Enough

by Cassidy Hutchinson

Dad boasted about Donald Trump’s accomplishments—he was a warrior, just like us, and he had built a global multibillion-dollar business from the ground up.

By sophomore year, the 2016 election was approaching. Neither candidate, Hillary Clinton nor Donald Trump, jumped out at me at the time, but the moderate policies that Trump embraced were appealing to me. As a Republican, I decided I would vote for him, though I did not think he would win the election.

was transfixed once Trump came onstage. His magnetism electrified the crowd. Suddenly, some of his more controversial viewpoints seemed to fade away as the energy buzzed around the arena, sweeping me up in the fervor.

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The Senate was intentionally designed for the wheels of government to turn more slowly there, making it harder to get things done. This was a necessary check on the House’s more fast-paced environment. And senators were much less approachable than House members, including Cruz, whose politics I disagreed with.

I had long admired McCain, and found his action an inspiring example of an American patriot putting his country before his party.

I noticed that his eyes often wandered the room when the meetings outlasted his attention span.

Elise did accept an invitation to a Camp David retreat, until she found out that impeachment—which she was still on the fence about—would be a topic of discussion. She was furious, and accused Ben and OLA of being “as deceitful as Trump.” A few weeks later, Elise would become one of the president’s most vocal defenders against the impeachment inquiry.

And the president loved that he otherwise had his weekend free to spend at his northern Virginia golf club.

And I would still convey Trump’s messages to members, most of whom came to depend on my talking points. But a handful didn’t appreciate that I clogged their inboxes, like when Rep. Adam Kinzinger, of Illinois, wrote, “Please for the love of Jesus and America, stop. I do not want to block these.”

That goal coincided with my belief that impeachment wasn’t the appropriate response to his inappropriate Zelenskyy call.

When Matt walked into the bar a while later, I could have sworn I was hallucinating. A few of my friends jabbed me with their elbows as he waltzed in our direction, and I wished I had more than one drink to deal with the incoming charade.

He chuckled and brushed his thumb across my chin. “Has anyone ever told you that you’re a national treasure?”

doubt any politician could have led the country through the deadliest pandemic in a hundred years without making errors of judgment and execution. But of all the people in the world, President Trump was uniquely unsuited to the challenge. He lacked empathy and was stubborn and impatient. For all but the MAGA base, his aggressive personality made his leadership appear more erratic than inspirational.

“We’re going to start working on people we need to get rid of who are disloyal to the president, starting with the people who leak to the press.”

The president couldn’t always be relied on to stay on message, so I proposed using senior surrogates to promote the achievements at carefully staged White House events and on the road.

The president was bored and idle, not the ideal state of mind for someone with his restless, impulsive personality.

Everyone here is in the family.”

There was a knock on the door. I thought it was Camp David staff coming to warn us to quiet down—Kevin’s cabin was across from the president’s. But when Kevin opened the door, we discovered Matt Gaetz leaning against the doorframe. Matt straightened his posture when Kevin asked him what he wanted, and he explained that he had seen my golf cart parked outside and thought that this was my cabin. Embarrassed, I got up and asked Matt what he needed. He explained that he was lost and asked me to escort him to his cabin. I told him to proceed around the circle drive—all the cabins were clearly marked and it was impossible to get lost.

He asked me one more time to leave with him.

The president pulled the mask off and asked why I thought he should not wear it. I pointed at the straps of the N95 I was holding. When he looked at the straps of his mask, he saw that they were covered in bronzer.

The press would criticize him for not wearing a mask, not knowing that the depth of his vanity had caused him to reject masks—and then millions of his fans followed suit.

his mood lightened further on the flight as the members gathered in the conference room on Air Force One complimented him incessantly.

Elise texted me to say that she was getting menacing text messages from Roger Stone. He had heard that she had pushed back when Matt had suggested on Air Force One that the president issue Roger a pardon. I told Mark about Matt’s and Roger’s inappropriate behavior with Elise when he returned from Atlanta that afternoon, but we never discussed the matter further.

When Mark arrived, the president had already seized on the idea of making an appearance at St. John’s Church. Mark, Tony, Bobby Engel, and I checked out the site that afternoon. The Secret Service cleared a path for us, as the scene was crowded, chaotic, and tense. Around six thirty that evening, riot police and police on horseback began clearing the park, using tear gas and pepper spray. The president planned to make brief remarks in the Rose Garden before walking to the church. Minutes before he was to speak, I heard him yell from the Oval Office, “Someone bring me a Bible. I need to hold a Bible. Bring me a Bible.” I was confused—the president kept a Bible in the Oval Office, but I thought maybe he had forgotten. Staff scrambled and collected every Bible they could quickly locate in the West Wing, bringing him a dozen or more to choose from.

He picked the Bible he thought was “b...

Emotions were unwelcome in the Trump White House. It was imperative to turn them off as a means to survive.

“Cass, if I can get through this job and manage to keep him out of jail”—referring to our boss, the president—“I’ll have done a good job.

That seemed to be the consensus among most White House staff not named Donald Trump.

