Chump Tower

South Florida's housing bubble has popped, suckas! But the Donald still wants your millions for his condos.

Trump has bounced back to become a financial tycoon again, but the Donald is likely worth much less than most people assume. He claims publicly to be worth $5 billion. Forbesmagazine lists Trump as number 74 on its Forbes 400 list, claiming he's worth $2.6 billion. But that is a guess at best, since most of Trump's assets are privately held. Last year, the New York Times magazine published a lengthy examination of Trump's finances. The magazine questioned whether the real estate mogul was worth even $1 billion.

But so what? Trump knows perception is more powerful than truth — especially when it comes to real estate.


Near 10 p.m., Wyclef Jean takes the stage at the Bonnet House. Like most of his audience for this private concert, he's dressed in a crisp black suit. He slings a guitar strap over his shoulder and plucks a string. The band behind him starts up. Later, Wyclef will entertain the crowd with Bob Marley covers, even a rendition of his duet with Shakira, but for now, he'll start with a song written just for his business idol, Donald Trump:

I ain't hard to find.

I'm at the Trump International, in Fort Lauderdale.

Ehhh!

I ain't hard to find.

I'm at the Trump International, in Fort Lauderdale.

Yo!

I landed in Fort Lauderdale.

I gave Donald Trump a call.

He said, Wyclef, no problem.

I'm at the Trump International, in Fort Lauderdale.

I landed at the Trump International.

They gave me a suite.

Man, it was expensive.

But I had the money, man.

It feels good to me.

I ain't hard to find.

I'm at the Trump International, in Fort Lauderdale.

If you're looking for me, we ain't hard to find, oh no.

We at the Trump International, in Fort Lauderdale.

Wyclef pauses. The band continues. Many of the women in the crowd dance. Their men stand next to them, as stiff as their designer suits. Wyclef puts his mouth to the microphone: "If you're making money, put your hands together!" he yells, then continues singing:

Make money, money.

Make money, money.

The men in the audience pump their hands up and down, open palmed, toward the sky, their gold and silver watches glimmering in the lights.

Make money, money.

Make money, money.

"Ladies!" Wyclef yells.

They scream. He continues:

Take money, money!

Take money, money!

At the other side of the room, Trump stands with guests on an elevated VIP platform. He dips his head to the beat.

Take money, money!

Take money, money!

And no matter how bad South Florida's real estate market becomes, that is exactly what Donald Trump aims to do.

Take money, money!

Take money, money!

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