For weeks, people have been calling for the head of Corey Lewandowski, Donald Trump’s campaign manager, after he was charged with battery for allegedly injuring a female reporter. So far, Trump has publicly stood by his campaign manager, but new reports indicate that, internally, Lewandowski’s iron grip on the campaign has weakened. It’s unclear why exactly he’s being sidelined—perhaps as punishment for casting a negative light on the campaign (contributing to a crushing loss in Wisconsin)—but judging from a series of staff shake-ups, it seems the campaign is shifting its focus to wooing delegates, a new phase that calls for more velvet gloves than Lewandowski wrecking balls.

One of the new marquee names on Team Trump is Paul Manafort, a D.C. strategist who Politico reported was hired to take over some of Lewandowski’s responsibilities and oversee his convention strategy. Trump also promoted several people to take other jobs away from Lewandowski, such as hiring field staff and dealing with press. “I’m not saying Corey’s going to be fired or anything because I don’t think he’s going to be, at least not at this juncture,” one person involved in the campaign told Politico. “But Mr. Trump’s listening to other people now. The crew’s expanding. The inner circle is not what it used to be.”

Lewandowski’s sinking stock may have something to do with his recent arrest for allegedly grabbing then-Breitbart reporter Michelle Fields, whom he later dismissed as “totally delusional.” When security-camera footage proved otherwise, Trump continued to defend Lewandowski as a family man whom he would not “discard,” though a series of unforced errors would have given him plenty of cover to do so. More likely, benching Lewandowski is the result of internal politics: as Politico notes, campaign insiders have long grumbled about the 41-year-old campaign manager’s near-absolute control on access to Trump, to the point that nobody could speak to the candidate without going through him.

Even if Lewandowski had not grabbed his way into the public spotlight, his diminished role makes sense as the Trump campaign shifts its focus to “delegate hunting.” In the event that Trump doesn’t win the 1,237 delegates he needs to hold off a contested convention, he has said that he will spend June and early July wooing uncommitted delegates and delegates pledged to candidates that have dropped out. If the primary race turns to floor negotiations in Cleveland, Trump is prepared for that, too. Lewandowski’s bull-headed strategies may have propelled Trump to a commanding lead, but winning over unbound delegates requires a softer touch and, perhaps, a capacity for more psychological warfare.

Trump’s recent hires are proof his campaign has entered this new phase. Manafort, his chief “delegate hunter,” has been described as the consummate D.C. insider, a lobbyist who has worked with Congress on behalf of clients including warlords, controversial corporations, and dictators, according to Mother Jones. (His tactics once landed him on a congressional ethics panel, where he excused his behavior, saying, “We worked the system as it existed.” Trump has a knack for finding like-minded talent.) He also happens to be a veteran delegate hunter from the 1976 contested Republican convention, and, according to Politico, is quietly hiring people who attended that convention as well.

But in a brokered convention where nearly anything goes, sometimes a stick is even better than a carrot. Maggie Haberman recently reported that Trump’s next expected hire is John Sweeney, a former congressman turned operative notable for starting the infamous “Brooks Brothers riot” in Miami during the 2000 recount—an attempt to pressure ballot counters to stop a manual recount. That he was hired despite his checkered past—which includes allegations of domestic abuse and drinking problems—suggests Trump is not above unleashing the hounds in Cleveland, if it comes to that.

“I think you’d have riots” might be a ham-fisted way to convince delegates to choose him as their candidate, but for a man who recently proposed forcing the Mexican government to pay for a border wall by holding $24 billion hostage, it’s not out of character. (“Deal with strength or get crushed every time,” as one weirdly catchy Trump rally song goes.) It’s not the most artful move, but it’s exactly the kind of Machiavellian maneuver Trump has signaled he would pursue.