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When Comey confirmed to Congress on March 9 that members of the Trump administration were suspected of conspiring with Russia during the campaign, Trump was livid. Ann Donaldson, McGahn's chief of staff, took notes during a meeting three days later. She wrote: "POTUS in panic/chaos. … All things related to Russia."
By then, Trump had begun using the word "collusion" to refer to these suspicions, which he considered baseless. He stressed the word repeatedly. There had been no COLLUSION — he was fond of capitalizing the word. He was innocent, and no one was willing to defend him.
Trump called Comey on March 30 to complain about this. He asked the FBI director what could be done "to lift the cloud." Comey told him that the FBI needed to do its work and that the best way to dispel the suspicion would be a formal finding against conspiracy. He also reassured Trump that he was not personally being investigated for conspiring with Russian agents. "We need to get that fact out," Trump said. Alarmed by the conversation, Comey reported it to Boente.
Hope Hicks.
Chad Hurd/Business Insider
Left unstated were the consequences of not doing so. In a television interview with Fox Business Network on April 11, the president was asked whether it were too late for him to replace the FBI director. "No, it's not too late," he said, "but, you know, I have confidence in him — we'll see what happens." After the interview, for which the White House retained editing rights, Hope Hicks, his communications director, advised that the comment be removed. It was bound to raise speculation about Comey's fate. Trump told her to let it stand. He was delivering a message.
Trump phoned the FBI director again later that day, following up on his earlier request. Had Comey done what he wished? The director thought Trump sounded irritated. He said he had forwarded the request to Boente and then politely explained that making such a request of him was inappropriate. There was a protocol. Questions about the investigation should come through McGahn to Boente. The White House counsel had, in fact, so advised the president, specifically cautioning him about contacting Comey directly. But this was not Trump's way. He wanted Comey to have no mistake about what was expected and why. It was personal.
"Because I have been very loyal to you, very loyal — we had that thing, you know," Trump said. Comey wasn't certain what "that thing" was, but he guessed it referred to their dinner conversation, where Trump had requested "loyalty," which ended with "honest loyalty." They were down to their different understanding of that phrase. It would be the last time Trump called.
Comey then phoned Boente to reiterate president's wishes.
"Oh, God, I was hoping that would just go away," Boente said.
Comey was set to testify before the Senate Judiciary Committee on May 3. If he refused to remove the president from suspicion during his testimony, Trump was giving up on him, he told his staff. When the FBI director took his seat in the chamber before cameras and a vast television audience, he was again asked directly whether the president was a subject of the FBI investigation. He declined to answer.
Trump vented his fury on Sessions that afternoon. In a meeting with him, McGahn, and Jody Hunt, the attorney general's chief of staff, the president said: "This is terrible, Jeff. It's all because you recused. AG is supposed to be the most important appointment. Kennedy appointed his brother. Obama appointed Holder. I appointed you and you recused yourself. You left me on an island. I can't do anything."
Sessions said he had no choice. Recusal was mandatory, but given Trump's unhappiness with Comey, he offered that it might be time to appoint a new FBI director.
The president didn't commit right then, but in repeated conversations with Bannon that day and the next, he made his leanings known.
"Oh, God, I was hoping that would just go away."
- Former US Attorney for the Eastern District of Virginia Dana Boente
"He told me three times that I was not under investigation," Trump said. "He's a showboater. He's a grandstander. I don't know any Russians. There was no collusion."
Bannon advised against firing the director. He said that the time when that could have been done smoothly was past. Besides, he explained, getting rid of Comey would not stop the investigation: He could fire the director, but he couldn't fire the FBI!
But Trump's mind was set. If this director would not tell the world that Trump was not being investigated, then Trump would get another.
At a dinner two days after Comey's testimony, Trump dictated a dismissal letter for the director to Stephen Miller, his senior policy adviser. The letter stressed that the president was not firing Comey because he feared the outcome of the investigation but because he and the public had "lost faith" in him. The final, four-page version faulted Comey's judgment and conduct, his handling of the Clinton email investigation, and his failure to more aggressively prosecute leakers.
"Don't try to talk me out of it," Trump told his aides on the morning of May 5. "Because I've made my decision, so don't even try."
McGahn managed to persuade the president to delay. Comey's status was under review at the Justice Department anyway, and Trump had a meeting scheduled with Sessions and Rod Rosenstein, his deputy, that very evening. After all, Comey reported to them, not directly to the president.
