need to see the outdoor and indoor setups. The tenting, the entrance, lighting, the check-in area. I need to see samples of everything as we discussed! I need line by line, which includes the item, unit price, extended price, and description. I hadn’t seen any of that, in spite of being promised so many times.” They seemed allergic to transparency, which was infuriating and troubling. I drove Tom and everyone else nuts with my ceaseless and unanswered requests for help. Then I was told my presence was no longer needed in any future budget meetings.

Twenty-Nine Days Until the Swearing-In

On December 22, Matthew Hiltzik, PR crisis manager, once the head of corporate communications and government relations at Miramax, reached out to Ivanka to say, “The narrative surrounding the inauguration is going awry. Mark [Burnett] and I were talking, and he specifically suggested/requested that I raise this issue with you after he and I discussed the situation. Basically, in order to better control the narrative, you should have Stephanie be front and center on this and there needs to be a clear direction expressed publicly about what the inauguration plan IS (celebration of talent of lesser known but incredibly gifted Americans) as opposed to being defined by what it is NOT (no—or few—Hollywood and top mainstream musical talent). Always best to be defined by what you are, vs what you are not. An approach which served your father quite well during the campaign.”

Awry?! It was more like a national disaster.

Hiltzik is like a Michael Clayton image “fixer.” He was warning Ivanka to distance herself from the bad inauguration press and pushing me to the top of Shit Mountain.

Twenty-Eight Days Until the Swearing-In

Chris Wagner, of Inaugural Productions (IP), wanted assurances from WIS Media’s budget director, Melanie Johnson (Mel), that he’d have enough money to satisfy Donald’s vision. He wrote, “DJT wants it to be bigger/better and outside of the box than any other inauguration.”

Yeah, we knew, Donald and Mark wanted what they wanted, but there were limits. Mel replied, “The more modern, innovative design and décor that DJT has approved includes more union labor, scenic build, and install costs involved in a short time span. Vendors are charging premium prices for holiday turnaround.” In addition, “New pavement at Lincoln Memorial has a very expensive workaround because no heavy machinery is allowed.”

Fireworks? Boring. Mark Burnett wanted to light the sky up with drones, and Donald and Melania loved the idea. Mel explained, “Aerial Light Show and logistics around that is a new expense never been done before. Any further detailed explanations around Staging, Lighting, Art Direction, Talent, and Travel would be beneficial since those are the high numbered items.”

Wagner also needed to transport the stage itself from New York to DC. Why couldn’t Hargrove build it in DC? Johnson described his requests as “like creating the pyramids all over again!”

Trying to get real numbers from Hargrove about past inaugurations was a tragicomedy. They estimated $30,000 for a decorative tree, but market rate for a similar one was $7,000. So many hours of my life were lost yelling over the price of plants. And did a stage really cost $6 million? Why was IP subcontracting to Hargrove now, too? The PIC was already contracted directly with Hargrove and paying them, too. These kinds of questions kept me up at night.

While it seemed some people were burning through cash, I was trying to bring some in. During our broadcast meeting regarding the underwriting and sponsorship, I learned that Barack Obama raised $5 million for his inauguration by selling exclusive broadcast rights. My competitive inner beast emerged. I thought, I’m going to sell the broadcast rights to the ball’s first dance. And then I did! CNN verbally committed to me to sponsor it for $2 million.

I called Tom and said, “This should cover a lot of expenses, including my entire team’s salary!”

“That’s great!” he replied. “The boss is going to be happy about that!” But then he continued. “We have to be careful here, because Donald and Rupert Murdoch are best friends, and CNN has been very difficult for DJT, so I have to clear all this politically first.” Tom tried.

The boss was not happy about anything having to do with CNN. That deal was off.

Twenty-Seven Days Until the Swearing-In

Ivanka was weighing in on talent, and Sara Armstrong was not having it. Sara sent an email to Jon and me that said, “I’m worried [a certain performer] gets into the lower level that Ivanka didn’t want. My opinion is that we need to decide if DJT is the final sign off on all entertainment (which I think he has to be) and then present to him the full plan of entertainment for each and all events before we pull the trigger. What I don’t want to do is invite entertainment and then DJT not like it. We can’t please everyone in the family. The decision maker has to be DJT. I think we need to have a plan that we present to Tom who then presents to DJT. That’s my 2 cents.”

