Enough

by Cassidy Hutchinson

I typically kept my professional and personal lives separate, but knowing how much Kevin loved birthdays and making people feel special, I asked him for my first favor. Within minutes, he sent me a heartfelt video, singing Mom happy birthday. Kevin had made her feel more special than Mark or even the president could have.

A little more than a year later, Mark would publish a book recounting that the president had tested positive for the virus the day of the Barrett announcement, September 26. He and the president had disregarded the result, blaming it on a faulty test.

Mark, Tony, and Dr. Conley spent most of Friday trying to convince the president that he needed medical attention at Walter Reed immediately. He refused their entreaties until his condition became so dire that even he realized his decision could be a matter of life or death. The virus was trying to kill him. We were trying to keep him alive.

I thought we were handling the president’s condition foolishly. We were showing the world he was fine with putting other lives at risk to project an artificial image of strength and wellness. His strength would make a better impression if he had expressed empathy for his fellow COVID sufferers, if he had listened to his doctors and not put others’ health at risk when they had transported him while he was sick. I began to understand just how much appearing strong—or not appearing weak—motivated the president, and it worried me.

With only three weeks before the election, there appeared to be little, if any, consensus on the major issues we were facing: the status of his participation in the final debate, whether we would resume negotiations for a COVID relief package, our plan to withdraw troops from Afghanistan, the president’s travel schedule, and the campaign’s final closing message.

Mark’s mood became more frequently volatile as the president continuously berated him about rally crowd sizes. Surrounded by such instability, I fixated on doing my job better. The course of American history, I told myself, depended on the president’s reelection. Without Mark’s leadership, the president would not get reelected, I told myself. It was my job to make it easier for him to succeed.

He reluctantly agreed, and instructed us that he wanted David Bossie, a Republican activist and the former president of Citizens United, to stay with us. I was not thrilled by Bossie’s presence. I thought that he played into the president’s and Mark’s worst instincts, and I worried that he would do more harm than good as we tried to negotiate a satisfactory resolution of the dispute.

Calmly, he asked why I had not instructed the campaign to rent more magnetometers. I did not know what to say, so I said nothing. He asked me again, louder. Max Miller was on the plane and tried to stick up for me. He explained that the other rally sites had enough magnetometers, and that it was the job of the Secret Service and the campaign to determine magnetometer allotments. Max joked that I wasn’t experienced enough to know anything about magnetometer capacity and control. Mark did not look at Max once but said, “Thanks, Max, but she knows what she’s supposed to be doing.” Then he launched into a lecture, telling me that I needed to stay on top of the job better.

we drove to the airport, my phone rang with a call from the White House operator. The president was trying to get ahold of Mark, who wasn’t picking up. I was not in the same car as Mark. We ended the call and the operator called back several more times, so I called Mark myself. “Tell the boss I’m on the phone with Congress,” he instructed, after picking up on the first ring, “trying to get things done for him. I’ll talk to him on the plane.” I knew he wasn’t talking to Congress. He just did not want to be on the receiving end of the president’s anger.

When I did, he told me to find Ron DeSantis. Ron had found Mark, but Mark had told him I would handle whatever he needed—that he had other things to do. I found Ron and Casey. He asked if Trump was going to mention him in his remarks, and if so, how many times. I lost my temper. I told him that he had to learn boundaries—that he was acting as if he were still a junior member of Congress. He started to apologize like a child who’d been caught misbehaving, but I walked away.

It was a painful realization, one without rationale. I felt heavy with shame that I had been pulled into the center of the political universe, mostly by my own doing. I did not belong on Air Force One, drinking champagne or musing over ball gowns I could not afford. I was consumed with fear that my past had infiltrated the life I was building. I felt that I had betrayed the world that had made me, and I began to grapple with the question of who I truly was amidst this sea of power and privilege.

Mopping his face with a handkerchief, Rudy exclaimed, “This is real! It’s not made up! There’s nobody here who engages in fantasies!” Everyone in the White House, including the president, was both fascinated and appalled by the spectacle. Like most Americans who watched it, I thought the lawyers were humiliating for the president, a sentiment he shared. I heard him shouting from the Oval dining room as Giuliani spoke, “Somebody make this stop! Get him off! Make him stop!”