Chad Hurd/Business Insider
At the meeting with Sessions and Rosenstein on May 8, Trump made his feelings plain. There was something "not right" about Comey. He thought he should be removed. Then he asked for their views. Both men were on board. Sessions reminded Trump that he had recommended Comey's removal the previous week. Rosenstein criticized the director's handling of the Clinton email investigation. They agreed to draft a memo recommending Comey's firing.
"Put the Russia stuff in the memo," the president said.
Rosenstein asked why. If Comey's firing had nothing to do with the investigation, why mention it?
Trump didn't explain, reiterating only that he wanted the memo to state that Comey had privately assured him that he was not personally under investigation.
The memo was delivered the following morning. Titled "Restoring Public Confidence in the FBI," it came with Sessions' recommendation that Comey be removed. Trump's advisers felt this was better — why connect the move to the Russia investigation at all? It reduced Trump's role to merely acceding to the Justice Department's request. McGahn urged that Trump's original letter not see the "light of day."
But Trump continued to insist that he wanted his letter to Comey to make clear that Comey had assured him he was not under investigation. It seemed to all that the president considered this the primary point to be conveyed.
Comey learned of his firing on television that day while attending a bureau function in Los Angeles. (A fuller statement came with Trump's formal letter, which included an all-important line, "While I greatly appreciate you informing me, on three separate occasions, that I am not under investigation…") What followed was all too predictable. Just as Trump's advisers had feared, much of the ensuing reporting included speculation that the president had jettisoned Comey over concerns about the investigation.
Flying into damage-control mode, the White House suggested Comey had been widely disliked by the FBI rank and file. Sarah Huckabee Sanders, the deputy White House press secretary, told reporters that the decision to remove Comey had been Rosenstein's. When a reporter told her that Comey was, in fact, well-liked in the bureau, Sanders said, "Look, we've heard from countless members of the FBI that say very different things." This was a lie. Sanders would later admit to investigators that she had made it up, characterizing it as "a slip of the tongue."
The deal was done: Comey's removal had been Rosenstein's idea; the director had been widely disliked; the FBI was thrilled, as most agents had voted for Trump anyway; the president and the American public were relieved; confidence had been restored. And, yes, Comey had, on three occasions, assured Trump that he was not under investigation. Such was the official story.
There was only one weak link.
It was "all" Rosenstein, Spicer, the White House press secretary, told reporters that evening. "No one from the White House," he said. "It was a DOJ decision."
To back this up, Rosenstein was asked that evening to prepare a letter, in essence, confirming the official tale. He declined. It wasn't true, he said. When the president called him directly and asked him to hold a press conference, Rosenstein demurred. Bad idea, he told the president. If he were asked whose idea it had been to fire Comey, he would tell the truth.
All these efforts to construct a false narrative about Comey's firing fizzled the next day.
Sergey Lavrov, Russia's foreign minister, and Kislyak were visiting the Oval Office when, with reporters and cameras present, the president told them: "I just fired the head of the FBI. He was crazy, a real nut job. I faced great pressure because of Russia. That's taken off … I'm not under investigation."
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If Trump had hoped to rein in the investigation, dumping Comey just made matters worse for him.
One week later, Rosenstein created the Office of the Special Counsel, naming Robert Mueller to lead it. Within three weeks it was publicly announced that Trump was being investigated, suspected of trying to obstruct justice.
Trump learned of the appointment on May 17. The president was meeting with Sessions, Priebus, and McGahn when the attorney general stepped out of the Oval office to take a call from Rosenstein. When he reentered he announced what had been done.
The president slumped in his chair.
"Oh, my God," he said. "This is terrible. This is the end of my presidency. I'm fucked."
He blamed Sessions.
"This is terrible. This is the end of my presidency. I'm fucked."
— President Donald Trump
"How could you let this happen, Jeff?"
Attorney general had been Trump's most important appointment, he said, and Sessions had let him down. He again drew the comparisons with RFK and Holder.
"You were supposed to protect me," he complained. "Everyone tells me if you get one of these independent counsels it ruins your presidency. It takes years and years and I won't be able to do anything. This is the worst thing that ever happened to me."
He told Sessions he wanted him to resign.
Hope Hicks later said the only other time she had seen Trump so upset was when the "Access Hollywood" video surfaced.
