INT. TRUMP TOWER – EXECUTIVE SUITE – NIGHT
A storm of Manhattan neon reflects in the windows. Champagne chills beside a platter of rare steak. PATRICK BATEMAN, immaculate in Tom Ford, sits across from DONALD TRUMP, who’s wearing a navy suit and a red tie like a battlefield flag.
PATRICK BATEMAN (leaning back, eyes gleaming):
Donald… your brand portfolio is the most avant-garde expression of American excess I’ve ever seen.
The Trump Game? It’s Monopoly for sociopaths—perfect.
I bought four copies. Two to play, two to burn.
DONALD TRUMP (smirking):
It teaches winning. That’s what people forget. Life’s not fair. Trump: The Game is.
You either dominate or go bankrupt.
PATRICK BATEMAN (with reverence):
It belongs in MoMA. Post-capitalist abstraction in board game form.
Now… Trump Water.
I had it chilled to exactly 37.5 degrees. It’s clean. Strong.
It doesn’t just hydrate—it asserts itself.
DONALD TRUMP (nodding):
Most water’s weak. Mine’s not.
Comes from a secret American spring. We tested it—99.9% testosterone.
PATRICK BATEMAN (eyes widening):
That explains the flavor.
Now… the Trump Steaks.
Donald, those weren’t steaks. They were a challenge to mortality.
I served them at my Christmas party instead of cocaine.
People wept.
DONALD TRUMP (laughs):
They couldn’t handle the flavor.
Those steaks were aged with ambition.
Only reason they failed? America was too soft.
PATRICK BATEMAN:
Exactly. The world wasn’t worthy of them.
And don’t even get me started on Trump Vodka.
I drank half a bottle and tried to buy AT&T.
DONALD TRUMP (grinning):
I made vodka for people who hate vodka but love power.
It didn’t sell—too refined.
PATRICK BATEMAN (smirking):
That’s the tragedy of genius.
I still have three bottles locked in a vault. Next to my copy of Huey Lewis’s Hip to Be Square.
Both timeless. Both violent in their clarity.
DONALD TRUMP (with finality):
They’ll understand one day. All of it.
The game, the steaks, the water—
It was never just about products.
It was a lifestyle.
PATRICK BATEMAN (raising his glass):
To the man who turned consumption into philosophy.
DONALD TRUMP (raising his glass back):
To winning. Always.
The glasses clink. Somewhere in the distance, a golden elevator opens. Cue Phil Collins.
FADE OUT.