Welcome back to The Stratosphere.

There are a lot of new subscribers and first-time readers flowing in, so it’s worth re-setting the table: Every Tuesday, you’ll get a private email from me that takes you inside the economic stratosphere of billionaires, their political influence, philanthropic intrigues, and family offices. I tend to focus on the Silicon Valley set, given my years enmeshed in the San Francisco tech money scene, but not exclusively.

It has been a busy few weeks—our last three editions have covered the ascendancy of Rory Gates, the Microsoft scion moonlighting as a political player; Dustin Moskovitz, the Facebook co-founder preparing to spend big to beat Trump in 2024; and Nicole Shanahan, the only-in-Silicon Valley running mate of Robert F. Kennedy Jr.

Subscribers can read about all this and more, from myself and the rest of my Puck colleagues. Non-subscribers, obviously, cannot. We maintain a tough paywall, but good journalism is worth paying for. We all know you can expense it, anyway.

Today’s edition is full of previously unreported intel from the political fundraising world. But first…

• Silicon Valley meets the speaker: On Friday morning, House Speaker Mike Johnson dropped into Silicon Valley for breakfast with notable business leaders, I’m told, marking his very first pilgrimage to genuflect before the technorati. While the breakfast was not a fundraiser, Johnson is facing some pressure to secure new patrons during his California tour—his first visit to the state since he was elevated to the speakership last year.

  Kevin McCarthy, his predecessor, knew how to draw a crowd in Silicon Valley: He was famously chummy with everyone from Laurene Powell Jobs and Marc Benioff to David Sacks and Elon Musk. Johnson, meanwhile, was a total unknown in Silicon Valley until last year. He has been critical of the tech industry on some issues, like social-media censorship and Section 230.

  But Johnson has long expressed an interest in artificial intelligence—a key focus, I’m told, of the Friday event. “Speaker Johnson’s recent swing through L.A., the Central Valley, and Bay Area was part of his commitment to meeting with national business leaders and growing the House majority,” a spokesperson, Greg Steele, told me. No dice on getting the guest list—the entire get-together is being kept very hush-hush by the powers that be.

• Grab your popcorn: Nicole Shanahan has kept a very low profile since she was chosen to be R.F.K. Jr.’s veep two weeks ago—she has done zero interviews or public events—all the while undergoing a digital makeover in preparation for the scrutiny that was sure to find her. Gone is her private Instagram, and her resuscitated Twitter/X account is essentially the only way to find out when she’s traveling to the border or whatever else she’s up to these days. Tonight, she just preempted a forthcoming CBS News story about Ro Khanna encouraging her to drop out. Khanna, always loving the attention, of course shared a screenshot of the text he sent to her just before her public announcement.
• Is ‘All-In’ all out on R.F.K.?: Speaking of which, I found it notable that the All-In crew criticized Kennedy’s veep selection. The “besties” have fundraised for Kennedy, and they sounded almost giddy last May when he appeared on their podcast. It looks like Shanahan may have broken the spell; David Sacks called her a liberal and several of them said they wished he had chosen Tulsi Gabbard, instead. In Sacks’ public commentary these days, he’s much more positive about Trump. Now imagine if Trump chose Sacks’ true bestie, J.D. Vance, as his No. 2…
• Menlo Park bulletin: Not to promote yet another tech billionaire’s podcasts, but Ben Horowitz and Marc Andreessen’s latest is worthwhile, delving deep into their political work, their policy goals, and the history of Silicon Valley political activism. Particularly insightful is their breakdown of tech leaders’ struggles to lobby Washington and a discussion of Donald Trump’s true feelings about Silicon Valley. (For a more objective take, here’s my piece from last month.)

Of course, there is another, less openly discussed factor in the traditional veepstakes decision matrix: fundraising. The money race is particularly top-of-mind this cycle for wealthy Republicans, who are once again hemming and hawing over cutting big checks to Trump. Indeed, as my partner Tara Palmeri recently reported, the emerging consensus among Mar-a-Lago insiders is that Trump’s decision may come down to who can perform best with megadonors, either by getting them excited or by simply calming their nerves.

Tim Scott, the Republican Party’s lone Black senator, could potentially accomplish a bit of both. Sure, he’s more of a donor beta-blocker than a pep pill, but Scott’s got fundraising chops, a distinctly un-Trumpy demeanor, and a reputation—possibly unearned—as a political moderate. More importantly, I’ve learned, Scott has a key supporter in his corner: Larry Ellison.

Ellison, the world’s eighth-richest man, was an early and passionate financial patron of Scott, whom he backed with tens of millions of dollars via a super PAC even before his entry into the Republican presidential primary. But the Oracle founder, who is worth an astounding $137 billion, teased the Scott super PAC over the course of 2023, pledging to make an eight-figure donation to the group before backtracking when it became clear that he stood no chance of becoming the Republican nominee. More recently, however, Ellison has re-engaged in the race, trying to sell the Mar-a-Lago brain trust on the wisdom of a Trump-Scott ticket, according to people briefed on the matter.

Scott has historically been reluctant to lean on Ellison, whom he genuinely sees as a friend rather than merely a patron. And Scott has been highly sensitive, perhaps too sensitive, about letting politics interfere in their relationship. But Ellison has the capacity to spend essentially unlimited money to reelect Trump, should he decide to do so. As I’ve reported, Ellison—who has his own Palm Beach pied-à-terre near Mar-a-Lago—has been spending time and sharing meals with Trump as of late. (They were joined at one meal by Lindsey Graham, another Scott megafan, back in early 2023, I’m told.) Of course, Ellison isn’t trying to buy the vice presidency, but his talks with Trump aides about a donation have been happening at the same time as Ellison is getting involved with the Scott effort. Some other sources downplayed Ellison’s involvement to me, and I don’t want to overstate this as some intense arm-twisting campaign.

