Conversation with Donald Trump

Start writing...The room smelled of leather, money, and ambition. Inside the golden-glossed office atop Trump Tower, the former President sat with his usual flair — chest out, chin up, eyes sharp as ever.

“Sit down,” he said, motioning to the chair in front of his massive mahogany desk. “Let’s have a tremendous conversation. People love it when I talk. They say, ‘Mr. Trump, nobody speaks like you.’ And I say, I know.”

I smiled politely. Behind the bombast was a man who had walked through fire and emerged… still tweeting.

Interviewer: “Mr. Trump, you’ve been called many things — businessman, president, disruptor, even a symbol of division. Who are you really?”

He leaned back, smiling like he’d heard this question a thousand times.

Trump: “You know who I am? I’m a winner. That’s what I am. From real estate to reality TV to the White House. I broke all the rules and still won. And I didn’t have to be part of the Washington club to do it. They hated that. But the people loved it.”

His tone softened, slightly.

Trump: “People forget I wasn’t supposed to win. 2016? They laughed. Said I was a joke. I crushed 16 Republicans and then Hillary. That wasn’t luck. That was strategy. Genius strategy.”

He paused, stared at a framed photo of his inauguration.

Trump: “You know what that was? That was the moment America said, ‘We’re done with the fake smiles and broken promises. We want someone who fights like hell — for us.’”

I shifted gears.

Interviewer: “But do you ever reflect on the chaos? The criticism, the impeachment trials, the Jan 6th aftermath?”

He raised an eyebrow, almost amused.

Trump: “You mean the witch hunts? Please. I’ve been attacked more than any president in history. Two impeachments. Russia hoax. Fake indictments. And still — I’m here. Stronger than ever. That’s what a movement looks like. It’s not about me anymore. It’s about the people.”

He stood up, walked toward the window, looking over Manhattan like a king surveying his kingdom.

Trump: “They thought I was done in 2020. But let me tell you something — the story isn’t over. We’re making a comeback. A big one. Maybe the biggest.”

There was a moment of silence. I asked something off-script.

Interviewer: “Mr. Trump, when you’re alone… no cameras, no crowd… do you feel fear? Regret?”

He didn’t answer immediately.

Trump (softly):
“Sometimes. Not fear — no. But regret? Maybe. I regret trusting certain people. I regret not speaking even harder, louder. There were moments I could’ve fired more. Acted faster.”

He turned, facing me with rare honesty.

Trump:
“Being President isn’t easy. It’s lonely. People want something from you. They smile… then stab. The media lies. Friends betray. But you keep going. That’s strength. That’s leadership.”

He sat down again, now quieter.

Trump: “You want to know the truth? I miss the crowds. The energy. The American flags waving. The chants. USA! USA! That wasn’t about me. That was about pride. We had it again.”

I saw something in him now that I hadn’t before — not just confidence, but a strange mixture of nostalgia and need. Donald Trump didn’t just crave power — he craved legacy.

Interviewer: “You wrote The Art of the Deal. If you had to write a new book, what would it be called?”

Without missing a beat:

Trump: “The Art of the Comeback — Again. Subtitle? How I Beat the System Twice.”

He grinned like a man who already believed the second chapter was written.

Interviewer: “What about the future of America? What do you see?”

Trump (firmly):
“If we don’t fix the border, the economy, the deep state — we lose the country. It’s that simple. I’m not saying it to scare people. I’m saying it because it’s happening. You see the inflation? The weakness on the world stage? That’s not my America.”

He pulled out a notecard from his pocket.

Trump:
“I keep this with me. A letter from a factory worker in Ohio. Says, ‘Mr. Trump, under you I had pride in my work again. I could afford food, rent, and still save.’ That’s what matters. That’s why I fight.”

The conversation had become more than an interview — it was a manifesto. A final pitch from a man who had everything to lose, and still nothing left to prove.

Interviewer: “One final question — when the history books are written, what should they say about Donald J. Trump?”

He stood again. Adjusted his red tie.

Trump:
“They’ll say I was bold. That I broke the mold. That I didn’t care what the elites thought. I fought for America. I said the quiet part out loud. I made people feel seen again. And… that I never gave up. Not even once.”

He shook my hand. A firm, heavy grip.

Trump: “We’re gonna win so much, you’ll get tired of winning. But you’ll thank me later.”

As I walked out of Trump Tower that night, I couldn’t help but think — love him or loathe him, Donald Trump is not just a man.

He’s a moment.

And the moment isn’t over yet.