NEW: "2025": Chapter 5

DOJ Nightmare: Trump's "Revenge," Project 2025 and Presidential Immunity

Project 2025’s weaponization of the DOJ and FBI are dangerous enough. Throw in Trump’s vows for “revenge” and the Court’s recent decision on presidential immunity, and you have a truly lethal combination. A politicized system of justice, harnessed to target political enemies at all levels.

Chapter 5 of “2025,” below, describes how it could play out. Please read and share:

Introduction and Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Now, Onto…

Chapter 5

May

Capitol Monthly

“Woody Nuxhall”

By Randy Stegman

WASHINGTON, D.C.

“Howdy fellas!”

Woody Nuxhall strode into the conference room for Monday morning’s meeting, slamming the thick, cherry door behind him—harder than he meant to.  The adrenaline coursing through him matched the rush of sitting in a tree stand on a crisp Montana morning.

These weekly meetings—when his “young guns” came together—were the best part of his new dream job: Director of the Treason and Political Crime Section of the Department of Justice.

As he asked his friends back in Arizona, what could be more fun than that?

“Your dad would be so proud of you, but it sure is a mouthful,” his old boss back in Prescott, Arizona had said when Woody shared the news of his appointment in late January.

“Yeah, but almost every word means one thing,” Woody replied.

“What’s that?”

“Power.”

Just over three months later, having relocated his wife and five kids from Barry Goldwater’s hometown to the nation’s capital, Woody was still amazed by just how much power.

Sure, he’d been a right-wing sensation as a state senator—going viral in his white, pinch-front cowboy hat and bolo tie as he led the charge to undo the bogus 2020 Arizona election. His colorful style and torrent of militant rhetoric were nothing new for his constituents or colleagues, but they stuck out in the national appearances that kept coming his way. And the wilder his words, the more requests he got. Near-weekly rounds on far-right television, radio and podcasts; social media likes and shares; soundbites, memes and clips. His rise culminated in regular calls from the president, checking in on Arizona, and a convention speech on the third afternoon in Milwaukee, which had earned a rousing ovation and sparked chatter of a Senate run. All pretty heady stuff for a small town state senator, who’d raised himself and his younger sister after his parents died in a DUI when he was 15.

But in the end, it was still all talk.

This job was real power.

First, because the president himself had empowered him with a bold and wide mandate. And second, because Woody had assembled a team of all-stars to get it done.

“Let’s get started,” he said, staying on his feet as always.

His ten-member team sat five on a side of the thick, rectangular oak table in front of him. But as they turned his way, they weren’t just looking up at their boss. Behind him, high on the wall, was the head of a huge black bear he’d killed a few years back in Wyoming, along with the Springfield rifle he’d used to shoot it dead. His reminder—they, too, were hunting trophies.

“The young guns,” he’d called them the first time they’d sat together, in late February. He hadn’t thought of the moniker before, but when he saw them all sitting there together—boyish, clean-shaven faces in solid or pin-stripe blue suits, crisp white shirts and red ties—their youth was the first thing that struck him.

All were in their mid- and early-30s. The best young prosecutors America had to offer.

He’d wanted them young and from the outside—outside both the federal government and the Ivy League corridor—to ensure they weren’t already corrupted by the old way of thinking. “Institutionalists,” as the hacks and bureaucrats they’d replaced pathetically called themselves, like a fucking religion or cult to a bloodless bureaucracy. As if so-called independence was more important than executing the demands of the most powerful man in the world.

No, he wanted to start from scratch with a fresh generation of hard-scrabble lawyers. The anti-elite. Men who fought political and legal battles like he did and like their president commanded: soldiers in an all-out war.

Helpfully, the “transition” had started months before the election, and thousands had sent in applications. Even before flying to DC, Woody had sifted through resumes from across the country, along with references from party and political leaders. But he didn’t stop with that initial trove—he also reached out to fellow partisan warriors around the nation, soliciting recommendations for the best and brightest badasses.

Once he found his top 100, he arranged one-on-one Zoom interviews to determine three things:

Were they smart enough?

Were they sufficiently dedicated to the president’s political success?

Were they warriors and brawlers, willing to push any envelope?

The moment a candidate fell short of any of these standards, he’d end the call. Sometimes, just minutes in. No reason to waste time.

From that initial crop of 100, he’d invited 40 to DC for a grueling interview process. He called it “the boardroom.” Ten at a time. Two hours each. Cage matches of testosterone and brainpower and ideology, forcing the finalists to go toe-to-toe with one another on scenarios and debates and challenges, all as he observed. Some turned into shouting matches. A few nearly broke out into actual fights.

Which was what he wanted.

Who were the toughest? Who would go the farthest? Who dominated?

When someone proved they weren’t up to it, Woody again didn’t waste time. He’d call timeout, bellow out the loser’s name, and ask him to leave. The vanquished candidate would gather his things in front of the others, walk out, and head to the airport. Humiliation like that had a way of sharpening the remaining competition.

From those grueling hours, Woody narrowed down to his ten “young guns.” The ten smartest, cockiest, most loyal, most politicized, and most right-wing prosecutors in America.

Within a day, all ten enlisted. The first ten Assistant United States Attorneys General in the DOJ’s new Treason and Political Crime Section.

Pioneers, he called them.  The razor-sharp tips of the spear of a revolutionized DOJ.

All ten now sat before him to review their first round of cases, staring up at his hat, bolo and brown sportcoat. And of course, at the bear and rifle looming behind him.

“Who’s first?”

Six hands flew up, a hunger that confirmed “the boardroom” had achieved its goal. He took note of who didn’t raise their hands.

“Hey Cowboy, start us off.” He pointed at the first AUSA on his right as he began pacing back and forth.

“Yes, sir.”

From just two words, it was clear Reggie Gibbs hailed from Texas. With that twang and years in a felony courtroom, he’d absolutely owned his interview group. And his buzz cut, leathery skin and hawk nose struck an imposing impression. The combination was why Woody handed him one of the plum assignments: state-level traitors.

