Like many reporters and editors in DC or New York, I have been yelled at by Michael Cohen. It's been almost a rite of passage for anyone writing about Donald Trump over the past decade. There was no bone too small for his long-time lawyer and fixer to pick when it came to published criticisms of the real estate developer.

My turn came in June 2012, when he called to yell at me over an item the magazine I then edited had written about Trump's forthcoming hotel on Pennsylvania Avenue. He had no real specific complaint or factual dispute. He just didn't like the criticism leveled at Trump by the competitors on the hotel bid, who wondered how he’d ever command the rates the hotel would need to survive.

It was probably one of the top three eviscerations I’ve faced in my professional life. When he was done with his initial yelling, about 45 minutes in, Cohen conferenced in Ivanka, who wanted to argue about just how much care and quality her father would bring to this historic project in the Old Post Office Pavilion. The whole episode sucked up about two hours start to finish.

"Today, I’m here to tell the truth about Mr. Trump." Michael Cohen

Which is to say: I’ve experienced first-hand Michael Cohen's full-throated defense of "Mr. Trump," his bulldog-like tenacity, and the bottomless bravado he seemed to possess right up until April last year, when FBI agents raided his life. The ranking GOP member of the House Oversight Committee even opened his questioning Wednesday by quoting an expletive-spouting Cohen yelling at journalist Tim Mak. Such behavior was Cohen’s raison d’etre for a decade. “That was my job,” Cohen told Congress on Wednesday. “Always stay on message. Always defend. It monopolized my life.”

There was none of that bravado from Cohen in the hearing.

The Cohen on display for lawmakers and a nation beyond, riveted to its streaming web browsers, televisions, and radios on Wednesday appeared all but defeated—a man who realized he’d made terrible mistakes and had set himself forward on a path of penance, atonement, and—ultimately—redemption. Coming just a day after New York disbarred him, it was hard not to see Wednesday as Cohen hitting bottom.

“The last time I appeared before Congress, I came to protect Mr. Trump. Today, I’m here to tell the truth about Mr. Trump,” Cohen said.

And yet, at the same time, the obviously tired, haggard shell of the once-boastful lawyer appeared eminently credible start to finish. Utterly broken but oddly confident, Cohen gave answers both crisp and precise. He often corrected basic facts from his congressional questioners and clarified specifically both answers and questions. He laid out reasons for seeking redemption that seemed relatable and understandable. In the process, he gave the most sensible narrative to date of Donald Trump’s unsavory journey to the White House.

The day did not reflect well on Congress as a fact-gathering body providing oversight: After the blockbusters in his prepared morning remarks, Cohen made little news, as both Democrats and Republicans seemed to fumble their way through questioning the decade-long fixer for Donald Trump. GOP members like representative Clay Higgins (R-Louisiana) seemed to lack even a basic understanding of the investigation swirling around Trump. And many lawmakers, presented with an opportunity to elicit real, new information in a public setting, instead opted for partisan sniping.

Cohen parried most questions easily. The GOP’s line of attack focused on Cohen's credibility generally, while stopping short of attacking the credibility of any of his claims about Trump specifically. They decried the idea of Democrats hosting a man convicted of lying to Congress as if it were some sort of unprecedented watershed. (It wasn’t—Cohen wasn’t even the first witness so convicted this month. That was Elliott Abrams, convicted of lying to Congress in Iran-Contra, who testified on Venezuela).