Trump Pardons Ex-Rep. Collins Despite Insider Trading Conviction

I regret my actions. This is something I will live with for the rest of my life.
Collins' statement to the judge before sentencing, now rendered moot by the presidential pardon.

In the closing chapter of his presidency, Donald Trump extended clemency to Chris Collins, the former New York congressman who had pleaded guilty to insider trading after passing confidential stock information to his son from the grounds of the White House itself. Collins, among the earliest Republican voices to champion Trump's 2016 campaign, received the pardon as part of a broader wave of last-minute reprieves — a reminder that loyalty, in politics as in life, tends to leave its mark. The act raises enduring questions about the boundaries of executive mercy and the quiet debts that power accumulates over time.

  • A CBS News camera captured Collins making the fateful call from the White House South Lawn in July 2017 — the kind of evidence prosecutors rarely dream of finding.
  • Within hours of learning a drug trial had failed, Collins's son and six other investors sold their shares, collectively avoiding $768,000 in losses before the market could react.
  • Federal prosecutors in Manhattan assembled an airtight case: phone records, video footage, and coordinated trading data that left Collins little room to fight the charges.
  • Collins pleaded guilty, resigned from Congress, and told a federal judge he would carry the regret for the rest of his life — before being sentenced to 26 months in prison.
  • Trump's pardon arrived with almost no explanation, citing unnamed Congressional members as its justification, erasing the sentence as quietly as it had been handed down.

On the final stretch of his presidency, Donald Trump pardoned Chris Collins, the former upstate New York congressman sentenced to two and a half years in federal prison for insider trading. Collins had been one of Trump's earliest and most vocal supporters during the 2016 campaign, backing him when much of the Republican establishment still held back. That early loyalty, it seemed, had not been forgotten.

The case against Collins was built around a single evening in July 2017. During the annual Congressional Picnic on the White House South Lawn, Collins stepped away to make a phone call — unaware that a CBS News camera was rolling. He reached his son Cameron at 7:16 p.m. and passed along word that a drug trial at Innate Immunotherapeutics had failed. Collins knew because he sat on the company's board and had received the news directly from its chief executive. Within hours, Cameron and six other investors sold their shares, avoiding roughly $768,000 in losses before the market absorbed the blow.

Federal prosecutors in Manhattan assembled a methodical case — phone records, video evidence, and trading data — that left Collins little room to maneuver. In October 2018, he pleaded guilty to two counts of insider trading and resigned from Congress. Standing before Judge Vernon Broderick, he said simply, "I regret my actions. This is something I will live with for the rest of my life." He was sentenced to 26 months.

The White House pardon announcement offered almost no explanation, stating only that Trump had acted "at the request of many Members of Congress" — though no names were given and no one stepped forward to claim credit. Collins was among more than a dozen people pardoned that same day, his sentence quietly erased in the administration's final hours.

On the final stretch of his presidency, Donald Trump signed a pardon for Chris Collins, the former congressman from upstate New York who had been sentenced to two and a half years in federal prison for insider trading. The pardon came late Tuesday, part of a broader clemency push in the waning days of the administration.

Collins had represented suburban and rural districts near Buffalo before his political career collapsed. He was an early and vocal supporter of Trump's 2016 presidential campaign, backing the then-insurgent candidate when many in the Republican establishment remained skeptical. That early loyalty, it appeared, had not been forgotten.

The charges against Collins stemmed from a moment captured on video in July 2017. During the annual Congressional Picnic on the South Lawn of the White House, Collins stepped outside to make a phone call. A CBS News camera was rolling. The congressman, dressed in a white golf shirt and gray pants, dialed his son Cameron repeatedly that evening. When they finally connected at 7:16 p.m., Collins passed along a crucial piece of information: a drug trial at Innate Immunotherapeutics had failed. The company's stock was about to crater.

Collins knew this because he sat on the company's board and held a substantial stake in it. The information came directly from the firm's chief executive. Within hours, Cameron and six other investors dumped their shares before the market absorbed the news. The quick action allowed them to sidestep roughly $768,000 in losses—money that would have evaporated if they had held on.

Federal prosecutors in Manhattan built their case methodically. They had the phone records showing the calls between father and son. They had the video evidence of Collins making the call from the White House grounds. They had the trading records showing the coordinated selloff. In October 2018, Collins pleaded guilty to two counts of insider trading. He resigned from Congress on September 30, and the next day appeared before Judge Vernon Broderick in Manhattan federal court. "I regret my actions," he told the judge. "This is something I will live with for the rest of my life." Broderick sentenced him to 26 months in prison.

The White House announcement of the pardon offered little explanation. A press release stated that Trump had granted the reprieve "at the request of many Members of Congress," though no names were provided and no members came forward to claim credit. Collins was one of more than a dozen people pardoned that same Tuesday as Trump moved through his final clemency decisions. The pardon erased the prison sentence that had been waiting for him.

I regret my actions. This is something I will live with for the rest of my life.
— Chris Collins, speaking to Judge Vernon Broderick during sentencing
The Hearth Conversation Another angle on the story
Inventor

Why does a pardon for an insider trader matter enough to write about?

Model

Because it's a story about power and consequence. Collins broke the law on camera, at the White House, and faced real prison time. The pardon suggests that early loyalty to Trump, and perhaps pressure from unnamed Congressional allies, could erase that accountability.

Inventor

But he did plead guilty. He admitted wrongdoing. Doesn't that count for something?

Model

It does—and that's what makes the pardon complicated. He showed contrition in court. But the pardon means he never serves the sentence a federal judge imposed. The law becomes optional for people with the right connections.

Inventor

The video evidence seems almost absurdly clear. How did this even happen?

Model

That's the surreal part. He made the call in plain sight, during an official White House event, while a news camera was recording. It wasn't hidden or clever. It was brazen.

Inventor

And his son avoided $768,000 in losses. That's a specific number. Why that amount?

Model

Because it quantifies the harm. It's not abstract insider trading—it's real money that real people would have lost if they hadn't gotten the tip. It shows the stakes of what Collins did.

Inventor

Do we know if Congress members actually requested this pardon?

Model

The White House said they did, but refused to name them. That's the final layer of the story—the pardon happened, but the reasoning stayed hidden.

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