I didn’t blame the president for any of it yet. I didn’t want to blame him. I felt strongly that he should concede the election, and I worried that we were surrounding him with people who fueled his most impulsive behaviors. I knew things could get out of hand, and fast.

As we walked through the Capitol, Mark asked if I had given any thought to what I was going to do if Biden was inaugurated. I told him I’d heard from a few members and their staffs about openings in their offices and in the offices of incoming freshmen members, but there was also another job opportunity on my mind.

Dan Scavino and I were among the few stragglers in the West Wing that day. “Look around, Cass,” Dan said. “No one is here. No one sticks by the boss’s side when things get hard. It sucks. I feel bad for the guy.” He looked at me closely. “You actually care about the president, don’t you?” “Yeah, I do,” I said. “But Dan, this is getting a little out of control. I mean, look at us. We’re here on Thanksgiving Eve, and now we’re entertaining Rudy’s cast of characters for a meeting without purpose.”

THE QUAD-SCREEN TV in the office showed CNN reporting that Attorney General Barr had acknowledged to the Associated Press that the Justice Department had found insufficient evidence of widespread voter fraud that would have changed the results of the election. Moments later, the president’s valet rushed down the hall to say that the president wanted to see Mark in the dining room.

On December 8, the president’s de facto legal team came up with a Hail Mary lawsuit that had an attorney general—Ken Paxton, of Texas—challenge the election procedures of other states, Pennsylvania, Georgia, Michigan, and Wisconsin. He believed that the Supreme Court would hear the case and side with him.

“Does the president know about the meeting at the National Archives?” “No, he doesn’t,” he said. “I’ll probably tell him this afternoon. The president probably won’t be that happy with me about meeting with him, though. He doesn’t want us to work on a post-election plan yet. There are still some pending lawsuits we’re working on. You know the president, he has very strong feelings about how things should be handled.”

“Well, you know, I’m a little worried about what’s going on around here,” he began, and explained he had spoken a few times to the president about the election. “He acknowledges he lost, not that he wants to concede, but he acknowledges he lost the election,” John said. He looked at me for a reaction, but I offered no comment. “Then he’ll immediately backpedal,” he continued, “or call the next day and say he didn’t lose the election and I should call Mark. Mark has more information.

John Ratcliffe

The legal challenges had been disorganized and unserious and had only succeeded in embarrassing the president. I wanted the chaos to subside so that we could prepare for the next phase of our careers, and encourage the president to leave with his dignity intact.

“They got it wrong, Chief. How did this happen? Why didn’t we make more calls? We needed to do more. Okay? We can’t let this stand,” the president raged. Mark tried to reassure the president, asserting there were still other options on the table, and he was going to figure it all out. The president pushed back. “I don’t want people to know we lost, Mark. This is embarrassing,” he said. “Figure it out.” Mark assured the president that he would work on it. I was irritated that Mark gave the president false hope. Of course, that’s what the president wanted to hear, but he was damaging the country by concocting false rationales for perpetuating a fight that was now certainly a lost cause.

Mark asked for General Services Administration (GSA) staff to light a fire in his office fireplace first thing every morning. He kept a pile of firewood and throughout the day added logs to keep the fire burning. When I went into his office to deliver lunch or a package to him, I would sometimes find him leaning over the fire, feeding papers into it, watching to make sure they burned, and placing logs on top of the ashes.

Matt Gaetz started dropping by more frequently. He had asked me several times if I thought the president would issue him a pardon. I tried to dismiss Matt’s antics but began wondering why he was pushing so hard for a pardon. I raised the issue with Mark one day after Matt had left and asked if there was anything I should know about.

When I walked into the Outer Oval, I saw that the president was meeting with General Michael Flynn, the former national security advisor who had pleaded guilty to lying to the FBI about his involvement with Russian officials, cutting a cooperation deal in special counsel Robert Mueller’s inquiry into interference in the 2016 election. Three weeks before today’s meeting, on November 25, Trump had issued Flynn a presidential pardon.