“We are all over the New York and Georgia cases, sir, and getting started on the Michigan and Arizona ones as well.”

“Getting started?” Woody fired back.

“Yes sir,” Reggie said confidently, jaw protruding. “New York and Georgia got way down the line against the president last year. Did real damage. Taking them down first will send a crystal clear message. So we’re putting more resources there first.”

Woody nodded.

It was the right move.  And he was willing to put aside his own quest for payback for being charged as a “fake elector” in Arizona. Those elector trials had never gotten out of the gate, while the prosecutors in New York and Georgia had wreaked far more havoc. Gotten famous for it, too, which meant the splash of going after them would be far greater.

Plus, this was about the president. And the man absolutely despised the impression left by those two prosecutors attacking him.

“Fine. So what are those resources doing?”

“We’ve had surveillance on the ground for a month. In both cases, we’ve got taps on the judicial chambers, the prosecutors’ offices, and their homes. Working to get their cells. And we’ve got sources on the inside tracking down whatever documents they can.”

“What kind of documents?”

“Emails before and during the trials. And text messages from their government phones.”

“And who are you tapping, exactly?”

“The judge. That daughter of his. The two prosecutors. The Georgia Secretary of State, too, given all that he did. Getting a ton of good stuff already. They are running scared. And we’ve found enough politics in their chatter to show this was never about the so-called crimes.”

Woody looked across the table. At the only guy older than he was.

“I assume you’re OK with all of this?” he asked, winking.

Forty-six year old Emmett Sands was the only previous DOJ lawyer in the group. The only guy who’d worked in DC for longer than an internship. The only guy with an Ivy League degree. He also stood out for his size—not his height, but his girth. While the “young guns” were all fit, Emmett was a heart attack waiting to happen, from his fleshy jowls, to a gigantic waist that rose into his chest, to his labored breathing.

Even though Woody recoiled at his appearance, Emmett Sands was instrumental to the team. An old appellate guru, he’d clerked for the conservative Supreme Court Justice who’d authored many of the opinions that liberated them to do what they were now doing. He still kept up with the Justice too—considered the old man’s “whisperer.” Emmett had also served as the Deputy Solicitor General during the president’s first term, writing many of the briefs that led to the most helpful decisions.

Add it all up, and no one in the nation knew the law of politics better, without having to look a thing up. Even better, no one understood the outer boundaries of the open lawfare they were waging—and what the Court would allow them to do.

“It’s 100% OK,” Emmett said nonchalantly, his low-key, confident style enhancing the credibility of his guidance.

Emmett had explained the basics at their first meeting. Fortified by an aggressive president, new rules freeing DOJ up to be as political as it wanted, and recent Supreme Court rulings, the “young guns” could pretty much do what they wanted. Still, he reviewed all their prosecutorial and investigatory plans, as well as requests for action from the FBI or other law enforcement assets.

“Those clowns in New York and Georgia were acting for purely political reasons. He was a candidate for the presidency, for God’s sake, and they were attacking him for things he did as president before. He has every right to pursue them now as part of the “official duties” of his office. Which means, under the new DOJ operating rules, we do as well. Our new counterparts see it the same way.”

“Good!” Woody said, clapping his hands.

It helped that the president had revolutionized the FBI as well. Just like with Woody’s new unit, loyalists replacing “institutionalists.” Their partnership in investigating political crimes was off to a smooth start.

Pacing to his right, Woody turned back to his Texas star.

“You have a timeline, Cowboy?”

“Yes, sir. We’ll have this in front of federal grand juries in New York and Georgia by early June, with indictments by the end of the month.”

“Indictments of whom?” Woody asked, glancing up at the bear.

“Both prosecutors, some deputies, the New York judge and his daughter…at least.”

“And the Secretary of State?”

“We hope. And his top staff too—they were driving a lot of it.”

“Can’t be hope. That guy secretly recorded a sitting President, then humiliated him by releasing tapes to the press. We’ve got to make him pay.”

“We will, sir.”

“Good. Most likely charges?”

Reggie chuckled.

“Trying to decide what not to charge. A bunch tied to election interference. Toss some fraud in. And, of course, treason.”

“Don’t overcomplicate this, Reggie. Remember, the president’s top priority is publicly announced investigations. Right-wing TV repeating the words ‘treason’ and ‘abuse of power’ in every segment. That’s the victory. Everything that follows is the gravy.”

The “young guns” all nodded. Woody had drilled this into their skulls even in the “boardroom” sessions. The old notion that you only brought cases you were sure to win was so 20th century. So institutionalist. Investigations, charges and leaked tidbits of evidence dominated the airwaves of friendly media, destroying and bankrupting the enemy before a trial ever started. They could see it already: even rumors that the feds were coming broke them down.

Plus, it’s what the White House demanded. Like the foreign allies he so admired, the president wanted public investigations and show trials. A primary perk of power.

“But I thought you said for these cases, the president wanted revenge. As in, convictions and jail time.”

Woody stopped pacing for a moment, eyeing Reggie with narrow eyes. That was true.

“You’re right,” he practically yelled, laughing. “For him, these New York and Georgia cases were personal. DEI prosecutors going after him? What the fuck? He does want revenge. So let’s be sure to get some jail time with these, will ya? Humiliation.”

Reggie exaggerated a nod. “Yes, sir. You can count on me.”

Woody scanned the room.

“Who’s next?”

A long slender arm sprung up to Woody’s left.

“Utah, what d’ya got?” he asked.

Cade Petersen was a former BYU small forward who’d been a star law student and prosecutor. When he first walked into the “boardroom” with his light blonde mop of hair, he seemed so polite Woody thought he didn’t stand a chance. But when he turned it on, the guy was an absolute bulldog. A good combination for a role that would involve television cameras.

“Sir, so much you wouldn’t believe.”

