The most vexing week of Michael Cohen’s career ended as bizarrely as it began. On Monday, a team of federal agents had obtained search warrants for Cohen’s apartment, hotel room, and office, following a referral from special counsel Robert Mueller’s office, as part of the U.S. Attorney’s Office’s months-long criminal conduct investigation. A dozen F.B.I. agents subsequently raided Cohen’s hotel room at the Regency—his apartment is undergoing construction—where they literally snatched his cell phone from his hand. Simultaneously, approximately two dozen other agents took business records, documents, computers, and electronic devices from his law office and apartment, seizing two cell phones, a tablet, a laptop, and safe-deposit box. They walked away with documents dating back years, potentially including those related to payoffs made to women alleging that they had affairs with Cohen’s longtime client, Donald Trump, during his presidential campaign. Investigators reportedly sought files related to the adult-film star Stephanie Clifford, whom Cohen paid $130,000 to suppress an alleged sexual encounter with the president. (The president has denied the relationship.) View more Cohen’s lawyer has called the raid “completely inappropriate and unnecessary”—an overreach beyond the law. Cohen, however, seemed notably demure. On Tuesday evening, a throng of photographers waited for him outside La Goulue, the newly reopened old-timey French staple on East 61st Street. The photographers trailed him as he strolled the three-or-so blocks back to the Regency, tripping over one another and spilling onto the street. “I don’t want anyone to fall and hurt yourself,” Cohen said. “I’m not running anywhere. If you want me to stop so you guys can get in position and get your shot, I’ll stop.” So he did. He counted to three—“1 . . . 2 . . . 3 . . . ”—so that they could take their photos before he resumed walking. The next day, Cohen went to lunch at Freds, the watering hole atop Barney’s, where one diner told me several people approached his table to check in on him. The following night, he had dinner at Le Bilboquet, where another diner told me he mostly typed away on his phone and quietly sipped his drink. Cohen stopped at tables and waved to patrons on his way out—where, again, photographers awaited. This time, though, it seemed that fellow diners were less cordial. “He was definitely trying to work the room, but it didn’t work back.” Cohen eventually found a more hospitable crowd on Friday afternoon outside the Regency, holding a cigar with a quorum of coiffed well-wishers who looked perfectly at home as extras in this plot. Further downtown, however, Judge Kimba Wood was asking Cohen’s attorney, Todd Harrison, the whereabouts of his client. Wood, the senior United States district judge for Manhattan’s Southern District, was herself no stranger to the harsh glare of the media. In 1993, her chances of an appointment as U.S. attorney general were famously dashed by reports that she had hired an undocumented worker to look after her child. In front of a rollicking courtroom in lower Manhattan, which included three rows of press personnel—so crowded, in fact, that folding chairs were brought in—Wood adjourned a hearing over whether she would grant the temporary restraining order (T.R.O.) that Cohen’s legal team had asked for, which would effectively block prosecutors from reading the seized files. Harrison argued that the thousands of documents were protected by attorney-client privilege, and that Cohen or an independent lawyer should be allowed to review them first, rather than a so-called “filter team” of impartial government prosecutors. Judge Wood had asked Harrison to provide her with a list of Cohen’s clients to help substantiate the claims made in his request, but Harrison could not offer an accurate estimate and asked for more time. Prosecutors, meanwhile, argued that their investigation focused on his business dealings, not his legal work, and that Cohen, who is often referred to as Trump’s “fixer,” was “performing little to no legal work,” and had exchanged zero e-mails with his famous client. Meanwhile, Joanna Hendon, a lawyer hired by Trump two days earlier, addressed the court on her new client’s behalf. She asked Judge Wood for more time, too, arguing that she needed to get up to speed. “Those searches have been executed, and the evidence is locked down,” Hendon said in court. “I’m not trying to delay,” she continued. “I’m just trying to ensure that it’s done scrupulously.” Her client, who she punctiliously noted was the president of the United States, had an acute interest in these proceedings. “Ultimately,” she said, “this is of most concern to him.” As the session adjourned, Judge Wood granted Harrison until Monday to come up with a client list and ordered him to appear alongside Cohen for another hearing on Monday.

Cohen’s week ahead may simply prove to be more agonizing. The raids on his residences and office have since become the biggest story in the media—outshining, somehow, the administration’s Syrian air strike on Friday night, and James Comey’s media tour. Trump’s own interest in the affair escalated throughout the week, in typically Chernobyl-esque fashion. On Monday afternoon, directly following news of the raids, Trump called it a “disgraceful situation” during a meeting with military commanders ostensibly about how to handle the Syria quagmire. By Friday, The New York Times reported that Trump had called Cohen to check in. That evening, McClatchy issued a report suggesting that Mueller had evidence that Cohen had been in Prague in the summer of 2016, as noted in the unverified Steele dossier. (Cohen subsequently denied this.) The Times also reported that Trump now viewed the Cohen Inquiry as a greater threat than the Mueller probe itself. As much as the raid has spooked President Trump, and in contrast to the breezy, cigar-smoking images portrayed, it has also weighed heavily on Cohen. In the days since the raid, according to two people familiar with his thinking, Cohen has grappled with the seriousness of his legal situation and the impact it has had on his family, and the fallout that may follow in the weeks, months, and perhaps years to come. These people explained that Cohen feels as though he is a means to an end—as “collateral damage” and a “disposable” element being used to get to his old boss. Cohen, according to these people, has vacillated between this new level of exasperation and his typical Trumpian chest-beating manner. He has suggested to people close to him that perhaps he should act as his own attorney, because he may be the most apt person to defend himself. He has expressed anger at the lack of outrage over the fact that his legal office and private residences were searched when he says he was willing to cooperate with any subpoenas. “Where is the A.C.L.U?” he has said; at times, he has jokingly asked whether there is going to be a “Million Michael March”—a reference to the renowned 1995 African-American display of unity—to retrieve his documents. Cohen, according to these people, has also been dismayed by the silence from Trump’s inner circle in Washington, many of whom he expected would have his back. One person familiar with his thinking said that he’s gotten messages from thousands of people since last Monday, but “it’s been a ghost town from D.C.,” other than from the president.