For nearly three years, President Trump has spun an alternate reality in which he was not helped and tainted by Russia during the 2016 Presidential campaign but, rather, his political opponents and his accusers were. During a rambling fifty-three-minute live phone interview with “Fox & Friends” on Friday, Trump insisted again that the plot to block his election and bring him down once he was installed in the White House was “perhaps the biggest scandal in the history of our country.”

On Tuesday, two of the President’s most prolific accusers plan to disrupt the narrative by telling their own story. Glenn Simpson and Peter Fritsch, the co-founders of the Washington-based private-investigative firm Fusion GPS, which has mined deep veins of muck on Trump for years, at the behest of his various political enemies, will try to throw the book at Trump with the publication of “Crime in Progress: Inside the Steele Dossier and the Fusion GPS Investigation of Donald Trump.”

Fusion was the firm that hired the former British spy Christopher Steele to research Trump’s ties to Russia during the 2016 campaign. After nearly three years without a word from Steele, while the so-called pee tape and his other sensational findings sparked furious controversy, the former M.I.6 spy speaks directly and on the record about his own part for the first time in the book, an advance copy of which was given to The New Yorker.

Whether Simpson and Fritsch’s score-settling, tell-all account will change any minds remains to be seen, but they present a mountain of evidence that Trump’s dealings with corrupt foreign players—particularly those from the former Soviet Union—are both real and go back decades. Steele’s dossier has been debated, denounced, derided, and occasionally defended almost since the moment it was first published, in January, 2017, by BuzzFeed News, against Steele’s wishes. Although Carl Bernstein helped to break the news of its existence on CNN, his friend and Watergate-reporting partner Bob Woodward dismissed it almost instantly as “garbage.” During impeachment-hearing testimony last week, the former White House national-security adviser Fiona Hill, one of America’s foremost experts on Russia and a professional acquaintance of Steele’s, described the dossier as “a rabbit hole” and suggested that Steele may have been “played.” But the authors defend Steele’s work, and their own, arguing that it has proved “strikingly right.”

As the authors tell it, they became obsessed with Trump almost accidentally. Their involvement in his campaign began as a business proposition. In the past, they had worked mostly for corporate clients, but in 2012 they had also done some political-opposition research on the Republican Presidential nominee, Mitt Romney. (They declined to disclose their client.) So, in 2015, as Trump gained momentum, but before he clinched the nomination, Simpson and Fritsch again decided to look for political work. After firing off a quick e-mail to a big conservative donor they knew who disliked Trump, they were hired. They don’t identify that donor but note, helpfully, that he arranged for them to contract their opposition-research assignment through the Washington Free Beacon, a conservative Web site known to be funded by Paul Singer, a New York hedge-fund magnate. Once Trump secured the nomination, however, the G.O.P. donor fled.

At that point, Fusion switched clients and political parties, pitching its services to Marc Elias, the lawyer for the D.N.C. and Hillary Clinton’s Presidential campaign. Clinton’s identity, too, was kept hidden, in this case behind the screen of Elias’s law firm, Perkins Coie. In the beginning, Clinton’s identity was also hidden from Steele, who knew only that Fusion was hiring him in the late spring of 2016, as a contractor, to investigate the tangled web of Trump’s ties to Russia for an unknown patron. Contrary to the conspiracy theories that the right later spread, Simpson and Fritsch write that they never met or spoke with Clinton. “As far as Fusion knew, Clinton herself had no idea who they were. To this day, no one in the company has ever met or spoken to her,” the book reads. As I reported, although Steele went to the F.B.I. with his findings out of a sense of duty and, by the late summer of 2016, knew that the F.B.I. was seriously investigating Trump’s Russian ties, the communication channels were so siloed that the Clinton campaign was unaware of these facts. Far from conspiring in a plot, the Clinton team had no hard evidence that the F.B.I. was investigating its opponent, even as its own opposition researcher was feeding dirt to the F.B.I. As one top Clinton campaign official told me when I wrote about Steele, “If I’d known the F.B.I. was investigating Trump, I would have been shouting it from the rooftops!”

Recent news reports have suggested that Michael Horowitz, the Justice Department’s Inspector General, in a forthcoming report, will also knock down some of the conspiracy theories surrounding Steele, including the false claim that his dossier prompted the F.B.I. to investigate Trump. F.B.I. officials have repeatedly said that their investigation was already under way when Steele tried to alert them. But Horowitz’s assessment, which is expected to be released publicly on December 9th, also reportedly includes some criticism of Steele, and of the F.B.I.’s relationship with him.

According to the Fusion GPS founders, the real story of their role in the Trump investigation was filled with missed cues and human foibles. They portray themselves as hardened gumshoes who became concerned and tried to do their civic duty and report “a crime in progress,” which has been spun by their detractors into a conspiracy.

Early on, Fusion’s probe of Trump was given a huge boost by Wayne Barrett, an investigative reporter for the Village Voice. Barrett, who was suffering from a terminal illness, bequeathed his voluminous files on Trump to the firm. His findings opened up Trump’s past dealings, including tax and bankruptcy problems, potential ties to organized crime, and numerous legal entanglements. They also revealed that Trump had an unusually high number of connections to Russians with questionable backgrounds. As his son Don, Jr., boasted in 2008, Russians “make up a pretty disproportionate cross-section of a lot of our assets.” (Trump denied having any business ties to Russia during his campaign, but, later, his former lawyer Michael Cohen admitted that Trump’s associates were trying to negotiate a deal for him in Moscow at the time. The business angle was one of the subjects on which Steele’s dossier was prescient.)

The more the Fusion team learned, the more alarmed it grew. By the spring of 2016, Simpson and Fritsch write, they were no longer just in it for the money. They were convinced they needed “to do what they could to keep Trump out of the White House.”

It was at this point that they turned to Steele, a former spy who had left his position as the head of M.I.6’s Russia desk to co-found Orbis, a private-investigation firm in London, and whom they had known and trusted from previous engagements. Coincidentally, Simpson and Fritsch disclose that, just weeks before they tapped Steele, he had reached out to them regarding a different investigation. As I wrote in my Profile of Steele, he was working on behalf of the Russian oligarch Oleg Deripaska. Simpson and Fritsch fill out this picture further. Deripaska, a hugely rich associate of Putin with a clouded reputation, had hired an American law firm, which had, in turn, hired Steele, to help them track down millions of dollars that the oligarch believed had been stolen from him by Paul Manafort, a former business associate of Deripaska who was about to become the manager of Trump’s Presidential campaign. So, from the start, Fusion, Steele, Russia, and Trumpworld were on a collision course.

Initially, Steele expected his work with Fusion to be a brief engagement. But his network of Russian sources turned up shocking information. Steele’s first report found that Russia had tried to cultivate Trump by dangling business ventures and had been accumulating blackmail material, including what later came to be known as the pee tape—ostensibly a recording showing prostitutes entertaining Trump by urinating on a hotel bed, at the Moscow Ritz-Carlton, in which the Obamas had previously slept. Following Steele’s first report, he and Fusion went back for what eventually became sixteen more, the sum of which collectively became known as Steele’s “dossier,” perhaps the most controversial opposition research ever to emerge from a Presidential campaign.