“Oh, I’d believe it. Look into any member of Congress long enough and you’ll find a whole lot.”

The whole room laughed. They all knew Cade’s portfolio was a top presidential priority. Another revenge assignment. Targeting the current and former members of Congress who had gone after him during and after his presidency—the members of the two impeachment committees and the Jan. 6 Committee, along with the prior Speaker who put them all there. The president blamed the first committee for his reelection loss. And the second and third for humiliating him and costing him millions.

He demanded payback for all three.

“Well, the impeachments and Jan. 6 stuff are all pretty clean. They were darn careful. But most of these people have all sorts of other stuff we can go after. Campaign finance. Insider trading. Personal problems and skeletons.”

Woody ground his teeth as his body temperature rose. Maybe this kid was too much of a boy scout after all. Time to teach him a lesson, one that all of them would learn from.

“Fuckin’ A, Utah. That’s penny-ante bullshit.  I’m not sure you understand this assignment.”

“But sir, you said you wanted us to look into every shit they’ve ever taken.”

“Of course. All that shit is leverage. And yes, it can do some damage. But the highest crime they were part of is the Jan. 6 Committee, and the impeachment committees.  That’s what the president wants revenge for. And the whole point is to show America that those bullshit investigations were corrupt from the outset. The illegitimate weaponization of the federal government against its own president. This is about writing the history books—we need those committees to have zero credibility by the time you’re done…”

Thwap!

Woody slammed his hand on the table for effect.

“…We don’t do that by settling for insider trading bullshit or someone not reporting campaign donations correctly. Shit—all our guys do that as well. We do it by attacking the committees as the fucking treason and abuse that they were, especially by the Republicans who were part of them.”

He froze, then looked around the room, ten wide-eyed faces staring back at him.  Emmett Sands was the only one grinning, enjoying the tirade.

“You got it?”

“Yes sir,” Cade replied sheepishly.

“And are you up to it?”

“I am sir.”

He stepped two feet to his right.

“All of you…you got it?”

“Yes sir!” they all yelled together.

He stepped back to his left

“And are you up to it?”

“Yes sir!” they all yelled.

He turned back to Cade.

“Well dig through those records again, damn it. If what they did can’t be turned into an investigation of treason, I don’t know why the fuck we’re even here.”

“Yes, sir,” Cade said.

“Do you have them tapped, Utah?”

“Of course sir.

“Computers hacked?”

“Yes sir. Public and private. I’ve also got folks undercover in offices. It’s amazing what these agents can do.”

“And how about your old friend from Provo, the traitor who stirred up more trouble than anybody else?”

The president was obsessed with the former Republican House member who’d emerged as the face of the January 6 Committee. Sure, she’d lost in the next primary, but that wasn’t nearly enough punishment. Hell, she was more popular now than ever. A media darling.

“She’s in the first wave of investigations. We’ve got eyes on her 24/7.”

“There you go,” Woody said, his voice calming. “What these people did was total corruption. The president wants anyone involved destroyed because of it.”

“I will make it happen, sir.”

Woody nodded.

Mission accomplished. With Cade Petersen, and with the rest of the “young guns” who were staring in silence. At Woody. At the bear.

As his dad had shown him as a kid, tirades had their place.

Before moving to the next report, Woody looked across the table at Emmett.

“He mentioned hacking computers of sitting members of Congress.  Are we okay with that?”

Emmett nodded.

“We are. This is an investigation into abuse of power and potential treason by those Members. It’s fair game. FBI’s legal counsel felt the same.”

“Good,” Woody said. As they did every week, he and Emmett and had scripted this out before the meeting.

“Plus,” Emmett said, now grinning, “all of it can be categorized as flowing from an ‘official act’ of the president.”

Woody stopped pacing, heightening the drama of Emmett’s point.

“It sure can! And remind everyone why that matters.”

“Because if it’s an official act, then the president is immune from it. He can’t be held accountable. And since anything the DOJ does—that you do—falls within the scope of that official act, you’re immune too.”

Woody picked up from there.

“So even if some liberal court someday says it’s a problem, nobody can be held accountable for any of it. Not any of you, not me, and not the president. Right?”

“That’s right—nobody,” Emmett said, grinning again. “Plus, in the worst case scenario, he’s made clear he will pardon any of you for anything you do in his service.”

Woody laughed. “You hear that gentlemen? Emmett just spelled out why you each possess permanent get-out-of-jail-free cards, along with the greatest prosecutorial jobs on the freaking planet.”

He pivoted quickly, looking to his right. The Californian sitting in the middle seat.

“Speaking of digging up bullshit, where do we stand with potential opponents, Pretty Boy?”

Bruce Farley was right out of central casting—sandy blonde, tan, blue eyes. Tall and lean, a physique which had made him a star rower for UCSD a decade ago. But as much as that impressed him, Woody hired the guy because he was the sharpest cross-examiner anyone could remember in Orange County.

“We’ve got eyes and ears on all of them, sir. Michigan. Pennsylvania. California. Maryland. And already generating some juicy results.”

This was more of a slow burn, but the president brought it up almost daily. Woody needed enough to pass a report up the chain, and over to the party and to the permanent campaign. Woody also sat on a separate task force digging into the former president and vice president—also a potential opponent.

“Enough to announce future investigations?”

“Absolutely. We’ll be locked and loaded. The president will be able to call up investigations whenever and wherever he needs them, depending on who emerges or who we want to crush in the crib.”

Although pleased, Woody didn’t want to say much more. He liked cocky, but Farley felt a little too Ivy League for his tastes.

“OK, now let’s turn to the guy who’s actually filed charges. Where are things in your Insurrection Act cases?”

Rocky Valdez was the most aggressive of the group. The undisputed boardroom champion. With his loud voice, wrestler’s build and occasional bouts of red-faced rage, the kid from Jersey could very well be on steroids. Woody couldn’t have cared less.

Valdez clapped his large hands together loudly.

