Power, Politics, and Personal Affairs Rock Trump's DHS

Six hours. That's how long senior Department of Homeland Security officials spent in a private Washington home last winter, mapping out what they saw as an existential threat to their agency. The danger wasn't from terrorists or cyber attacks—it was from their new boss, Kristi Noem, and her relationship with Corey Lewandowski.

This secret meeting, revealed in NBC reporter Julia Ainsley's forthcoming book "Undue Process," offers a window into how personal relationships are reshaping America's homeland security apparatus under Trump's second presidency.

When Personal Becomes Political

Trump rode back to power on a wave of anti-immigration sentiment, promising mass deportations on an unprecedented scale. DHS—originally created after 9/11 to prevent terrorist attacks—suddenly found itself tasked with the largest immigration crackdown in U.S. history.

But this massive policy shift is being complicated by what Washington insiders call an "open secret": the alleged affair between Noem and Lewandowski. Both are married with children, both deny a romantic relationship, yet their rumored liaison has become common knowledge in political circles.

"They don't hide it," a Customs and Border Protection official told Ainsley. A Trump transition team member was more blunt: "Oh yeah, they're still fucking."

The White House Draws Lines

Even Trump's inner circle has grown uncomfortable with the dynamic. When Noem tried to install Lewandowski as her chief of staff, the White House vetoed the move. The rumors were spreading too widely, and Stephen Miller—Trump's immigration hardliner—was reportedly "personally repelled" by their apparent infidelity.

Instead, Lewandowski was hired as a "special government employee," similar to Elon Musk's DOGE arrangement. The position supposedly limits government work to 130 days per year, but according to Ainsley's reporting, Lewandowski has largely ignored this constraint, referring to himself as "chief adviser" to the secretary.

From Campaign Brawler to Immigration Czar

Lewandowski has zero experience in immigration enforcement. His claim to fame? Being Trump's first campaign manager in 2015—a role that ended amid accusations of physical confrontations with reporters and unwanted advances toward female journalists. But loyalty to Trump has kept him in the orbit, and he's used that position to advance Noem's career.

Noem herself has undergone a dramatic transformation. The former South Dakota governor has embraced what Ainsley calls the "MAGA aesthetic"—dental surgery, apparent cosmetic enhancements, and traveling with a personal makeup artist. Her theatrical flair reached peak absurdity when she walked into an ICE briefing in New York to Trace Adkins' "Hot Mama," earning her the nickname "ICE Barbie."

Trump reportedly saw Noem's infamous dog-shooting story—which many thought would end her political career—as an asset for a homeland security secretary. It showed she could make tough decisions.

Policy Through Personal Power

Lewandowski's influence extends into every corner of DHS operations. He controls who speaks in meetings, what information reaches Noem's desk, which contractors get hired, and even what kind of detention facilities get built.

His particular obsession? Migrant detention centers. While others favored traditional brick-and-mortar facilities, Lewandowski pushed for a "cheaper, more austere solution"—tent cities in punishing locations. His lobbying led to the creation of the notorious "Alligator Alcatraz" facility in the Florida Everglades and a tent compound at Guantánamo Bay.

He's also consolidated financial control, requiring his and Noem's approval for any expenditure over $100,000—down from the previous threshold of $25 million. Contractors have complained to the White House about the bottleneck.

The Cockroach Problem

Inside DHS, fear has replaced professional discourse. Officials are reluctant to speak up in meetings when Lewandowski is present, knowing that challenging him could mean termination. "What are you going to do? Make an accusation? They'll tear you apart," one official told Ainsley.

Even White House officials who object to his management style feel powerless to act without a "smoking gun." As one put it, Lewandowski is like a cockroach that's grown immune to insecticide—getting rid of him is easier said than done.