It was Donald’s inauguration, not Ivanka’s. But no one was brave enough to tell her that.

Twenty-Six Days Until the Swearing-In

Tom reached out to say, “Merry Holidays! Hope you’re getting a little rest. DJT just called me and asked if we still have the Rockettes. I said yes. I hope that’s true!”

“So do I!” I said. “That has been arranged by Rick so we are waiting for the next steps on that. I will follow up with him. Have a wonderful holiday!”

Twenty-Five Days Until the Swearing-In

To reinforce my American-only policy, I turned to one of my dear colleagues, interior and events designer David Monn, whom Melania trusted as well. He agreed with me. “I asked around with a few friends,” he texted, and he said they agreed with us, but “interestingly for different reasonings.” The first reason he mentioned was the business aspect. Jobs. Commerce. Similar to US politicians driving American cars, it’s just a good policy. The other reason was to show that Melania did have some support in the New York fashion world.

Melania and I were still going back and forth about which designer she should wear to the swearing-in. Although her heart was set on wearing Lagerfeld, I told her to think big, and she finally got it. There is no one like American icon Ralph Lauren.

I’d known Ralph Lauren for over twenty years and had almost worked for his charitable foundation. I had no idea when I asked him if he’d consider my proposal to dress the incoming First Lady for the swearing-in ceremony, much less if he’d agree. When Ralph gave the green light, I teared up.

“I’m grateful, thankful, and hopeful,” I replied. What a historic moment for all of us.

“They got lucky with you,” he said. Insert lump, throat.

Ralph, along with his senior design team, got to work and produced beautiful sketches of a cropped double-faced cashmere jacket and mock-turtleneck dress in the same fabric. For the color, he proposed camel or baby blue since it would be January. (The secret service call her “Muse,” but my nickname for Melania was Bella Blue [BB].) With her Manolo Blahnik BBs, BB wanted baby blue, a color that would set off her eyes. Whatever Melania wants…

Twenty-Four Days Until the Swearing-In

On December 27, 2016, I reached out to Ron Bracco. “Just arriving in DC. I am looking at this budget and I was hoping to see the edits based on our two-hour call. Many of the revisions we discussed are not represented here?” I let him know that “We will need to spend all afternoon at the Hargrove office and will review this line by line.”

Rick was perplexed. “What is up with these guys? I am really getting concerned about their lack of focus and accuracy!”

There was constant flak, conveyed through Tom’s assistants, about the details of the Chairman’s Global Dinner. The guest list, which I was never allowed to see, had ballooned to six hundred. Tom wanted to hire ballerinas, dressed in sexy Elie Saab dresses, to escort the guests from cocktails into dinner. He suggested we bring in his personal décor guy from Los Angeles.

“Have him send a vision board,” I said.

I should have just let Tom do what he wanted. But I was so worried about how this opulent event would reflect on Donald and Melania. I tried to step out of the event several times but was always pulled back in. I sent photos and info about the venue to David Monn. We’d fix it together.

Melania and I talked about Tom’s dinner, including the playlist from Mrs. Wynn’s fiftieth birthday party (personally curated by Mr. and Mrs. Wynn) to be played throughout the evening, and Steve Wynn’s Showstoppers from Vegas. “Tom, Donald, and Steve, the three of them have this love triangle dynamic, and I don’t want to get in the middle of it,” I said.

“No,” she said. “It doesn’t sound very fun.”

Silence.

Twenty-Three Days Until the Swearing-In

On December 28, Hargrove invited WIS and IP for a meeting at their warehouse facility. We were ready to see where the magic took place. Carla, Ron, and other senior staff met inside their spacious conference room. About ten of us had a seat at the table, and another five people sat on the periphery. They handed out an updated proposed budget for the inauguration, to the tune of $29,501,798. (This was the last Hargrove budget ever shared with me.) Their management fee was $1,538,510.00.

I almost fell off my chair. I asked for a tour.