“Kickin’ ass and takin’ names, sir. These people are gonna regret ever taking one step in protest, let alone publicizing all they did on social media. We’re gonna get them for everything they got us for on January 6th, and then some.”

“Which protests are we talking about?”

“All the big ones. The inauguration ones. The deportation ones. The abortion ones. All those freaks whining about school vaccine freedom. And we’re sending a message way beyond DC and New York. Our guys on the ground are working with local sheriffs to roll up insurrectionists in Ohio, Pennsylvania, Florida and Virginia, where women especially got out of control after the abortion order. You should see what they did to that Pittsburgh courthouse…”

Valdez clapped again, laughing.

“…They won’t do that again. I guarantee you that. We’re throwing the book at ‘em.”

Woody nodded his approval, then looked back to his left. The guy farthest from him—who hadn’t raised his hand.

“Hey Ensign—why so quiet?  What d’ya have going on?”

Ricky Neiman was generally quiet. But that left a misleading impression.  It was rectitude, not passivity, honed from his time in the Naval Academy and JAG corps, where you only spoke out once spoken to. But Ricky was a die-hard—one of the veterans who’d helped coordinate the tactical maneuvers that got them into the Capitol on January 6. The video of Neiman’s military insignia and hand signals made him famous, and led to a conviction. But the president granted him amnesty in January.

“Sir, I’m so glad you asked. You will love what I’ve got going on.”

“Tell us.”

“As careful as they tried to be, we’ve got ‘em dead to right.”

“Remind everyone here just who you’re talking about.”

Ricky laughed aloud.

“The Deep State, that’s who. The institutionalists. The Ivy League snots and so-called experts who used to sit in these chairs, and in conference rooms just like this all over the federal government. We’re talking DOJ lawyers, FBI agents, diplomats, climate and pandemic scare-mongers, treasury officials and education bureaucrats. It turns out, thousands of them thought it would be a good idea to offload government data and other assets to the outside before we came in, and before they left. Can you believe it? They want to keep the Deep State going outside of the federal government!”

Woody entered every job with a succession plan. Right now, this guy felt like the guy to replace him if he somehow didn’t shoot the next charging bear in time.

“They won’t ever learn. But how do we know all that?” Woody asked.

Ricky looked downright gleeful as he answered.

“The way you’d know if someone robbed a bank when cameras taped the whole thing. Some of them were dumb enough to leave traces on their government phones and computers. But they also didn’t realize that we had their rickety private networks bugged by late February, as did our friends in Russia, who let us know right away. Hell, our new people in these agencies watched them do it in person! So we’ve got ‘em nailed. Group emails. Group texts. Huge transfers of data, you name it.”

“Any of them talking yet?”

“Yes. This is fish-in-a-barrel stuff. Few backbones among them. We’ll be able to reel them all in the coming months. And just like you wanted, we’ll get ‘em for theft, espionage and treason. Open and shut cases.”

Woody chuckled.

“Let’s not get cocky, Ensign. But that sounds good. The president will absolutely love announcing these once they’re ready to go.”

“Oh, some are ready. First off, we’ve got more receipts than a cash register on the old CDC and pandemic team.”

Woody clenched his fist. Perfect. The CDC was the perfect symbol of the corrupt Deep State, even upstaging the president during COVID as if they were in charge. Taking them down as pirates and traitors would bag one hell of a trophy.

“Great. I’ll get back to you with a timetable.”

For the next 30 minutes, the remaining “young guns” gave their updates. And like Leonardo DeCaprio in “Wolf of Wall Street”—a movie Woody rented out a theater for them to watch together several weeks back—Woody kept firing them up for all they were doing, while scolding them about getting more aggressive.

Overall, he was ecstatic about their updates. They had all the political bases covered.

Surveillance and investigations were underway of labor unions and left-wing political groups. They also were targeting the right-wing business groups and figures who hadn’t supported the president in last year’s primary—“hunting rhinos,” Woody enjoyed calling it. From arcane tax code violations to corruption, they would all soon face charges.

Another “young gun” focused on election and voter fraud—going after states, local governments and organizations that were pushing ballot harvesting and other election bullshit on a large scale. This was a big priority of Woody’s, given what he’d fought back in Arizona. High-profile prosecutions of officials, so-called voting rights groups and individual voters would clamp down on all this crooked voting fast. Half the benefit was how much the public crackdowns scared people away from the polls—and convinced groups to get out of the business of helping people who shouldn't be voting anyway.

Trent Bowman, the AUSA assigned the culture war portfolio, was working with state prosecutors and sheriffs to go after abortionists—both the doctors and their mothers, including those sickening fertility specialists who defied the president’s order and kept killing embryos. Over the year, he also planned to target librarians and teachers peddling pornography, along with those who insisted on teaching banned history. Reports were already emerging of gay couples sneaking banned adoptions through in numerous states, so the FBI would start a dragnet there as well.

“These are open and shut cases,” Bowman explained. “Either federal or state law on these are clear as a bell. Those defying it know exactly what they’re doing.”

“But we’ll still get credit, right? The president will?”

“Yes. Whether it’s federal or state charges, we’re shouldering most of the legwork and legal work…”

Bowman looked around the room.

“…No way the locals could’ve brought all these cases on their small budgets. The new DOJ—we—are the only reason these are happening.”

“Well, just be sure they say that whenever charges are announced.”

“Trust me. They’ll say it.”

Woody clapped his hands. He scanned around the room, counting to ten in his head.

“That’s nine of you. Ok, who’s…”

He looked down at the piece of paper in front of him.  With a black sharpie, he’d placed check marks next to nine of ten areas listed on his agenda: Deep State, State-Level Traitors, Congress, Insurrectionists, and so on.

Only one topic didn’t have a check mark next to it.

Media/Fake News.

Before he could look up, a high-pitched twang broke in.

“That’s me, sir.”

Odd.