Actually, blonde hair did not suit me. After a couple of months, I returned to the dark side.

was past the point of denying my growing dedication to Mark and the president—to them personally and not strictly to their office, as I had initially pledged. I was proud of this at the time, and felt recognized when Mark acknowledged it.

“He shouldn’t ask you things like that,” he said. I felt defensive and for a moment regretted telling Doug. He doesn’t understand how important loyalty is, I thought. But I caught myself in mid-thought before I said anything else I’d regret. I wondered when I had started to think of loyalty in such terms, but I shook the thought away.

Matt Gaetz was standing behind me. He asked if he could ride with us back to the White House, a few blocks from the hotel. I looked him up and down and replied, “It looks like your legs are working just fine.” He said he was going to tell Mark I had been rude to him.

began to fret that the evening’s military-parade-like pageantry had been too nakedly political and self-congratulatory for an election event held on the White House grounds.

When they finished talking, Cruz walked over to me and warned me not to be a “tattletale” again. I warned him not to disrespect my authority. That was the last time I spoke to Ted Cruz.

There was usually at least a kernel of truth in even the toughest articles about the president, which we acknowledged by trying to spin it.

Trump hated fundraisers—he was expected to flatter people he thought should be flattering him.

I admired Justice Ginsburg, a brilliant, trailblazing woman. No matter your political views or judicial philosophy, her character and accomplishments deserved respect.

She told me a few stories about her children, a gesture that conveyed a depth of humanity and compassion I was no longer accustomed to.

But there was one politician Mom truly adored: Kevin McCarthy. I typically kept my professional and personal lives separate, but knowing how much Kevin loved birthdays and making people feel special, I asked him for my first favor. Within minutes, he sent me a heartfelt video, singing Mom happy birthday. Kevin had made her feel more special than Mark or even the president could have. Amidst the grandeur of power and politics, it was the moments of sincerity and human connection that left a lasting impact on both our personal and professional journeys.

A little more than a year later, Mark would publish a book recounting that the president had tested positive for the virus the day of the Barrett announcement, September 26. He and the president had disregarded the result, blaming it on a faulty test.

I received scores of text messages from staff, members of Congress, family, friends, and reporters inquiring about the president’s condition. While some expressed genuine concern, I felt most people let their notions of the president’s attitude toward the virus taint their reaction to his illness. I lost my temper with some of them, arguing that this should be a moment for people to come together, to set aside our differences and pray for the commander in chief. I was distressed that no one seemed to realize how dire his condition was, but I knew that, regrettably, that was intentional.

thought we were handling the president’s condition foolishly. We were showing the world he was fine with putting other lives at risk to project an artificial image of strength and wellness. His strength would make a better impression if he had expressed empathy for his fellow COVID sufferers, if he had listened to his doctors and not put others’ health at risk when they had transported him while he was sick. I began to understand just how much appearing strong—or not appearing weak—motivated the president, and it worried me. But I kept my opinion to myself and nodded in agreement. It was clear that projecting an image of strength mattered greatly to the president, and we needed to navigate this aspect of his personality carefully.

Matt Gaetz was lurking in the hotel lobby when we arrived and spotted us right away. He wanted to come with us so that he could give the president debate tips. I could see that Mark was trying to ignore him. I intervened and suggested that Matt find Kimberly Guilfoyle, Donald Trump Jr.’s then-girlfriend, and take her for a drink in the hotel bar. Mark, David Bossie, and I got on the elevator together, letting the doors close on Matt. As we ascended, Mark thanked me, and whispered that I should keep my distance from Matt. It was a protective order, and I understood.

The president does not like animals, and Mark and I exchanged a nervous look, each of us hoping there weren’t any in the barn. There were.

His mood darkened, however, when he saw media reports seeming to discredit the Hunter Biden laptop story. He had Kayleigh print out dozens of copies of a Fox News article that linked to video of a Tucker Carlson report of the controversy. The president asked Johnny McEntee to forge “MUST-SEE TV!” in his handwriting on each copy of the article. Kayleigh and I then placed a copy on every reporter’s seat after they had disembarked.

I woke up the next morning to several messages from Florida governor Ron DeSantis, urging me to make sure he and “the first lady,” his wife, Casey, were mentioned in the president’s remarks at a rally in Tampa that day. I had known Ron since I was an intern for Scalise and Ron was in his third and final term in the House. I ignored his texts. Ron texted Mark and me all the time. I had repeatedly asked him to stop, but he disregarded me.

I could no longer ignore the suspicious activity that he, Trump, and others in the administration seemed to be engaged in. I had done what they had asked of me, not questioning it, but now I started to put together all the moments like this one that didn’t add up. I could not shake the feeling that I had been entangled in something far more complex and secretive than I had initially realized.

They stood in front of a Philadelphia landscaping company building in a strip mall next to an adult entertainment shop and a crematorium.

Everyone in the White House, including the president, was both fascinated and appalled by the spectacle. Like most Americans who watched it, I thought the lawyers were humiliating for the president, a sentiment he shared. I heard him shouting from the Oval dining room as Giuliani spoke, “Somebody make this stop! Get him off! Make him stop!”