Donald Trump opened his eyes with a start. What had happened? He had been at a party – he remembered vodka shots, raucous dancing, a woman named Rulina – and now here he was, strapped to an admittedly comfortable chair in a dimly lit but spacious room. “Ah, good morning, Mr. Trump,” came a familiar voice, tinged with perhaps a bit too much honey.
“Please, Vlad, I thought we were on a first-name basis,” said Trump. His eyes adjusted to the light. Yes, that was him, a few feet away, his eyes glinting, that damn kittycat in his lap. “You could have made an appointment, you know.”
The other man laughed. “You’re a busy man, Donald,” he said. “And I needed to see you right away.
“But I won’t keep you long, don’t worry. Your personal safety is not at risk, so relax. We just have a matter to settle…”
“The Ljubljana account, you mean?”
“Yes, Donald. But it’s not the money I want, substantial though the sum is. I want you to obtain – or shall we say, procure – something for me. Something that I think you will enjoy getting… because to get it, you will have to become President of the United States.”
“What do you want that I could give you? The nuclear codes? Access to intel?”
“Oh no, Donnie,” he said. He leaned in close to the bound man. Donald could smell the other man’s poor dental condition. “No, Donald – I want to screw the First Lady of the United States.”