In the warehouse, there was not one table on-site, only the tools and machinery to construct them. They didn’t have any finished product to show us. No words could explain the shock we were in.

I asked a very reasonable question: “Where’s your stockroom?” I wanted to see items from past inaugurals, from past administrations.

Didn’t exist. No storage room.

Two and a half weeks before showtime, and Hargrove had nothing to show us?

“Not to worry,” Ron said. “We’ve been doing this since the 1940s.”

What a relief. Not.

After we regrouped and caught our breath, we had to figure out who we knew with available assets and could get them to Washington in two weeks.

Chris Wagner of IP, WIS’s only subcontractor, wasn’t concerned: he was set and had vendors lined up for everything broadcast related, including lighting and staging. Since IP and the PIC said they had that and other events covered, I believed them—I didn’t have the bandwidth to question this. I needed to take care of the original events I’d been brought in to produce. I wasn’t about to take any chances with Hargrove, so again I reached out to David Monn.

Unfortunately, he was still in South Africa. Texting him, I gave a brief summary of how screwed we were and begged him for his help, knowing he could whip this together in his sleep. Whether he’d be available or not, I explained, still furious about the lack of transparency and helpfulness from the PIC, “I only want to be with people who are kind, honest, and loyal!”

He replied, “Kind, honest, and loyal. Those would be the three principles that I too believe in and actually live by! It’s actually a very strange thing that I kept the calendar open for the first part of January, as I wanted to ‘feed my soul’ in some way. To celebrate our democracy, our process, our people would ‘feed the soul’ for sure!” This was a godsend.

I almost collapsed with relief, and prayed the PIC would sign off and maybe even reallocate some of Hargrove’s budget to David. He would be back in New York on January 4, just several days away. The team, including Melania and Ivanka, were happy to hear that David was on board.

Twenty-Two Days Until the Swearing-In

Hargrove was the PIC’s main vendor and general contractor. We had a shared responsibility to make sure the inauguration was a success, so I needed to stay on top of them and tried to make nice with Carla Hargrove McGill, the company president. I explained in a long email about our communication issues with their staff, the undelivered renderings and floor plans, the lack of available assets, and the pricing, or, more specifically, the lack therof!

She replied, “In the spirit of moving forward as you suggest, we would like to offer you the following for consideration. Hargrove will provide ten bars at your approved design at no charge. We will also offset the costs of your linens in our budget.”

It seemed they were charging a fortune for items that didn’t seem to exist, but they’d throw in ten bars and linen for free? Could they throw in a few cases of tequila, too? And maybe some Xanax?

The best part… my day was just getting started.

Rick called me that afternoon and said, “I need to see you ASAP!” Hopefully he realized how screwed we all were.

I walked into a room and saw the staffer in charge of the parade and outdoor programs, Ryan Price. He nodded hello. “Hello, Ryan, lovely to see you,” I said.

Rick chimed in, “We need you to come up with an event to hold at the Ellipse for the preshow,” he said. “We have nothing to put in it.” He paused. “Maybe an event having to do with children.” Just another request to add to my overflowing load of responsibilities.

So let me get this straight: the PIC agreed to pay Hargrove millions to get the Ellipse (the park next to the White House) built out for an event, but they had no entertainment planned and wondered if I had any suggestions? Someone in the room suggested a blood drive. I said, “Give me an hour.”

I walked out in a daze and ended up in my PIC office, where I plopped down in my chair. On top of everything else that was going on, they needed me to come up with another act? Nothing came to mind as I stared out into space and devoured a stale cookie, which tasted incredible. Nothing made sense.

I thought, What about the Girl Scouts?

Since Melania’s initiative was going to be about the overall well-being of children, the Girl Scouts were perfect. Their anti-bullying program protected kids from cyberbullying and promoted STEM (Science, Technology, Engineering, and Math) education for girls. I’d already been working with them on a nut-free cookie idea as part of my (pre-Trump) food allergy initiative with the Sean N. Parker Center for Allergy & Asthma Research at Stanford, in collaboration with the Safe + Fair Food Company. I’d created the partnership, so I had the relationships in place. It was a wholesome, easy ask.

