Trump's true apprentices: his two children

Don Jr. was born on New Year’s Eve in 1977. “I like to joke I started working for my dad the minute I was born,” he says. “My dad wanted to be able to claim me as a dependent on his taxes for 1977, so he told my mom she had to have me before midnight, and if she didn’t, he’d make her take a cab home.

“I’d be going to work with my dad when I was 5 or 6 years old,” recalls Don. “Besides telling me again and again not to drink, not to smoke and not to chase women, he always told me: ‘Never trust anybody.’ Then he’d ask me if I trusted anybody. I’d say, ‘No.’ ‘Do you trust me?’ he’d ask. I’d say, ‘Yes.’ And he’d say: ‘No! Don’t even trust me!’ ”

Affair makes tabloid headlines
Prophetic. In 1990, Don and Ivanka learned of Trump’s affair with model-actress Marla Maples. Ivana confronted Maples on a ski slope in Aspen. Donald moved from the family’s Trump Tower apartment to another unit in the building, and headlines of the affair with Maples began running on the front pages of the New York tabloids.

Hurt on behalf of his mother and outraged by his schoolmates’ ribbing, Don didn’t speak to his father for a year. “I was a brat,” he says. “I’d hang up on him.” Don turned to his Czech grandfather, Ivana’s dad, who introduced the lad to outdoor sports and encouraged him to make peace with his father.

In college Don got into strenuous sports—and strenuous partying. He also developed into a serious drinker. In 2000 he spent a year as a ski bum in Aspen. He has twice broken ankles, while skiing and paragliding. After coming to work for Trump, he quit drinking entirely. “Drinking in moderation wasn’t something I was good at,” admits Don, now settled down with wife, Vanessa Haydon, a model.

Ivanka also has zest for adventure. She insists that her modeling, done as a teenager, was just a lark, an excuse to get in some European travels on somebody else’s dime. Her height and looks made her perfect for the runway. “She’s taller than 80 percent of the men in any room,” says Panamanian builder Roger Khafif, who is planning a 2.5-million-square-foot development that will bear Trump’s name on reclaimed land in Panama City. “And she’s a tough person.”

As a teen she endured an agonizing ski weekend trying to save face by ignoring the pain of a badly broken thumb. “I really take pride in my skiing, and I was embarrassed that I fell in front of my friends,” she says. “My friends kept looking at it, saying, ‘I think it’s broken,’ but I kept saying it was ‘no big deal.’ ”

Brother and sister regard Trump with a measure of awe. When showing him a possible deal, Don says, “He always zeros in on the three things you don’t know.” Here’s what the two siblings have learned about doing business, Trump-style:

Put on the squeeze
If you’re a real estate know-it-all, you may not like Donald Trump. You may think another developer, like New York’s Stephen Ross or Irvine, Calif.’s Donald Bren, builds condos or houses or hotels that are better. But thousands disagree. In fact, buyers consistently pay a premium —  brokers say it’s usually 20 percent to 30 percent of what other comparable properties fetch — for a condominium with the Trump name on it. Ivanka and Don Jr. take full advantage of that.

The Trump Organization occupies a unique position as the lone residential real estate franchiser. The Trumps’ arrangement is similar to what is common in the hotel industry, where big outfits like Hilton, Starwood and Marriott license their names and expertise to others. Prospective partners pay Trump an initial fee (usually, $1 million to $2 million) and agree to pay 8 percent to 15 percent of the gross sales of their condos. If the Trump name produces the 20 percent-plus premiums, both parties make out.

Finally, the Trumps get as much as half of every dollar paid exceeding a benchmark, typically  20 percent above what they and their development partners agree is fair market value of a property. For all this, Trump generally puts no money down. “When it comes to money, most people are too afraid or embarrassed to haggle. Maybe they think it’s tacky. My dad doesn’t,” says Don.

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