Trump had calmed down by the next day. When Sessions handed him a resignation letter, Trump placed it in his pocket and asked the attorney general whether he wanted to stay on. Sessions said he did but acknowledged it was the president's decision. Trump said he wanted him to stay on — but kept the letter. He showed it to several of his senior advisers on a flight to Saudi Arabia the next day, asking them what he should do about it. It was ultimately returned to Sessions with the note "not accepted."
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The president next decided he wanted to fire Mueller. He accused him of having sought the FBI directorship himself (false, he had been invited to the White House to consult on finding a new director); of fighting with the Trump Organization over his departure from one of its golf clubs (false, correspondence about the matter had been routine and not contentious); and of having conflicts of interest because members of his law firm had once represented members of Trump's family (Mueller himself had not, and it's a large law firm).
Even the president's advisers told him his complaints were silly.
In fact, Mueller was squeaky clean. Known as "Bobby Three Sticks" for the Roman numbers at the end of his name, the gray-haired grandfather with a long, concave face had checked just about every box of righteous public service in his then-72 years. A Princeton-educated decorated Vietnam veteran, he had served as a US attorney and successfully prosecuted the bombers who downed Pan Am 103 over Lockerbie, Scotland, and the Panamanian strongman Manuel Noriega. Bill Clinton, George W. Bush, and Obama had appointed him to federal jobs that required Senate approval. One of those jobs had been FBI director, a job he held from 2001 to 2013. He enjoyed broad respect from those who had worked for him and from those on both sides of the fractious Washington political divide. In many ways Trump's opposite, he would maintain sphinxlike silence through months of tweeted abuse from the president.
Trump asked McGahn to tell Rosenstein he needed to fire Mueller over his conflict of interest. McGahn refused, warning Trump that "knocking out Mueller" would be "another fact used to claim" obstruction of justice. Trump had already acknowledged firing Comey out of concern over the investigation. This was a dangerous path.
From Volume 2, page 85: The president calls McGahn from Camp David three times and tells him to tell Deputy Attorney General Rod Rosenstein to fire the special counsel. McGahn hangs up each time and does not follow the order. Buy this poster.
Chad Hurd for Business Insider
But on June 12, Trump told his longtime friend Christopher Ruddy, the chief executive of Newsmax Media, that he was strongly considering firing Mueller. Ruddy's subsequent story caused such a furor that, in a rarity, the president backpedaled. The White House released a statement saying that while he had the power to fire the special counsel, he had "no intention to do so."
By June 17, Trump had had it. He called McGahn from Camp David and ordered him to fire Mueller. "You gotta do this," he said. "You gotta call Rod."
McGahn ignored him. He had made it plain to the president that it would be inappropriate, unjustified, and a blunder. And yet Trump kept pushing. McGahn had gone a long way to indulge the president, longer than many would have, but he had his limits. It was his job to give the president sound legal advice.
When Trump called him back the next day to repeat his demand, McGahn decided to resign. When he told Donaldson, his chief of staff, she resolved to leave with him. While Priebus and Bannon talked them out of it, they continued to ignore the president's order.
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Unable to force Mueller out, the president next sought to constrain him. In a June 19 meeting with Corey Lewandowski, his former campaign manager who remained a confidant, he dictated a public statement for the attorney general to make. According to Lewandowski's notes, it said:
"I know that I recused myself from certain things having to do with specific areas. But our POTUS … is being treated very unfairly. He shouldn't have a Special Prosecutor/Counsel b/c he hasn't done anything wrong. I was on the campaign w/ him for nine months, there were no Russians involved with him. I know it for a fact b/c I was there. He didn't do anything wrong except he ran the greatest campaign in American history … Now a group of people want to subvert the Constitution of the United States. I am going to meet with the Special Prosecutor to explain this is very unfair and let the Special Prosecutor move forward with the investigation meddling for future elections so that nothing can happen in future elections."
It read like a note someone might pass in a high-school cafeteria. Lewandowski scheduled a meeting with the attorney general immediately, but when it fell through because of a scheduling conflict, he locked the message in a safe at his home.
"I know that I recused myself from certain things having to do with specific areas. But our POTUS ... is being treated very unfairly."
- President Donald Trump, as recounted by Corey Lewandowski
Days later, Lewandowski still hadn't delivered the statement, blaming it on a scheduling conflict with Sessions. Trump said that if his attorney general refused to meet with Lewandowski, then he was to inform him that he was fired. Still, Lewandowski demurred. He passed a typed copy of the statement to Rick Dearborn, a senior White House aide, and asked him to deliver it — Dearborn and Sessions were longtime friends. Dearborn discarded it.
