In the name of charity, for the benefit of the family: How the Trump family turned charity into profit?

Author: Chloe, ChainCatcher

Last month, just hours before attending a state dinner with King Charles III, Eric Trump, Donald Trump's second son, posted a five-paragraph long article on X to defend himself. The trigger was a controversy surrounding a claim he made to investors: that a publicly traded cryptocurrency company he was involved with, "American Bitcoin," could mine Bitcoin at about half the market price. A report by Forbes debunked this claim.

As of June 17, 2026, the stock price of American Bitcoin (NASDAQ: ABTC) had fallen to about $0.83, a drop of nearly 90% from its high of about $175 at the end of last year and its initial public offering price of $14.

Then, Eric shifted the focus in his post to another old issue that had weighed on him for nearly a decade: a 2017 investigation by Forbes into the children's cancer charity he founded. He wrote that the external attacks were "madness," as he was merely a "young man wholeheartedly trying to save dying children."

Undeniably, he has done charitable work; over the years, this foundation has donated more than $25 million to St. Jude Children's Research Hospital in Tennessee, operating efficiently, focusing on fundraising while leaving the cumbersome execution to others. However, its other side includes misleading rhetoric, hasty accounting, a board with conflicts of interest, and an unabashed loyalty to Trump, which also appears in the cryptocurrency industry.

The Trump Family Always Escapes Scandal Unscathed

Through a Freedom of Information Act request, Forbes obtained thousands of pages of documents revealing that between 2011 and 2016, his foundation funneled at least $500,000 in donations back to family businesses through a series of transactions, most of which never appeared on tax filings.

These documents also explain why the Trump family always seems to escape unscathed. Their tactic is to first loudly counterattack on television or social media, then use lawyers to bury the paper trail, and finally adjust their practices just enough to comply with regulations and avoid penalties, while fundamentally nothing changes; once the storm passes, they re-emerge confidently as victims, asking the public for trust again, and there are always those willing to believe.

Eric's foundation has played out this script from start to finish: nine years after being embroiled in scandal, this renamed organization is still operational, expanding its fundraising efforts year after year, spending over $500,000 annually, and almost entirely hosted at venues owned by Trump.

Conflicts of Interest Are Obvious, Even the White House Is Involved

The foundation did indeed start with good intentions. Initially, Eric and his wealthy friends wanted to do something good, and when they filed with the IRS in 2007, they wrote: "Our family has three golf courses in New York and New Jersey available for use." The application promised not to sign leases with any companies managed by its leaders. For the first three years, this was indeed the case, spending about $50,000 annually and raising hundreds of thousands.

However, starting in 2010, employees of the Trump Organization began to join the board, and the following year, expenses skyrocketed to $142,000. Former club manager Ian Gillule pointed directly at Trump in an interview: the foundation initially used the venue for free, and bills often vanished into thin air. Trump was dissatisfied; he was not concerned about "helping for free," but rather that so much had been donated without any record or acknowledgment, so he ordered that everyone, regardless of whether they were his son, be charged.

Thus, everyone was charged. After an event in 2011, Trump National Golf Club issued a $20,000 bill to the foundation, and a copy obtained by Forbes included a note: "For questions, please call Dan Scavino." The conflict of interest was clear; Dan Scavino is now the Deputy Chief of Staff at the White House, and at the time was both the club's general manager and a board member of the foundation; the bill was also signed by Eric himself, though it was unclear which capacity he was signing in. Subsequently, bills were issued every year: the club charged $100,000 in 2013 and $99,000 in 2016, and even Trump SoHo Hotel and Mar-a-Lago got a piece of the pie.

Toxic Candy Wrapped in a Pretty Package

"Dear friends," Eric wrote in the 2014 fundraising gala program, the foundation "has one of the lowest expense rates in the world," insisting on using only Trump's own venues, full-time volunteers, donated catering, and celebrity performances for free, so that St. Jude could receive almost all the funds.

But the accounts did not match this rhetoric. The gala featured Hooters waitresses and mini Eric bobbleheads, with many performers coming from "The Celebrity Apprentice," and while Eric claimed "they all performed for free," checks he personally signed for performance fees still exceeded $90,000. The auction items "were all donated by others," but in reality, the foundation spent at least $65,000 to procure them, and in 2012 even bought an item for $6,040 that only sold for $3,310. Transportation costs were also a significant expense, with just one company, Sunny's, charging over $35,000.