It was Luke Willis, the normally sweet-talkin’ prosecutor out of Tennessee. Luke was so good on his feet that he’d helped both Tennessee senators and the current governor do debate prep in recent years. Playing their opponents, he’d wiped the floor with all three candidates—which is why they’d effusively vouched for him for this job.

Luke was never shy.

“Why so quiet, Luke?”

“Well, sir…”

With an awkward grin, Luke and the rest of the “young guns” looked to Woody’s left.

[Reporter’s note: they were looking directly at me]

Woody turned to his right, remembering that a reporter was sitting in the corner. He walked over and patted him on the shoulder. Then gave it a hard squeeze.

“Sorry, Mr. Fake News,” he said as the “young guns” laughed out loud.

“This is the part where you’re going to have to step outside.”

Capitol Monthly

“Louise Getty”

By Rose Cunningham

WASHINGTON D.C.

“It’s funny. All these years we fly in and out of here, shuttled around like bigshots—it’s easy to forget what a beautiful town it is.”

The splash of nearby fountains echoed in their ears. As the May sun pierced the blowing spray, miniature rainbows sparkled before their eyes.

The long-ago foes had met at the base of the Lincoln Memorial, and ambled the length of the Reflecting Pool. Now they were circling the outside of the World War II Memorial, taking in the white granite pillars that were each adorned with a gold wreath and the name of a state. As they walked past Arizona, New Mexico, then Oklahoma, a group of Honor Flight veterans, mostly in wheelchairs, ambled around the Memorial’s oval center.

“It’s so true, Wade,” former House Member Louise Getty said, stopping below the pillar for Utah, her home state. “Last year, when I had the stomach for it, I flew my grandkids here for a week. We did the whole tour. Seeing it all through children’s eyes was magical. Like a whole new city—a giant, outdoor museum—expressing all the hopes and dreams of a great nation.”

Illinois Senator Wade Stiller shook his head. “Sheesh, and I’m still stuck in law firms and lobbyist shops up and down K St.”

They stepped away from Utah, then strolled past Wyoming, then Idaho. The faces of friends and former colleagues from these states flashed through Louise’s mind.

“Well, that’s still better than the Capitol itself these days,” she said.

Stiller chuckled. “True. Maybe the worst of all.”

Louise turned to look at him.

“Correction. The second worst.”

Both their grins faded as reality returned with a vengeance.

The former House member from Utah and current Illinois Senator had caught up on family, old friends, and the good old days, when as junior members of the House Oversight Committee, they’d bicker away on debates that felt so small now. Meaningless divides, in hindsight.

But that brief respite of small talk ended abruptly at Louise’s reference to the White House.

They were meeting now, for the first time in two years, because for the first time in their careers, these two giants of American politics were frightened.

Visibly frightened.

In the mirror and through her husband’s eyes, Louise Getty could observe the non-stop paranoia and fear eating away at her. Her hair was now almost fully gray. Always thin, she’d still lost 15 pounds in six months. Never-ending nausea ruined her appetite. And she felt on edge all the time, snapping at the man who’d stood loyally at her side for 40 years. Her three kids gently suggested she seek counseling. Her first appointment was back in Provo next week.

But as beat down as she felt, Senator Stiller looked even worse. Ten years younger than she was, the most eloquent man in Washington was a pale, gaunt version of his old self. He used to carry his stately 6’2” frame ramrod straight; now he hunched. The inner corners of his eyes were a pinkish-red, and his hair was both thinner and grayer than the last time they’d seen each other. That was two-and-a-half years ago, after the GOP primary voters of her Utah district tossed her for being a traitor.

Most prominently, though, the Senator’s hands tremored. He kept putting them in his pocket to hide it, but he spoke with his hands. Every time they came out, she noticed.

The two were both such strong figures, neither wanted to speak first following Louise’s comment. Because this meeting was a joint admission of weakness. And you don’t ever acknowledge weakness in Washington. Let alone fear.

But fear they felt, arising from one certainty. That they weren’t just on the president’s “list,” as it was loosely referred to in the Beltway. But they were as high on that list as any two people in the United States. And as events playing out in real time made clear, anyone on the list was in the crosshairs of a fully weaponized federal government.

Louise stopped walking as they reached California. Time to bite the bullet.

“Wade, it’s clear I’m being followed. They think an old lady and her teacher husband wouldn’t notice, but we assumed it was coming. We waited and watched. Then in mid-February, they started showing up. Creepy cars down the street. Creepy men in public places. Furtive looks. If we weren’t looking, we wouldn’t have noticed. But it was obvious."

The Senator nodded.

“Trust me, Amy and I see it too. In our private space, but also in both my DC office and the district offices back in Illinois…”

They began walking again.

“…I have no doubt they’re all over our phones. Probably our computers. A couple new interns in our office are clearly plants—they stick out like sore thumbs, so we’re careful. But we also don’t want to let on that we know.”

Over the years, Louise and the Senator had both received numerous classified briefings by FBI leadership.  More than almost anyone in America, they understood the tactics and technologies and toys that were used in sting operations. Ironically, they knew at least as much as the political henchmen suddenly in charge of those agencies.

Louise laughed. “That’s the problem with tossing everyone out. This new crew may be partisan and dangerous, but they’re sloppy.”

They passed Texas.

Stiller shook his head. “Subtle too—‘the Treason and Political Crime Section.’ Orwell himself would’ve blushed at the name.”

Louise cringed. Word had it that the new section, led by one of the phony electors from Arizona, would be the instrument of the president’s political payback—legally at least. The FBI was equally politicized.

They stopped in front of Stiller’s Illinois.  Several bouquets of fresh flowers lay at their feet.

“Land of Lincoln,” Louise said, looking up at the pillar, then over at Stiller. The president whose stark portrait sat behind her office desk from her first day in the Utah statehouse to her last day in Congress. Her constant reminder to always be true to herself despite the daily pressures to do the opposite.