Meanwhile, Sessions had changed his mind: He would not resign. If Trump wanted him out, he could fire him, but doing so would most likely spur speculation that the president was shopping for an attorney general who would do his bidding with the Russia investigation. Indeed, Priebus advised Trump that if he fired Sessions, Congress would never approve a successor.
Still, Trump was undeterred. He railed publicly about Sessions' decision to recuse himself. He told The New York Times on July 19 that if he had known Sessions would do so, he would never have appointed him. It was "very unfair." "How do you take a job and then recuse yourself?" he asked, as if supervising the Russia investigation were the attorney general's sole responsibility. He told Priebus to demand Sessions' resignation. As for getting congressional approval for his replacement, Trump would sidestep Congress by nominating his successor during the recess.
Priebus consulted with McGahn, who advised him not to do it — and to consult with his personal lawyer. Both men decided to resign if Trump persisted.
Trump met with Priebus on Saturday, July 22, and asked about Sessions' resignation.
"Did you get it?" he asked. "Are you working on it?"
Even though he had no intention of following through, Priebus mollified Trump, telling him he would. Later that day, he made one more attempt to talk the president out of it. If Sessions went, then he could expect the deputy attorney general, Rosenstein, to resign along with at least one other top assistant attorney general. They would be unable to get a replacement. A house cleaning atop the Justice Department would inevitably draw comparison to President Richard Nixon's notorious "Saturday Night Massacre." It would dominate all the Sunday talk shows. He got the president to postpone taking the step until Monday, and before the weekend was over Trump had thought better of it.
But he kept up his public criticism. On Monday he tweeted his dismay that Sessions had not resumed investigating Clinton, and he called his attorney general "beleaguered." More of the same came the next day. Sessions prepared another resignation letter and began carrying it in his pocket.
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When firing or threatening to fire law-enforcement officials didn't work, Trump turned to a new tactic: publicly pressuring their witnesses.
The law against obstructing justice contains a specific provision that prohibits "tampering" with a witness, either through intimidation, persuasion, or misleading behavior designed to influence, delay, or prevent testimony.
After Flynn pleaded guilty in December 2017 to lying to the FBI and announced his cooperation with Mueller's office, Trump initially praised him and then said it was a "shame" he lied.
One of Trump's personal lawyers, John Dowd, urged Flynn in a voicemail to give the White House "some kind of heads-up" if he were to share any information with the FBI "that implicates the president." When Flynn's lawyers responded that he was "no longer in a position" to be doing this, Dowd told them it reflected "hostility" toward the president. Perhaps to make clear what the loss of his favor might mean, Trump explicitly left open the possibility of a pardon.
He also dangled the possibility of a pardon for Paul Manafort, his former campaign manager.
When Manafort joined the Trump campaign in 2016, he knew that his role, for which he took no salary, would grease his tattered relationships with wealthy backers of the pro-Russian Ukrainian opposition, with whom he had suffered a financially painful falling out. Steering Trump might give him new leverage. He tapped the Russian agent Konstantin Kilimnik to serve as a go-between with Oleg Deripaska, a Russian billionaire with whom he had a legal dispute over unpaid fees, and several Ukrainian oligarchs, offering them the campaign's internal polling data and promising a sympathetic ear in a Trump White House. Kilimnik soon presented Manafort with a peace plan backed by Viktor Yanukovych, the Putin-aligned former Ukrainian president. The plan, in essence, would have ceded eastern Ukraine to Russia.
All of this went well beyond issues of state. It worked to Manafort's benefit immediately — Deripaska indicated he would pay the disputed fee. Long term, Manafort told his deputy Rick Gates, his work for Trump would be "good for business." (This turned out not to be true. In October 2017, Manafort and Gates were indicted on suspicion of bank fraud and failing to register as foreign agents.)
Trump appeared to have mixed feelings about Manafort. Despite public messages of support, the president told one aide that he had never liked the man and that he had been incompetent. But Trump was also plainly worried about what Manafort might tell investigators, and he discussed with his aides what damaging information he might possess. Trump began distancing himself from his former campaign manager, while flirting publicly with an eventual pardon.
