He watched his onetime friend and former boss, now the president of the United States, smear him on Twitter and make vague, public threats about his family.
His work for Donald Trump, and the lies he told about it, are sending him to prison for years.
On Tuesday, his law license was revoked.
On Wednesday, Michael Cohen exacted his revenge.
It was a nasty, public breakup of a New York relationship forged over a decade that was a mix of the bond between a father and son, the professional distance of a lawyer and client, and — as Cohen and associates have described it — the blind devotion of a henchman to a crime boss.
“People that follow Trump as I did blindly are going to suffer the same consequences that I’m suffering,” he told a packed hearing of the House Committee on Oversight and Reform — a blunt warning to congressional Republicans he said have assumed the same role as Trump’s protectors that he played for years.
During hours of lurid testimony, the president’s once-loyal lawyer and fixer recalled shady business deals and racist comments, and spoke in devastating, uncomfortable detail about his private conversations with the man he had idolized and still refers to only as “Mr. Trump.”
Such deference did not keep him from painting a damning portrait of the president, including Trump’s attempts to dodge Vietnam War service and his efforts to strong-arm academic institutions from making his grades public. There were the routine indignities, like when the president put Cohen on the phone with the first lady to lie to her about a hush money payment to Stormy Daniels, the pornographic film star with whom Trump is alleged to have had an affair.
Cohen described Trump as a “con man” and a “cheat,” and estimated there might have been 500 occasions on which he directly threatened someone at the behest of his boss. He was Trump’s enforcer, a role he once seemed to relish.
More recently, after Cohen agreed to tell prosecutors about hush-money payments before the 2016 election, it was the president’s turn to use a Mafioso’s description of his formerly loyal aide. He called him a “rat.”
Such was the vernacular the two men honed over years spent navigating gritty but potentially lucrative New York industries — construction, real estate and taxicabs. It was all part of the tutorial of sorts that Cohen gave the House panel on the folkways of a New York ecosystem in which he and Trump had thrived.
On the day that Cohen was the star witness in a congressional hearing devised to exhume the president’s past, Trump was thousands of miles away — preparing for a summit with North Korea’s leader he was hoping would lend gravitas to his embattled presidency, and distract from what was taking place back home.
For Cohen, a man who once walked the hallways of the Trump Organization with a pistol strapped to his ankle and seemed to bask in Trump’s reflected glory, Wednesday was a moment to absorb the light.
“Michael would describe it as being something akin to a cult,” said Donny Deutsch, the advertising executive and friend of Cohen. “Michael got sucked into it. And his life is in shambles because of it. And he’s the first one to say that.”
The Beginnings
The relationship between the two men began in the way that many of Trump’s relationship’s do: with an act of fealty.
In 2006, residents of Trump World Tower — a gleaming glass tower near the United Nations — were pushing to strip Trump’s name from the building and take control of the building’s management.
Cohen, a former personal injury lawyer who had made millions in the New York City taxicab business, intervened after Trump’s son Donald Jr. asked for help. Cohen had already bought several condominiums in Trump buildings, persuaded family and friends to do the same, and had twice read Trump’s book “The Art of the Deal.” He helped the elder Donald Trump put down the East Side rebellion, orchestrating a coup that removed the revolting tenants from the condominium board. Trump took notice.
In some ways, it was an unequal relationship between two men of different ages, different upbringings and vastly different financial circumstances. Cohen, the son of a Holocaust survivor, was just 40 years old when he began working for Trump — 20 years his elder and the son of a real estate magnate who would inherit millions of dollars of his father’s money.
But Cohen had a comfortable upbringing in Lawrence, on Long Island, just a dozen or so miles from the house in Queens where Trump had been raised. And like his future boss, Cohen combined raw business savvy with help from a family member — in his case, his father-in-law — to make a mark in the boroughs outside Manhattan.
Cohen was soon a Trump Organization employee, put in charge of disparate elements of Trump’s business empire. In 2008, he became chief operating officer of Affliction Entertainment, a venture started by Trump to bring mixed martial arts fights to a pay-per-view audience.
“I’m nearly speechless knowing Trump and Affliction have the trust in me for an event that features the greatest assembly of MMA fighters for one show in MMA history,” Cohen said in a news release announcing his new position, adding that the coming event was “like having Ali, Frazier, Tyson, Holyfield and other top heavyweights all on the same boxing card.”
Working for Trump, he told lawmakers Wednesday, was “intoxicating.”