Additionally, hundreds of thousands in donations flowed to other charities, some of which had more direct ties to family interests; at least three had also held fundraising events at Trump golf courses. In 2013, Eric even spent $1,600 from the foundation to buy a decorative copper distiller and an antique bottling machine near his family's winery. Of course, the foundation did indeed donate large sums to St. Jude, increasing from $220,000 in 2007 to $2.9 million in 2016, the year Trump was first elected.

Eric Becomes the Victim, Believing His "Good Deeds Went Unrewarded"

Politics quickly thrust the foundation into the spotlight. At the end of 2016, Daily Beast and the Associated Press revealed its transactions with Trump clubs, while The New York Times reported that an investment manager bid nearly $60,000 at a fundraising auction just to have a cup of coffee with Ivanka Trump. The issue was not just public relations: under New York and federal law, such related-party transactions should have been voted on by the board, documented, and disclosed on tax returns.

Thus, Eric decided to reorganize and distance himself from the family: all employees of the Trump Organization withdrew, including himself; he stated that during his father's term, he wanted to avoid "perception issues" and would no longer personally fundraise before leaving office. The foundation was also renamed Curetivity, promising that all donations would go to St. Jude. On the surface, it seemed like a return to its original intention, but Eric still did not change his tune, telling Forbes a month later: "We use the world's top venues 100% for free, which is why our expense rate is the lowest in history."

On the day the report was published, he appeared on Fox News, framing the scrutiny from various quarters as a political conspiracy against him, likening himself to a victim, saying, "I raised tens of millions of dollars, and what I got in return was hatred."

Two days later, the Attorney General's office sent a letter requesting to review the accounts. The investigation severely damaged the foundation: donations plummeted by more than two-thirds in 2017, falling below $1 million, while administrative and legal expenses skyrocketed from nearly zero to about $50,000 annually. By the end of the year, the Attorney General sent another letter naming multiple issues, including financial reports that did not comply with accounting standards, ignoring related-party transaction regulations, and misleading marketing, threatening to revoke their fundraising license.

After that, the accounts became increasingly opaque. After Eric left the board, the previously occasionally noted "related-party transactions" disappeared, the "rent/venue fee" section was always left blank, and fundraising expenses dropped from $384,000 in 2016 to $111,000 in 2017. Until the end of 2018, when the Attorney General's office informed that the investigation had shifted to compliance rather than enforcement, Eric re-emerged, returning to promotional materials, and ultimately was given the title of "founder" of Curetivity, with fundraising expenses rebounding to a new high of $392,000 in 2019. As for how much flowed back to the Trump Organization, it became impossible to determine under the murky accounts.

Now, fundraising events continue to be held under Trump's name: in 2020, one was held at Mar-a-Lago, costing $309,000, and in recent years, events have also taken place at Trump golf courses in North Carolina and Jupiter, Florida. If the fees are comparable to those in the past, just Curetivity alone could bring in about $200,000 annually for Trump's business empire, accumulating over a million in 20 years.

The Same Script Has Been Transferred to the Cryptocurrency Industry

This "pretty rhetoric, value flowing back to family" approach has not stopped at the charity foundation; it has now been almost verbatim transferred to American Bitcoin.

Previously, Eric packaged this company as a "money printing machine," publicly claiming it could mine Bitcoin at a cost about 53% lower than the spot price, with each Bitcoin costing about $57,000. It sounds just like the foundation's "lowest expense rate in the world." But like the charity foundation, the accounts do not add up.

The investigation was conducted by the same Forbes reporter, Dan Alexander, who exposed the foundation nine years ago. He found that about 70% of the company's Bitcoin was not mined but was acquired through continuously issuing new shares and then buying on the open market; once depreciation and amortization were accounted for, the total cost per Bitcoin actually approached $90,000, far exceeding Eric's claimed $57,000.

Now, the company's stock price has dropped about 90% from its high of about $175 at the end of 2025 and its IPO price of $14, with retail investors estimated to have lost about $500 million; financially, it has also been hemorrhaging, with a net loss of about $81.8 million in the first quarter of 2026, while insiders have a completely different view.

The founders initially acquired shares at almost no cost; even with the stock price collapsing by 90%, Eric's personal holdings are still worth about $70 million; during the same period, his net worth is estimated to have risen to $300 million. Even the aftermath script seems familiar; when faced with doubts, Eric did not directly respond to Forbes' calculations of costs and dilution but instead countered with impressive figures like quarterly revenue growth and holding over 7,000 coins, and he criticized Forbes on X for becoming a political weapon and a disgrace to journalism.

In September last year, Eric stood at the center of a party at the Westchester Club, hosting the 19th fundraising event for Curetivity, surrounded by several key business partners. Since his father was re-elected, his net worth has skyrocketed from an estimated $40 million in 2024 to the current $300 million.