At one point, Manafort told Gates that one of Trump's personal lawyers had promised they would "take care of us." He advised his deputy that it would be stupid to plead guilty. They should "sit tight."
When Manafort's trial opened in July 2018, the president tweeted a barrage of criticism aimed at federal prosecutors and at Mueller: "This is a terrible situation and Attorney General Jeff Sessions should stop this Rigged Witch Hunt right now, before it continues to stain our country any further." Amid Trump's railings, Manafort was convicted of eight counts of fraud on August 21, 2018.
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There was a flip side to dangling the possibility of a pardon to his indicted associates. For those who chose to cooperate with investigators, there was punishment. Michael Cohen's story would illustrate the hazards of defying the president.
He was someone who, by most accounts, Trump took for granted. A man with large, drooping features who seemed perpetually sad, Cohen had evolved a trusting, if not particularly close, relationship with Trump. He liked to call himself Trump's "fixer." Twenty years his boss' junior, he had become Trump's go-to attorney for sticky business and personal dealings, even though Trump openly insulted him and often threatened to fire him.
Cohen didn't seem to mind. He told reporters he was willing to "take a bullet" for Trump. It was Cohen who secretly handled hush-money payments to women and who headed negotiations to build Trump Tower Moscow. He told The Washington Post that the project had been discarded as unfeasible in January 2016. When Congress asked him about it in May 2017, Cohen lied again in his written statement in August 2017. Cohen would later tell Congress these lies had come after Trump's encouragement. This was the job.
Cohen had been collaborating with the president's defense lawyers, consulting with them whenever he faced questioning. He knew he was taking a large personal risk by lying to Congress and federal investigators, but he trusted that he would be protected if he played ball. If he "went rogue," however, things would change. He was told that Trump loved him and that if he stayed on message, he would have his back.
With that in mind, Cohen adhered stubbornly to the party line — for a time. He spoke with Trump's legal team immediately after giving false testimony to Congress. When a story appeared about the $130,000 payment to the porn actress known as Stormy Daniels, Cohen said he had paid the woman himself. He had done so without Trump's knowledge, he said, and had not been reimbursed. In so doing, he knew he had committed crimes, but he was comforted by a message from one of Trump's lawyers. ("Client says thanks for what you do.") The Trump Organization continued paying his legal fees.
This changed in April, when the FBI raided his office, his home, and his hotel room.
Trump called the searches "an attack on our country, in a true sense." A few days later the president called Cohen and encouraged him to "hang in there." But Cohen was in jeopardy. His attorney discussed the possibility of a pardon with Rudy Giuliani, who had recently joined Trump's defense team, and then emailed Cohen to reassure him: "Very Very Positive. You are 'loved.' … they are in our corner … Sleep well tonight, you have friends in high places." So long as he stayed on message.
But this was untenable. The FBI now had damning evidence, including a recording of Cohen discussing with then-candidate Trump a payoff to another woman who claimed a sexual liaison with him. Cohen knew that continuing to lie would mean personal disaster. He hired a new lawyer who had once advised Bill Clinton. In July 2018, it was reported that Cohen had "signaled his willingness" to cooperate with the investigation.
Trump tweeted: "Inconceivable that the government would break into a lawyer's office (early in the morning) — almost unheard of. Even more inconceivable that a lawyer would tape a client — totally unheard of & perhaps illegal. The good news is that your favorite President did nothing wrong!"
Cohen pleaded guilty in August 2018 to campaign-finance violations, based on the payoffs he had made to Daniels and the other woman. He said he had done so at Trump's direction. On August 22, in another tweet, Trump contrasted Cohen's behavior with Manafort's: "I feel very badly for Paul Manafort and his wonderful family. 'Justice' took a 12-year-old tax case, among other things, applied tremendous pressure on him, and, unlike Michael Cohen, he refused to 'break' — make up stories in order to get a 'deal.' Such respect for a brave man!"
Trump would eventually admit in November 2018 that discussions about the Moscow Tower deal had continued throughout his campaign. He said that he could not recall being told discussions were ongoing (Cohen said he briefed him regularly) but that he "decided not to do the project." He added: "There would have been nothing wrong if I did do it … That was my business … I was focused on running for president ... I was running my business while I was campaigning. There was a good chance that I wouldn't have won, in which case I would've gone back into the business. And why should I lose lots of opportunities?"
