He built an island. He drained a swamp. He rewrote the gospel of guilt into a tax-deductible memoir. And now? He’s been canonised by himself, in his own floating church, under a halo of federal restraint. Behold: Saint of Redaction — Patron of Secrets, Wealth, and Wiggly Truths. Cherubs hold the NDAs. A gator whispers truth. The list has been printed. And no amount of bleach can scrub divine delusion.