“…there is no Rosebud here, no epiphany that explains it all. But the many revealing scenes cohere into a fascinating portrait … In a vignette at once slightly comical and chilling, Trump discovers, or is discovered by, the malevolent Roy Cohn. The year is 1973, and Trump, scion of an outer-borough housing developer, is trying to make the jump from the bridge-and-tunnel crowd to the Manhattan glitterati…In the bar of Le Club, Trump finds a man with hooded eyes and a scarred face — the sinister Cohn, Sen. Joe McCarthy’s henchman, who has long since clawed back from McCarthy’s televised downfall in the 1954 Army-McCarthy hearings to become a potent lawyer/fixer in Manhattan. Young Donald explains to Cohn that he has a problem: His real estate company has been sued by the state for racial bias. Trump says he is thinking of settling the case. Nonsense, says Cohn. You never settle: Hit back. Countersue. Trump promptly hires Cohn, the beginning of a beautiful friendship … It was apparent that Trump had no friends, outside his immediate family … Trump the outrageous poseur becomes sadder and more real in this fine book.”
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