Trump blamed Cohen for these revelations about his business dealings. He now called him "a weak person" and began disparaging his family. He tweeted that Cohen, his wife, and his father-in-law were involved in criminal dealings and that his former "fixer" deserved "a full and complete sentence." He called Cohen's years of service to him "a liability" and branded him a "Rat."
"There would have been nothing wrong if i did do it ... That was my business ... I was focused on running for president ... I was running my business while I was campaigning. There was a good chance that I wouldn't have won, in which case I would've gone back into the business. And why should I lose lots of opportunities?"
— President Donald Trump
The president maintained the verbal fusillade against Cohen for weeks. The comments prompted Cohen to complain of threats from Trump and Giuliani against Cohen's family.
Cohen subsequently postponed his testimony before Congress, out of fear for his family.
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On May 29, 2019, Mueller made his one and only public statement about his report.
After Trump's claims of "complete and total exoneration" following the report's release, the special counsel had uttered not a word. Now, appearing before the cameras at the Department of Justice in his dark, pinstriped suit and white button-down shirt, he disappointed those eager for a pointed summary of his report. His report had carefully defined obstruction of justice as "any intentional act seeking to prevent or impede an official legal proceeding." The action is regarded as "intentional" if it is undertaken knowingly and with an improper motive.
Did that mean Trump committed a crime when he asked McFarland to draft a memo saying he had not directed Flynn to discuss Obama's sanctions with the Russian ambassador? When he demanded "loyalty" from Comey? When he asked Comey to move on from the Flynn investigation? When he fired Comey and then tried to create a false record of how that came about? When he demanded that Sessions retain control of the investigation to protect him? When he publicly attacked Mueller and demanded that he be fired? When he publicly speculated about pardoning his indicted associates? When he insulted Cohen for cooperating and urged criminal investigations of him and his family?
Mueller wouldn't say, beyond what he so explicitly details in his 448-page report.
"Beyond what I've said here today and what is contained in our written work, I do not believe it is appropriate for me to speak further about the investigation or to comment on the actions of the Justice Department or Congress," he said.
Mueller explained that he was bound by Justice Department rules forbidding the federal indictment of a sitting president and by principles prohibiting a prosecutor from accusing people of a crime when they do not have any formal means of defending themselves.
Though Mueller would not charge Trump with a crime, there are avenues open to Congress. Mueller even maps them. The Constitution requires the president to "Take care that the Laws be faithfully executed." That implies, Mueller reasons, that the president act in the public interest, not in his own. Efforts to obstruct an investigation "of paramount importance" to the nation, out of a desire to protect himself, would be corrupt.
The president does enjoy a wide latitude, Mueller said, and only in the rarest of instances would his actions not have "a clear governmental purpose." But Trump's repeated efforts to end, control, impede, and influence the investigation ordered by the attorney general might offer, he concludes, precisely such a case. If the president was not acting in the nation's interest, if he was not faithfully executing its laws, then given the separation of powers enumerated in the Constitution, Congress has the authority to "regulate" him.
The Justice Department cannot act, Mueller says.
Congress can.
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- In a plea agreement with Mueller in December 2017, Flynn pleaded guilty to lying to the FBI. His oft-delayed sentencing is still pending.
- K.T. McFarland is spending time with her family.
- After his firing in May 2017, James Comey wrote a book, "A Higher Loyalty," about his career that details his dealings with the 45th president. He joined the faculty of William & Mary in Virginia, where he taught a course in ethical leadership last fall.
- Jeff Sessions finally resigned in November 2018, at Trump's request.
- Don McGahn resigned in October 2018. Trump has accused him of lying under oath to Mueller.
- Manafort was sentenced to roughly 7 1/2 years in prison by judges in Virginia and Washington, DC, after being convicted of a variety of crimes mostly unrelated to Trump's campaign. He was found guilty of tax fraud (hiding money he received from overseas consulting work in off-shore bank accounts), money laundering, failure to register as a foreign lobbyist, and a variety of other crimes. Manafort still faces charges in the state of New York.
- Michael Cohen eventually did appear before Congress, in February 2019, and gave two days of damning testimony about Trump, whom he described as a liar and a cheat. He was sentenced to three years in prison and is now serving that sentence at the federal institution in Otisville, New York.
- Robert Mueller formally stepped down as special counsel in May. He is scheduled to testify before Congress on July 17.
- Donald John Trump is running for president again, enjoying the kind of economy that usually gets incumbents reelected.
