Fred C. Trump III has a warning about the months ahead, as his uncle Donald takes on Kamala Harris in the U.S. presidential race. He uses strong language, perhaps because he’s from Queens, a notoriously tough New York borough where his family made its fortune in real estate. Or because he’s just really worried about the future of his country – and ours.

“You haven’t seen shit yet,” Trump says, referring to the drastic measures his uncle will take to win the presidency. “I know him, and he’s going to lead the charge to do whatever it takes to win.”  Fred is the son of Donald’s older brother, Fred Trump Jr., the once-golden child of a once-golden family whose alcoholism led to his early death. In his new book, All in the Family: The Trumps and How We Got This Way, Fred’s depiction of his wealthy clan resembles the Addams Family, only with a lot less charm and style.

At the centre of this familial web is Donald, whom Fred recently described as “atomic crazy.” Over the phone, I asked him to elaborate on this vivid description. At one time, Fred and his uncle were quite close, playing golf and lunching together. What changed? “He’s always been kind of off the rails, but in a low-key, quirky way, throughout the years when I’ve known him, but now it’s becoming dangerous. … He’s amped up his crowd, his base, so much that he has to keep ahead of them to keep them happy.” And then he adds this kicker: “I’m telling you, the next few months are going to be just really harsh.”

There is ample evidence in Fred’s memoir about the family’s cruelty, some of it gasp-inducing, even for those readers who think they’ve heard it all. After their father died, the family medical insurance that covered Fred, his sister Mary and their children was cut off. Donald and his siblings also pressured their father to remove Fred and Mary from his will. (Mary, a psychologist, is also a vocal critic of her uncle, and has published two books about him.) During the legal battle over the will, Fred called his beloved grandmother to see how she was doing, and she responded: “I hope you die penniless just like your father.” She was referring to her own son.

Fred’s most profound disappointment centres on the family’s treatment of his youngest son, 25-year-old William, who was born with complex disabilities. The elder Trumps did contribute to a fund for William’s care, even if they never bothered to visit or enquire after him. When the fund was running low, Fred called his uncle Donald to discuss what could be done. “I don’t know,” Donald responded. “He doesn’t recognize you. Maybe you should just let him die and move down to Florida.”

Fred, as you can imagine, was shocked speechless. I asked him whether he thought his uncle has any empathy, and he responded without hesitation. “No. He has never asked to meet William, because he thinks he’s a lesser person. And to me that’s disgusting.”

That lack of empathy extends to those who are not white. Fred relates another telling incident from his childhood: Donald one day found the roof of his expensive car slashed, and used the N-word to describe the people he thought were responsible. “It was troubling,” Fred said, “because my parents did not raise me to think this way.” He never heard his uncle use that racist slur again, but he was upset at Donald’s attacks on the “Central Park Five,” a group of Black and Latino teens falsely imprisoned (and later exonerated) for the rape of a jogger in Central Park.

All in all, Donald is not what you’d call a terrific uncle – and certainly not presidential material. Fred voted for Hillary Clinton in 2016, Joe Biden in 2020 and plans to vote for Kamala Harris this November. He will even campaign for her, if asked. “She is the only one to keep us and our democracy in the United States intact. And if it’s not, your country is going to be affected as well.”  

Fred has probably saved himself from having to attend family Thanksgiving this (or any) year. He’s still in contact with his cousin, Ivanka, but her brothers Eric and Donald Jr. have denounced him and his book. It bothers him a bit, because they were once close, but he felt his duty to his country, and the community of disability advocates, trumped familial loyalty. If you’ll pardon the pun.

An interesting thing happened to Fred on the way to publishing his book: He regained pride in his name. For the past few years, the name that was written in gold on Manhattan skyscrapers had become a liability. For Fred, the Trump brand was “toxic,” both in the commercial real estate field where he worked, and among his disability advocacy friends.

But one day recently, as Fred was walking near his home in Connecticut, a woman stopped him. “Are you Fred Trump?” she asked. He braced himself for criticism, but he needn’t have. This woman had seen him on The View, talking about his book. “Thank you so much for what you’re doing,” she said. It meant everything to him. “I knew, in that moment, I was taking my name back.”