I checked in to see what Melania thought of the idea of hosting an event welcoming the Girl Scouts and highlighting their program. Without missing a beat, she said, “Of course.”

I told Rick and Ryan the great news. “Melania suggested we invite the Girl Scouts to participate in a welcome event, followed by walking in the parade and giving out Girl Scout cookies,” I said.

Disaster averted.

But there was another one sneaking right around the corner. I asked Rick for a follow-up on my contract and he told me, “We had a breakthrough (subject to final approval from our attorney) in regards to the broadcasting and production elements in conjunction with the WIS contract. We will discuss during our meeting today. Thanks.”

This sounded complicated. I just wanted my “simple” contract.

Twenty-One Days Until the Swearing-In

Lindsay Reynolds, the deputy director of the PIC’s special events team, was aware I was interviewing candidates for the East Wing staff and offered to set up a couple of meetings. I met with Lea Berman, former White House social secretary during the George W. Bush administration, in my room at the hotel so no one would see us together. She also suggested I meet with former White House chief usher Gary Walters, who had served seven presidents and could help me go through protocol and operations. I acknowledged that it was a good idea and was really appreciative that they’d offered. When we all met at the Trump International Hotel in DC, Lindsay had to leave early and accidentally left behind a paper bag, which I took up to my room.

The following morning, I rested Lindsay’s bag on top of my suitcase. The bag ripped and fell over… and out came a DC Events binder full of renderings, schedules, and the run-of-shows from the two previous inaugurals that I’d been asking for since November. She’d kept it from us all this time.

The power struggle between the PIC and WIS never let up. I’d had enough. I wrote to Tom’s assistant, “WIS is out.” The PIC, including Lindsay Reynolds and Ramsey Ratcliffe, did everything in their power to keep us out of the loop by not inviting us to meetings, dropping calls, and making blanket decisions.

I went to see Jon. We were enraged and called Rick and Tom. If we were to stay, something had to change!

Rick did the dirty work and fired Lindsay and Ramsey.

Ramsey got herself hired right back through Colony Capital (just like Rick Gates). Lindsay stayed in the background to help the PIC for a bit, but then she was sent home to her husband and kids in Cincinnati.

I sent a fiery email to Heather about the stonewalling we’d been dealing with. “I am DISGUSTED by the lack of transparency about the PIC’s funding,” I wrote. “I asked Hargrove last night for the millionth time to send me PAST renderings. I can’t approve any budget if I don’t have something to compare it to! This is unacceptable and a pure lack of any ethical standards.”

I wasn’t asking to compare apples and oranges. It was apples to apples. Same venues. Same events. I could not get an inch with these people.

Finally, a bid from Hargrove came in. Chris Wagner, used to dealing with very big budgets, was knocked off his feet by Hargrove’s bid for one of the inaugural balls. He sent an email to our team saying, “We just received Hargrove’s bid. It came in at $2.95M ($193K for their on-site labor). We have $650K budgeted for this set build. For reference, this bid is literally five times anywhere else would be. We’ve accounted for some premium increase, but this is exceptionally high. We have concurrently reached out to additional vendors and will keep you updated.”

I wasn’t the only one who was outraged by the overpricing.

Hargrove, PIC’s largest vendor, also entered into a Master Service Agreement directly with IP, WIS’s largest subcontractor, and was paid over $2 million for a section of the stage at the Lincoln Memorial.

On New Year’s Eve, I was reeling about the invitations and tickets the PIC had outsourced to Ted Jarrett’s Cavalier Communications. Ted emailed Ramsey the designs, and we noticed that the attire was listed incorrectly on multiple invites. Ted said, “Rick and Sara approved all of these.” The tickets had been printed, and now they had to be redone. There was no time!

The only power Sara Armstrong had was the power of the pen. She signed off on all budgets after they were reviewed by Tom and Rick and approved by the PIC treasurer, Douglas Ammerman, and Jeff Larson, Sara’s advisor, her boss at the RNC. She wasn’t counting every penny, but I was, and they all wanted me to just shut up.

That was how 2016 ended for me: furious, burned out, and feeling very much alone. I had no time for celebrating, only more mountains to climb.

Maybe it would all change in 2017, with less than three weeks to go.