Nevertheless, the Trump team would be wise to study up on Ellison’s history of unfulfilled political and philanthropic commitments, including how Ellison ghosted Scott just last year. With Larry, veteran operators don’t start spending money until his check clears.

After his daughter-in-law, the newly minted R.N.C. co-chair Lara Trump, spoke for a few minutes, it was time for Trump: He promised that his Saturday evening fundraiser—taking place at the Palm Beach home of hedge fund billionaire John Paulson—would deliver $50 million, or “double” the historic $25 million Biden had raised the week before at Radio City alongside Barack and Bill, Jeffrey Katzenberg, Mindy Kaling, Stephen Colbert, Anna Wintour, and Lizzo. To a few folks on the call, this was classic Trump bluster: Who knew if anything he said was true?

In any event, the purpose of the call was to formally kick off Trump’s general-election fundraising program, which has gotten a rather late start. Two months ago, when I last checked in on the Trump bundling program, it was virtually nonexistent. Now, the attribution codes and sharp elbows are commencing. They’ve rechristened the “Trump 2024 Bundler Committee” as the “Trump 47 Bundler Committee.” I’ve also learned that the chief fundraising responsibility for managing the bundlers has shifted from Meredith O’Rourke and her deputy, Cora Alvi. “Our team is growing, and I am thrilled to announce that I am passing the baton to Martha Ellen Phillips to lead the bundling program,” read an email from Alvi sent to prospective bundlers.

The invite for Saturday’s massive powwow at Chez Paulson was a stark reminder of how the G.O.P. megadonor universe has consolidated around Trump, at least relative to past cycles. Among the 40 hosts of the “Inaugural Leadership Dinner” were Robert Bigelow, the Las Vegas megadonor who supplied the biggest check of the primary, $20 million, to back DeSantis; supermarket magnate John Catsimatidis; Oklahoma energy king Harold Hamm; Jets owner Woody Johnson; conservative media investor Omeed Malik; former administration official Linda McMahon; former R.N.C. finance chair Todd Ricketts; Warren Stephens, the AOA megadonor who backed Nikki Haley pretty late into the 2024 primary campaign; and, of course, Las Vegas friends of Trump Phil Ruffin and Steve Wynn.

It was a show of force at a time when the Trump campaign, recognizing the deep financial hole they find themselves in, has mobilized to activate the party’s remaining penny-pinchers. Luckily, they can now raise more than ever more easily than ever. The upper limit for individual contributors, ever since the Michigan Republican Party signed on to the joint-fundraising committee, is now $844,600, or a cool $1.7 million per couple. Of course, perks are commensurate with the amount bundlers raise, or the amount they give—which is still the easiest way for the financially advantaged to join a National Finance Committee. Meanwhile, to join the Trump Victory Trust, you’ve got to come up with $2.5 million. At that elite level, you get everything from “Personalized Never Surrender High-Top Shoes” and an “Official signed MAGA hat” to “Monthly conference call briefings from the R.N.C.’s Election Integrity and Litigation Team.” Lower levels include Ultra Maga ($834,600); Team Trump 2024 ($250,000); Team America First ($100,000); Club 47 ($50,000); and Maga 24 ($24,000), per a document distributed to fundraisers.

According to Trumpworld, the Palm Beach fundraiser did indeed bring in double Biden’s haul, as Trump predicted, to the tune of $50.5 million. For what it’s worth, plenty of Democrats think that number is overcooked, in part by counting money raised for “aligned groups” (the R.N.C. didn’t respond to a request to clarify). But the money is still flowing in. Trump has upcoming fundraisers in Florida, Georgia, and Pennsylvania, according to invites I’ve seen. On Wednesday, he goes to Atlanta for a lunch hosted by Bernie Marcus, Kelly Loeffler, and David Perdue; after dessert, he flies to Florida for a “special evening” hosted by Orlando-area personal-injury lawyer Dan Newlin. The next morning, Trump is off to Bucks County for a reception with local businessmen.

Of course, it’s easier for Trump to collect big checks given how many formerly Trump-skeptical major donors, who never maxed out in 2023, are now ripe for the plucking. And there is no Haley nomination (and no No Labels ticket, either) out there to excite the fantasies of any remaining anti-Trump G.O.P. megadonors. Their only other non-Biden option is essentially Robert F. Kennedy Jr., who might still raise a pretty penny from some very deep pockets.

As tends to happen in relationships, the uncommitted are now seeking some commitments. I’m told that last Thursday, the movement’s leaders convened some major donors who are like-minded (or like-minded enough) to try to scrounge up some cash. Why? Uncommitted is trying to send as many delegates as possible to the Democratic National Convention this summer in Chicago, and sadly, they might need donors to foot the bill for the hotels, for the airfare, for sundries. The Uncommitted movement also needs money to staff the local and state party conventions so their anti-Biden delegates can get elected in the first place.

This speaks to the relative feebleness of the movement, which is a largely unstructured and organic outgrowth of the Michigan effort. But their distaste for Biden’s handling of Gaza isn’t dissipating, and they plan to push the uncommitted option through the rest of the primary calendar and all the way to the convention, apparently.