“When you were in his presence,” he said, “you felt like you were involved in something greater than yourself — that you were somehow changing the world.”
He tried to appeal to his boss by embodying the qualities that Trump had once admired in his own mentor, Roy Cohn. A Bronx-born lawyer, Cohn rose to prominence working for Sen. Joseph McCarthy’s anti-Communist crusade and then spent years as Trump’s lawyer. Like Cohen, he was disbarred for unethical conduct.
“Roy was brutal, but he was a very loyal guy,” Trump once told a biographer. “He brutalized for you.”
Over time Cohen learned how Trump liked to do business.
“He doesn’t give you questions, he doesn’t give you orders,” he said Wednesday. “He speaks in code, and I understand the code because I’ve been around him for a decade.”
Shunted to the Sidelines
In 2011 Cohen began scouting prospects for another brawl, a possible presidential run by Trump in 2012. He traveled to Iowa and accompanied Trump to a speech at the Conservative Political Action Conference, where he acted like a bar bouncer keeping reporters away from his celebrity boss. Cohen set up a website called ShouldTrumpRun.org.
He did not. But almost immediately after the presidential race was over, Cohen began compiling information for his boss for the next time. He kept a thick binder on his desk at Trump Tower packed with information about filing deadlines in different states for the 2016 election and other campaign minutiae.
But he was shunted to the sidelines when the campaign began, prohibited by Trump’s children and other political operatives from making day-to-day campaign decisions. He pursued other business ventures for Trump, including the ambitious idea of building the tallest skyscraper in Moscow emblazoned with the Trump name.
Trying to gain access to influential figures in Moscow, Cohen turned to Felix Sater, a Russian immigrant, felon and FBI informant who had helped Trump with other development deals and had explored various ventures in Russia.
This effort became a central focus of the investigation by special counsel Robert Mueller, who is examining Russia’s attempts to sabotage the 2016 election and any role Trump’s advisers played in coordinating with Moscow. And, the lies Cohen told about the negotiations put him in even more legal jeopardy.
On Wednesday, he apologized to lawmakers for lying to a different congressional panel in 2017, when he said that the Trump Tower Moscow negotiations ended in January 2016, before the first presidential primaries. In fact, they continued for months longer.
“To be clear,” he said, “Mr. Trump knew of and directed the Trump Moscow negotiations throughout the campaign and lied about it. He lied about it because he never expected to win. He also lied about it because he stood to make hundreds of millions of dollars on the Moscow real estate project.”
“And so I lied about it, too,” he added.
After he won the election, Trump brought many of his longtime confidants to the White House, but Cohen was left behind. He was disappointed but remained a loyal backbencher: raising money for Trump’s re-election fund and publicly attacking celebrities like Snoop Dogg and Johnny Depp for their anti-Trump comments.
Republicans at Wednesday’s hearing tried to cast Cohen as an embittered former aide trying to get payback for being excluded from a White House job. On Twitter, Trump’s son Eric said that Cohen was known within the campaign to be seeking a job.
Cohen has insisted over the past two years — and did again Wednesday — that he never had any interest in moving to Washington, uprooting his family and giving up his job as Donald Trump’s personal lawyer. He said that Trump had wanted him for a White House job and was upset when it did not work out.
Regardless of the actual circumstances, Cohen’s absence from the administration created a distance between Cohen and Trump that would become a chasm.
Implicating the Boss
When FBI agents raided Cohen’s office and apartment in April, carting off years of business records, emails and other documents, Cohen relied on his first instinct — he would not flip.
He took at least one call from Trump, who urged him to stay strong. His lawyers strategized with the president’s, and Trump praised him and insisted his former fixer and lawyer would never cooperate with prosecutors.
That would change by July, as his legal problems mounted and his friends urged him not to take a fall for Trump. He changed his Twitter bio page, removing any mention of being Trump’s personal lawyer, a move people close to him said was a deliberate signal of his independence.
Around that time, officials at Trump’s company began to balk at paying some of Cohen’s legal fees.
He pleaded guilty in August to financial crimes and in his guilty plea he implicated his former boss in a scheme to pay hush money to two women before the 2016 election.
It was an extraordinary turn for a once devoted soldier — a decision that Cohen on Wednesday described as a catharsis.
“I have lied, but I am not a liar. I have done bad things, but I am not a bad man,” he said before a hushed room.
“I have fixed things. But I am no longer your fixer, Mr. Trump.”
This article originally appeared in The New York Times.