Donald Trump sat in the Oval Office, his gaze fixed on the gilded frame of a photo he barely remembered posing for. “Why on earth am I here?” he muttered, leaning back in the oversized chair that he’d once considered the ultimate prop for his personal brand.
Politics had never been part of his grand plan. Real estate, casinos, golf courses—that was his world. But debts piled high like the towers he’d once boasted about, and creditors loomed larger than any election rally crowd. Running for president had seemed like a long shot to buy time. His off-the-cuff remarks and erratic behavior had somehow struck a chord, creating a whirlwind of media attention. Social media turned him into a phenomenon, and to his own surprise—and horror—he won.
“No one gets my policies,” he often thought, staring blankly at policy briefs. “That’s fine, because I don’t get them either.”
His first term as president had been a masterclass in distraction. He shifted focus from one controversy to another, keeping creditors at bay while avoiding any meaningful discussion of his financial troubles. When the time came to leave office, he realized he could extend the game by feigning interest in reelection. The strategy worked. His creditors balked, fearful of the chaos a campaign might bring.
But now, faced with mounting pressure to deliver on promises he’d never intended to keep, Trump played his most audacious card yet: a 25% tariff on imports from Mexico, Canada, and China.
“What’s the rationale for 25%?” an aide had asked in a meeting.
Trump had waved the question off with a dramatic gesture. “It’s a nice, round number. Big. Bold. People love it. Trust me.”
The bluff had seemed harmless enough, another headline-grabbing move designed to keep creditors guessing. But as reports of Mexico’s planned retaliation rolled in, Trump felt a rare pang of unease.
Mexican President Claudia Sheinbaum was clear in her warning: if the tariffs went through, Mexico would respond in kind. Economy Minister Marcelo Ebrard had gone further, predicting catastrophic losses for American workers—400,000 jobs—and steep price hikes for American consumers. Pick-up trucks, a staple of his base, would jump in price by $3,000.
“It’s like shooting yourself in the foot,” Ebrard had said.
Trump flipped through the day’s headlines, his name dominating each one. The media buzz, the chaos, the attention—it was all there. But for the first time, the noise wasn’t enough to drown out his doubts. The bluff that had carried him this far might finally be too big to sustain.
He stared at the phone on his desk, wondering whether to call Mexico and backtrack or to double down and risk everything. After all, the game had never been about policies or principles. It had always been about survival.
Trump leaned back in his chair, the weight of his improbable presidency pressing down harder than ever. “Maybe I can bluff my way out of this too,” he thought, but even he wasn’t sure anymore.
All names of people and organizations appearing in this story are pseudonyms.
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