“But there’s a whole amusement park of potential crimes out there given what we know about Donald Trump, and Weisselberg is the guy who knows where the entrance is and has the roadmap of it.”
– Joyce Vance, former U.S. Attorney
The Washington Post described him as “the man who could bring down Trump.” Politico reported his immunity deal “may be the biggest legal blow yet to President Donald Trump,” because federal prosecutors could use his cooperation “to investigate a broad array of potential financial crimes and irregularities, including any other payoffs and campaign finance violations, false statements to the government, corrupt business dealings overseas and tax evasion by Trump, his family members and their eponymous company and all of its related entities and offshore shell companies.” “(Y)ou should get to know him,” wrote the Post, “because you’re going to be hearing his name a lot in the near future.”
His name is Allen Weisselberg. Have you been hearing his name a lot lately?
Weisselberg is the chief financial officer of the Trump Organization whose only claim to fame was serving as a “judge” on Trump’s reality TV show, “The Apprentice.” Otherwise, Weisselberg has kept a low profile, toiling quietly in the Trump organization, rising through the ranks from the day he was hired by Trump’s father. If anybody knows the sensitive financial details of the Trump organization, it’s he.
“Weisselberg is the key to understanding Trump’s finances” stated CNN. “He may well be the only person who could possibly understand and explain the full scope of Trump’s financial life. And now, he has been granted immunity to talk about at least a small part of that world with prosecutors in New York.”
The Wall Street Journal reported on July 26, 2018, that “Allen Weisselberg, a longtime financial gatekeeper for President Donald Trump, has been subpoenaed to testify before a federal grand jury in the criminal probe of Mr. Trump’s former personal lawyer, Michael Cohen, according to people familiar with the investigation.” Cohen had pleaded guilty to felony charges, including two alleging that he and Trump conspired to violate campaign finance laws with hush-money payments to women with whom Trump reportedly had affairs. Cohen admitted one of the purposes of the payments was to avoid damage to Trump’s presidential campaign. Prosecutors said Trump masterminded the scheme, and Cohen had identified Weisselberg as a participant. Once news broke that Weisselberg had entered into an immunity agreement with federal prosecutors, the news media speculated that Weisselberg would be Trump’s ultimate undoing because he knew virtually everything about Trump and his family and organization’s finances. If Weisselberg opened up, he potentially had a lot to say, much of which could prove politically and criminally damaging. “That fact has to scare Trump,” added CNN. “But, if Weisselberg’s immunity deal extends beyond what he knew about the Cohen and Daniels payments, look out. That would be the biggest domino — by far — to fall in the broadening investigation led by special counsel Robert Mueller.” If, if, if.
There’s no question that, if there are financial improprieties within the Trump operation, Weisselberg would know about them. He’s the go-to witness not only for the hush money payments, but also the source of loans from Deutsche Bank and elsewhere, the improprieties of the Trump Foundation, and possible violations of the Emoluments Clauses of the Constitution. “And given what he knows,” wrote TPM, referring to Weisselberg, “the prospect of him testifying in federal probes and congressional investigations of Trump’s business empire could pose a new danger to the president from one of his longest-serving confidants.”
It’s no wonder that congressional Democrats are eager to hear from Weisselberg, as Politico reported on February 28th. So far, he has not been summoned, perhaps because of Trump’s blanket declaration against anybody associated with him cooperating with House Democrats’ investigations. Whatever the reason, Weisselberg has gone from potential destroyer of the Trump presidency to an afterthought. Where did he go?
“Trump and his aides aren’t worried,” Politico reported.” “They believe that Weisselberg’s testimony was limited to a narrow set of topics involving Cohen. That likely explains why Weisselberg still works as chief financial officer of The Trump Organization.”
Here is the Weisselberg arc: (1) he was named as a participant in the hush-money payments by Michael Cohen; (2) he was granted limited immunity by federal prosecutors regarding the investigation into the payments; (3) he testified before a grand jury in New York; (4) he never met with Special Counsel Robert Mueller’s investigators; (5) he has not testified nor provided documentation to any congressional inquiry; (6) he continues to work at the Trump organization; (7) he still knows everything.
Or does he? Perhaps he only writes checks and crunches numbers, with little knowledge of potential wrong-doing. Maybe he never looked up from his eye shade to see what was really going on. The immunity deal may only apply to the Cohen investigation and he’s refusing to cooperate with other investigations. Perhaps Weisselberg maintains his Trump organization position because he won’t cooperate with investigators, or maybe he’s been promised a pardon. Or maybe Weisselberg continues to work for Trump because, if he knows as much as people think he does, he could do serious damage to Trump. Is the quiet, bespectacled Weisselberg capable of that kind of leverage? He’s been in the Trump orbit for nearly four decades. He might have learned a thing or two.
There is no more obvious a witness into Trump’s business activities than Weisselberg, no one more likely to be called before multiple grand juries and congressional committees, no one who could do more damage. But, except for his brief cameo in the Cohen investigation, he has exited the stage.
Where have you gone, Allen Weisselberg?
Our nation turns its lonely eyes to you.
© 2019 by Mike Tully
The Trumpth of July
Was I a commoner?
or was I actually a member…
of the pharaoh’s royal family?