The Senator looked down at the flowers, then out at the veterans. Some were listening to a guide, others just admiring the memorial that honored their service.

“Amazing what so many sacrificed for this country, only to leave us where we are now.”

“We tried, Wade. We did all we could. Just needed more of us.”

Louise thought back to the thousands of hours they’d all put in. Digging up every text and floorplan and email proving just how aggressively the president had worked to undo an election he knew he’d lost. How he’d frozen out top staff members who’d try to stop him, pressured officials here and across the country, and unleashed thousands of stormtroopers to disrupt the vote count on that cold January day. All to effectuate the plan.

By mid-December 2020, Louise had known her colleagues were up to something—the worst of her colleagues at least. Whispers in the hallways; meetings behind closed doors that even she, in leadership, wasn’t invited to. Meetings and even tours with out-of-place outside groups. Multiple visits to the White House, which they couldn’t help but brag about. She’d laughed at the absurdity of those eager beavers—in on a top-secret plan, but wanting people to know they were in on it, because that gave them cache with their colleagues.

A few years back, these House members had been annoying little gnats that she and other long-time Republican leaders ignored as irrelevant. Talk-show and social media flamethrowers, competing to see who could out-extreme the other, who did no actual work for the country or their own constituents.

But gerrymandering had swelled their numbers, and the president had empowered them. So by December of 2020, they were running the place. Still, she was shocked that these lemmings and bozos came so close to success on January 6, with an armed mob roaming the halls of the Capitol, hunting to find her, the Vice President and anyone else they could get their hands on. And to do God knows what if they’d found them.

At the next meeting of all her Republican colleagues, with most still pale and shell-shocked, she unleashed the tongue-lashing they deserved. Shortly after that, the first death threats rolled in.

“We did the right thing, Wade. You did, I did. We all did. And we came damn close to succeeding too.”

They reached the Tennessee pillar.

Louise herself had sat in on most of the special committee’s depositions. Hours and hours of them. At first, she thought it would be awkward, cross-examining fellow Republicans she’d known and worked with for years.

But once the depositions started, it wasn’t awkward at all. From what they said and did, it became clear she didn’t know these people anymore. Lawless traitors, willing to trade what made America great for one man’s unhinged and corrupt ambition. If they were willing to do that, she concluded, she’d never known them at all.  Which made the depositions easy. A righteous cause. Hammering away to root out and compile every detail of their conspiracy. Of their historic crime—seizing American power illegally.

And even though she’d never been a talker in committees, the panel’s public hearings proved just as easy. Methodically exposing the narrative—through tough questions and detailed summaries—of precisely what they’d done. Backing up her words with videos, screen-shots, documents, and every other piece of evidence so that every American would understand…and believe. And equally importantly, so that the DOJ would finally wake up and do its job of holding them all accountable, up to the president of the United States.

And it had worked. By the end, any American listening understood the traitorous plot. And the DOJ did step up.  Just not early enough to matter when too many of the chief insurrectionist’s judicial appointees used their power to slow things down.

“Damn close,” Stiller said.

They passed New Jersey.

The Senator had been a senior member of the House then. And his crowning act would be leading the second impeachment trial. The one that followed January 6.

Louise had watched every moment of it in awe. The entire committee was impressive, but it was Stiller’s moment to show the country his towering strength and skill. And he did. In her estimation, one of the finest minds and orators ever to grace the halls of Congress.

They reached Delaware, completing their long circle around the memorial.

“Should we walk up to the Monument?” Louise asked.

“After you,” Stiller said, holding out his quaking hand.

As they reached one side of the street that lay between them and the path up to the Washington Monument, the crosswalk light turned red. A few tourists scrambled across, but the two stopped to wait.

And that’s when Louise noticed him. A young man in his early 30s, khakis and sportcoat, sunglasses on, walking behind them. Their sudden stop threw the man off, so he halted fifteen feet to their rear. Suddenly still, all by himself, trying to look casual. But failing.

She’d noticed the same man ambling around the Memorial too.

A chill ran down her spine. As much as she was being followed lately, she still couldn’t get used to it.

“Senator, we’re being tailed,” she whispered.

“I have no doubt. Just keep walking and talking—still better than being on a phone.”

They waited ten more seconds, then crossed the street without saying a word. The Senator was trying to play it off, hands deep in his pockets, but his lips were trembling.

This is why they were both aging so fast. As powerful as they’d always been, they were now completely vulnerable. A total loss of privacy, and control. Hounded by federally deputized ideologues. Somehow the youthfulness of their tormentors made it worse—government henchmen younger than their kids.

As they stepped onto the path leading up to the Monument, the Senator cleared his throat.

“What’s amazing is that early on in my term , I got to know a lot of these Senators. Of course the new breed are all-in. Just as militant as he is, and willing to say or do anything to get ahead.  But the several dozen Republican old timers left are as horrified as we are. They tell me if they could do it all over again, they would’ve impeached him when we called for it. They could’ve ended the nightmare, and they know it.”

Louise shook her head.

“None of them talk to me. I’m too toxic now. Do they say why didn’t they do it when they had the chance?”

“Trust me, they keep their distance from me now as well. They know I’m on the list. Still, in an honest moment, they admit they were afraid. Of losing their next election. Of being excommunicated from the entire world they know—cut off from the money that will come their way if they stay in line.  Afraid of even one death threat becoming real. Plus, why impeach someone, with all the hell that would rain down on them, who was never going to run again? I mean, the guy lost by 7 million votes. They just assumed he’d fade away like anyone else would.”

“I think that drove the old DOJ too. When politicians lose, especially that big, they leave the scene. So why bother looking political with investigations when he was going to disappear anyway?”

Behind the scenes, she’d yelled at the Attorney General’s liaison about the urgency of upholding the rule of law before the next campaign cycle began. If you wait, she’d warned them, you’ll give the man an incentive to run again—and do whatever it would take to win. Which is exactly what happened.

