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20 MICHAEL WOLFF pursued by Trump for many years—pursued, in fact, well into the 2016 campaign—albeit never brought to fruition. Michael Cohen, Trump's personal lawyer and a Trump Organization officer, was another significant topic. The prosecutors asked questions about the level of Cohen's disappointment at not being included in the president's White House team. They seemed to be trying to gauge how much resentment Cohen felt, which led the witness to infer that they wanted to estimate how much leverage they might have if they attempted to flip Michael Cohen against the president. Zelinsky and Rhee wanted to know about Jared Kushner. And they wanted to know about Hope Hicks. The two prosecutors also delved into the president’s personal life. How often did he cheat on his wife? With whom? How were trysts arranged? What were the president's sexual interests? The Mueller investigation, and its grand jury, was becoming a clearing house for the details of Trump's long history of professional and personal perfidiousness. When the long day was finally over, the witness left the grand jury room shocked—not so much by what the prosecutors wanted to know but by what they already knew. + By the third week of March, Trump's son-in-law had the president's full attention. “They can not only impeach you, they can bankrupt you” was Kushner’s message. Agitated and angry, Trump pressed Dowd for more reassurances, holding him accountable for the prior reassurances Trump had frequently demanded he be given. Dowd held firm: he yet believed that the fight was in its early stages and that Mueller was still on a fishing expedition. But Trump's patience was finally at an end. He decided that Dowd was a fool and should go back into the retirement from which, Trump kept repeating, he had rescued him. Indeed, resisting that retirement, Dowd pleaded his own case, assuring the president that he could continue to provide him with valuable help. To no avail: on March 22, Dowd reluc- tantly resigned, sending another bitter former Trumper into the world. = THE DO-OVER he day John Dowd was fired, Steve Bannon was sitting at his dinin; room table trying to forestall another threat to the Trump pres dency. This one wasn't about a relentless prosecutor but rather a betraye base. It was about the Wall that wasn't. The town houses on Capitol Hill, middle-class remnants of the nin teenth century, are cramped up-and-down affairs of modest parlor floo: nook-y sitting rooms, and small bedrooms. Many serve as headquarte for causes and organizations that can’t afford Washington's vast amou of standard-issue office real estate. Some double as housing for th: organization's leaders. Many represent amateur efforts or eccentric pt suits, often a kind of shrine to hopes and dreams and revolutions yet occur. The “Embassy” on A Street—a house built in 1890 and the fori location of Bannon’s Breitbart News—was where Bannon had lived a worked since his exile from the White House in August 2017. It was p frat house, part man cave, and part pseudo-military redoubt; conspiré literature was scattered about. Various grave and underemployed you men, would-be militia members, loitered on the steps. The Embassy’s creepiness and dark heart were in quite stark contr to Bannon’s expansive and merry countenance. He might be in exile fr the Trump White House, but it was an ebullient banishment, coffee-fue or otherwise. HOUSE_OVERSIGHT_021134