– Slim Pickens, from Rancho Deluxe (1975)
Mine eyes have seen the glory of the coming of the Trump. Something wicked this way comes. Three wives and six bankruptcies ago, his father brought forth, on this real estate, a new demon seed, conceived in Queens, and dedicated to the proposition that Trump men are superior. Now we are engaged in a great civics lesson, testing whether this nation, or any nation so confused, and so divided, can endure his presidency.
He peers outward like an orange Moses as his armies and worshipers descend on the National Mall like the biblical Red Sea in rewind. Flyovers and fireworks testify to his glory. Nearby, stationed on the sad, sagging streets of Washington, are his “brand new” Sherman tanks. The last Sherman tank rolled off the assembly line in the 1950s, but that matters not. Time stops in the glory of his presence. Lincoln looks down from behind; Honest Abe has his back. “Nobody knows this,” he bellows to his throng. “But Lincoln was a Republican.” No point in getting bogged down in all that freed-the-slaves stuff. That would be a buzzkill at the glorious celebration of God Emperor Trump.
(Lincoln looks down on the God Emperor from his lofty marble throne and thinks to himself, “If only statues could move. I’d stand up, unzip my pants, and shower that swamp rat with Lincoln rain. Get off my lawn!”)
The God Emperor beckons his children, who queue up onstage like gilded Von Trapps. “Come up here, Ivanka,” he calls to the Czarette, her blonde hair uncoiling over a dress of her own alleged design. “Come here, Jared,” he calls to his minion-in-law. “There they are,” he snorts, as they nervously resemble a misplaced wedding cake topper. “The Beauty and the Least.” Ivanka turns red, Jared turns white and the sky stays blue. “Just kidding,” says the God Emperor. “Jared is my closest advisor. He’s going to make history by bringing peace to the Middle East. We’re going to make history, aren’t we Jared?” “Yes, sir,” replies the terrified Jared, as wooden as Charlie McCarthy, “history.”
There are more progeny awaiting their turn with their Father’s passive-aggressive compassion. “Let me introduce my two grown sons,” he tells the crowd. “Uh…” He forgets their names and looks offstage. A union technician glances up, sees the God Emperor’s confusion, and whispers, “Uday and Qusay.” “Here they are,” he shouts. “Uday and Queasy.” “Don Junior and Eric!” screams a panicked White House staffer. “Don Junior and Eric!” “I mean Don Junior and Eric,” says the God Emperor. He looks around, confused. “Aren’t there two more?” he asks absent-mindedly. “I thought there were two more.” “The Professor and Mary Ann,” shouts the electrician, before park service personnel escort him from the premises. “The Professor and Mary Ann!” exclaims the God Emperor. The crowd roars.
So does the sky, as the Blue Angels fly overhead, followed by aircraft sometimes known as Air Force One and Marine One. “Look at them!” cries the God Emperor. “They are magnificent. Those are mine, you know, the big plane and the helicopter. There they go: Air Force One and Marine One. I like the Blue Eagles, too.” “Actually,” says Best Supporting Actor in a Defense Secretary Role, Mark Esper, “it’s the Blue Angels. And they are only called Air Force One and Marine One when you’re on board.” The God Emperor momentarily pauses to contemplate his greatness. “I am aboard those aircraft,” he says. “I am up there.” Esper momentarily retreats to his happy place, a dark forest far, far from here. “I, uh, I don’t understand, sir,” he stammers. “You’re up there?” “I am here, I am there, I am everywhere,” replies the God Emperor. “I am all of this.” He gazes outward to the crowd, past the roped-off gaggle of donors and lobbyists, to the teeming masses of MAGA hats, birthers and Proud Boys. “My people know that I am everywhere. That’s why they love me.” Esper fibs about “nature calling,” and wanders absently to a port-a-potty where he retrieves a hidden flask and pours its 150-proof elixir into the empty cavity where his soul used to reside. The God Emperor briefly notices that he’s gone. “Where’s Casper?” he asks of nobody in particular. Then he turns back to his adoring crowd.
“The world will absolutely note, and will long remember, what I say here,” he declaims. “Look at our glorious military. Look at our magnificent planes and helicopters, our beautiful new Sherman tanks. And look at our troops. Aren’t they beautiful? They are the greatest fighting force in the history of the Galaxy, absolutely world-class, the best. Give them a hand.” The audience politely applauds and a drunken choir chants, “USA! USA!” The troops stand silently and stoically as a thousand inner voices cry, “shoot me now!”
The God Emperor reminds the crowd how the nation suffered under lesser presidents, how only he could fix it. America is great again, thanks to him. You have been redeemed, he tells them. “You are respected and feared once again,” he screams. “You can say Merry Christmas!” “Lock her up!” chants the crowd. “America is the envy of the world,” he roars. “Lock her up!” they respond. Then come the parade, fly-over and fireworks, after which the royal family leaves the dais and the crowd dwindles like scattering termites.
Lincoln remains. “We need a new birth of freedom,” he says to himself, “so that government of the people, by the people, and for the people, shall not perish from the earth.” And darkness settles on the National Mall.
© 2019 by Mike Tully
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