“Makes me sick to think about it,” Stiller said. “This guy doesn’t go away. Especially when he knew the only way to avoid being locked up himself was to grab the reigns of government back.”

And now he has, Louise thought without saying the words. And now look at us.

Over her shoulder, she could see the tail twenty feet behind them. Too far to hear their muted voices. But she whispered anyway.

“What are the others saying?”

“We met the other night. Both impeachment committees. In Jeb’s basement in Maryland…”

Jeb Mitchell retired from Congress in 2022.

“…and all but two of us are certain we’re being followed. And bugged. And hacked. They’re all paranoid about any new staff they’ve brought on since January. Either way, we know we’re all on the list.”

“And how are they holding up?”

“They’re putting on the bravest faces they can.” Then he grinned. “But, no offense, most look like you and I do about right now…frazzled. Scared. We all know we’ve done nothing wrong, but we also know that doesn’t matter with today’s DOJ, FBI and court system.”

Louise grimaced.

She’d had a similar meeting in Northern Virginia after flying in two days ago. Her former committee members also reported being surveilled. All worried, of course. But the newer members—the ones who’d been put on the committee because they were rising stars—were in an outright panic.

“The younger ones are melting down. They have kids the age of my grandkids. They agreed to do this to serve their country. To stand up for the rule of law. And now they see what’s happening to those abortion protesters and doctors. The groups who organized the deportation marches. The former CDC officials being perp walked to courthouses like common criminals. They’re all hearing that charges will drop in Georgia and New York any day now. So they know they’re next. That their kids will watch mom and dad charged as criminals.”

And, Louise knew, they were right.

“It’s just awful,” she added.

“Were you able to buck them up?” Stiller asked.

“I did my best. I explained that there are major supporters who’ve stepped up to pay for the legal work to protect them. And I had lawyers walk through the wall of strong defenses they will offer.”

“And?”

“It bought me about ten minutes.”

“Yeah. That’s about how my talk went as well.”

They both looked down, holding their hands behind their backs as they reached the top of the path and the base of the monument.

Louise looked around, taking in a deep breath.

For a moment, it all seemed normal again. The flags encircling the monument’s base flapped loudly in the breeze. Kids were running back and forth, pointing up—at the flags, at the top of the obelisk. A plane landed over the Lincoln Memorial. The softball season was under way, with make-shift diamonds occupying much of the grounds around them—players shouting amid an occasional crack as bats collided with softballs.

All seemed normal for a moment.

Like those precious few days Louise had spent with the grandkids, soaking in every grand symbol and celebration of American democracy the town had to offer. Lincoln and Jefferson. FDR and MLK. Telling her grandkids the stories of what each of these patriots was about. What America was all about.

For that brief moment, all felt fine. She even forgot that Senator Stiller was standing next to her.

Then she turned toward the White House.

And gasped.

There he was again.

The tail.

He was standing on the other side of the monument, right in her line of sight.

But he was no longer alone.

Sidled up next to him was a middle-aged woman, shoulder length brown hair, dressed more casually. She looked like a tourist. Louise recalled her from the beginning of their walk. At the base of the Lincoln Memorial. And later, standing right beside them at the crosswalk.

They’d had two tails, but had only kept their eyes on one.

And right then, it dawned on her that these people weren’t sloppy.

They just didn’t care if she and the Senator knew.

Author’s Note: Project 2025, the DOJ, and Immunity

Trump’s Revenge

Donald Trump has made clear from the opening of the campaign that his goal is to seek revenge. “I am your retribution,” he says. And he and his team name names:

Trump casually tells allies he plans to have the federal government “punish critics and opponents.” And his list includes not just Democrats, but former allies such as Bill Barr and John Kelley, but those who dared cross or criticize him, such as Joint Chiefs Chair Mark Milley.

“Look, when this election is over, based on what they’ve done, I would have every right to go after them, and it would be easy because it’s Joe Biden.”

He amplifies social media posts about a military tribunal for Liz Cheney for treason, and the prosecution of a broad swath of elected officials, including Biden, VP Kamala Harris, Chuck Schumer, Mitch McConnell, and bipartisan members of the Jan. 6 Committee.

And he says he will investigate the prosecutors who investigated his crimes, among other reasons. “I will direct a completely overhauled DOJ to investigate every radical out-of-control prosecutor in America for their illegal, racist and reverse enforcement of the law.”

His loyalists have been equally explicit.

Steve Bannon, just a few weeks ago: “November 5 is judgment day. January 20, 2025, will be accountability day.”

To those who investigated Trump, he said: “You are going to be investigated, prosecuted and incarcerated…This has nothing to do with retribution. It has nothing to do with revenge. Because retribution and revenge might be another order of magnitude. This has to do with justice.”

Another conservative lawyer, John Yoo, has vowed: “In order to prevent the case against Trump from assuming a permanent place in the American political system, Republicans will have to bring charges against Democratic officers, even presidents.”

Another Trump surrogate has been circulating a list all year of top targets of MAGA retribution: the list “includes numerous Democratic and Republican elected officials; FBI and intelligence officials; members of the House Select January 6 Committee; U.S. Capitol Police officers and civilian employees; witnesses in Trump’s two impeachment trials and the Jan. 6 committee hearings; and journalists from publications ranging from CNN and the Washington Post to Reuters and Raw Story — all considered political enemies of Trump.”

The Vehicle: Project 2025 Weaponizes the DOJ and FBI

Under traditional American governance, none of this “lock ‘em up” talk would lead to much. (In fact, Trump repeatedly called for investigations of enemies when he was president, but they didn’t happen). And that’s due to safeguards, bright lines, and checks-and-balances that keep a president from exacting political revenge through the government itself.

At the heart of those checks and balances has been the independence of the prosecutorial/litigation functions of the Department of Justice, as well as the independence of the FBI.

Those guardrails all disappear under Project 2025, which proposes a “top-to-bottom overhaul” (Page 547) in the DOJ. The changes would empower Trump to exact the political revenge he’s been threatening all campaign.

The heart of the Project 2025 plan is eliminating the DOJ’s independence from the White House and Trump.  “While the supervision of litigation is a DOJ responsibility, the department falls under the direct supervision and control of the President of the United States as a component of the executive branch.” (Page 559).

The plan also makes clear that the FBI “is not independent from the department…and does not deserve to be treated as if it were.”  (Page 549). One way to establish this: rather than a 10-year term, “[t]he Director of the FBI must remain politically accountable to the President in the same manner as the head of any other federal department or agency.” 552

There are two key steps in eviscerating the DOJ’s independence: “First: flood the Justice Department with stalwart conservatives unlikely to say "no" to controversial orders from the White House. Second: restructure the department so key decisions are concentrated in the hands of administration loyalists rather than career bureaucrats.” (Reuters)

More on Step 1: the plan aims to “[e]nsure the assignment of sufficient political appointees throughout the department….The number of appointees serving throughout the department in prior Administrations—particularly during the Trump Administration—has not been sufficient either to stop bad things from happening through proper management or to promote the President’s agenda….It is not enough for political appointees to serve in obvious offices like the Office of the Attorney General or the Office of the Deputy Attorney General. The next conservative Administration must make every effort to obtain the resources to support a vast expansion of the number of appointees in every office and component across the department—especially in the Civil Rights Division, the FBI, and the EOIR. [Executive Office for Immigration Review.]” (Page 569).

More on Step 2: Project 2025 calls for tearing down barriers between the White House and the DOJ: “the Justice Department and the White House counsel should act ‘as a team.’ And while [Project 2025] notes that contact between the White House and the Department of Justice traditionally occurs between the office of the White House counsel and the attorney general or deputy attorney general — a practice that aims to reduce the risk of political interference in law enforcement — [Project 2025] encourages a new administration to ‘re-examine this policy and determine whether it might be more efficient or more appropriate for communication to occur through additional channels.’” (NYT)

One of the premier experts on authoritarian governments, Ruth Ben-Ghiat, explained the danger of these proposals: “the very definition of authoritarianism is when the executive branch overwhelms, or politicizes or hinders from being independent the judiciary and the other branches of government….You also have to have a compliant civil service…They’re going to take apart the DOJ as an independent body…and make it into something else….That something is a body that will protect the president and his cronies….”

As I pointed out in a prior post, Project 2025 has already begun training “vetted conservatives who go to work on Day 1.”

Flush with political appointees and no longer held back by independence, Project 2025 makes it clear that “litigation decisions must be made consistent with the President’s agenda.” (Page 559).

And even though that clause includes one caveat—that “criminal prosecutions…can warrant different treatment”—it doesn’t elaborate what that means, and the “treatment” described later follows the same theme of highly politicized investigations and actions.

For example, as Trump does nearly daily, the plan urges politicized prosecutions out of the gate. Including—the DOJ should prosecute any use of the mails to transport abortion pills page (page 567); should “restrain the excesses of both the legislative and judicial branches,” (Congress and courts) (page 560); should “initiate legal action against local officials—including District Attorneys—who deny American citizens the “equal protection of the laws” by refusing to prosecute criminal offenses in their jurisdictions (page 553); and should target in-state officials for prosecution for “voter registration fraud and unlawful ballot correction.”

This is almost word for word what Trump promises when he says: “And I will direct a completely overhauled DOJ to investigate every radical out-of-control prosecutor in America for their illegal, racist and reverse enforcement of the law.”

The plan explicitly calls for prosecutions in Pennsylvania for election allegations that were part of Trump’s “Big Lie”: “the Pennsylvania Secretary of State should have been (and still should be) investigated and prosecuted for potential violations of 18 U.S. Code § 241.” (Page 564)

In sum, according to PBS, “Project 2025 proposes placing the Justice Department squarely under Donald Trump's authority, doing away with any traditional independence that we usually see for the Justice Department and the attorney general. They want Donald Trump to install a loyal attorney general, install loyal lawyers across the board, and Trump himself has repeatedly said that he wants to do this.”

And the plan would “transform[] the FBI into a political task force.”

Presidential Immunity: Project 2025 “On Steroids”

As if this weren’t all bad enough, the Supreme Court’s recent immunity decision made this entire plan far more dangerous—adding a layer of protection to all the above actions that Project 2025 proposes taking, no matter how outrageous and lawless.

In a Kettering Foundation podcast, Neal Katyal explained how easy the Court has made it for the DOJ to protect the president and itself from accountability: “All the president has to do is slap on the label ‘this is an official act.’”

And Judge J. Michael Lutig echoed the risk: “This is an unequivocal clear holding by the Supreme Court of the United States of America that a president will be immune from prosecution for violating not only the Constitution, but any criminal statute.  As a practical  matter,  virtually every single thing the president does is and will be forever considered an official act for which he will be immune from prosecution.”

But the decision’s protection of “official acts” goes beyond the president himself, and this is where it provides such a dangerous “assist” to Project 2025.

As NYU law professor Melissa Murray explained on MSNBC: the decision establishes that when the president acts through the DOJ, or issues orders via the DOJ, “because the DOJ is viewed as an extension…of the president, those actions are immunized.  Project 2025 ramps this up, puts it on steroids, makes it impossible…to prosecute the president or indeed anyone working through the DOJ for those acts because they are official acts in the perimeter of his official duties….”

You can watch this whole interview HERE.

For a broader critique of the plan, and the lies it is based on, go HERE: https://verdict.justia.com/2024/07/12/a-deep-dive-into-project-2025s-plan-to-subvert-the-rule-of-law-and-use-the-department-of-justice-as-an-instrument-for-political-oppression

Folks, what I describe in the Chapter is fiction, but the details of Project 2025 make it entirely possible. Please be sure to spread the word so others know as well.

And then take the actions needed to stop it….