December 18, 2020

A few minutes later, Pat Cipollone, Pat Philbin, Eric Herschmann, and Derek Lyons barreled down the hallway past my office door and rounded the corner toward the Oval Office.

Although the Oval Office was about a ten-second walk from my desk, it was highly unusual to hear any noise coming from there. We could not make out distinct words that night, just people screaming at each other. Molly called me to come to the Outer Oval. Dan Scavino was pouring the last of a bottle of wine into a glass. The screaming was much louder than I had anticipated. I looked into the Oval Office and saw a larger group. Along with the White House lawyers were Mike Flynn, Sidney Powell, and Patrick Byrne, the CEO of Overstock.com. How did all those people get inside the building?

I could tell the meeting was growing more contentious, so I decided to text Tony. “Flynn is still here. And Powell. There’s a brawl.” He responded, “Oh holy hell.” He immediately called and asked if I knew what they were brawling over. He had been in the Oval Office earlier that day and heard the president talk about invoking the Insurrection Act or martial law. If that’s what they were arguing over, Tony said, I needed to get Mark back to the White House as soon as possible.

A Secret Service agent who was standing outside the Oval Office came by. “I don’t want to hear all of that,” he said. “It’s really upsetting. I wouldn’t recommend going down there.” The West Wing was officially unhinged.

Eric Herschmann walked into Mark’s office in a fury, pounding his fist on the wall. “This can’t be fucking happening,” he said. “This is fucking insane.” Pat Cipollone, looking traumatized, said to me, “This is nuts. Mark needs to come back.” “Does the chief really need more of a reason to come back?” Derek asked. “Here it is. Martial law. I mean, for God’s sake, we called Rudy to come help us do damage control. Rudy Giuliani. You know it’s bad when we call Rudy for backup. The chief needs to come back!”

My hands were sweating as I walked back to my desk. I had never heard the president sound so desperate before. Somebody needed to give the president good advice, and I worried that he was surrounded by too many people who were misleading him. But at the same time, I knew that it was the president—not his advisors—that was not only enabling, but encouraging this to happen. He was in control.

One hour after the meeting broke up, my watch buzzed with a Trump tweet alert. “Peter Navarro releases 36-page report alleging election fraud. ‘More than sufficient’ to swing victory to Trump. A great report by Peter. Statistically impossible to have lost the 2020 Election. Big protest in D.C. on January 6th. Be there, will be wild!”

“Mark, what is going on?!” I snapped as I propped open the door to his patio. “You’re going to set off a smoke alarm!” Mark was startled. “Sorry, sorry,” he responded. “Sorry to keep you guys waiting. Let’s get this meeting started.” As I went to leave, Devin whispered, “How often is he burning papers?” I glanced at him pointedly, then rushed out of Mark’s office.

I looked at each of the three men in front of me, blankly. I was confident Mark knew this request was completely out-of-bounds. HPSCI’s protocol for reviewing classified documents was independent of the White House, and if Mark needed national security staffers with the appropriate clearance, we could work with Robert O’Brien and the National Security Council team. But I could tell by the look on Mark’s face that his mind was made up, and trying to give him a lesson on protocol would only infuriate him. I was floored. For the president’s sake, I felt burdened with the responsibility to restore order. I knew it would be an impossible task.

Coincidentally, after this meeting, the White House began filtering several “preemptive pardon” requests from members of Congress. A preemptive pardon, they argued, would prevent a potential Biden administration from prosecuting them in a political witch hunt for their efforts to save democracy. To me, “saving democracy” should not require a presidential pardon.

December 21, 2021 Meeting of congressmen chaired by Rudy Giuliani

I sat alone at my desk. The West Wing was nearly empty. But I didn’t feel lonely. I never felt lonely there. The end of our time in the White House was near, and the thought of leaving was weighing on me. I hoped the president would return from Florida ready to accept his electoral defeat so we could begin preparing him for his post-presidential life. The country was best served if we could all move forward. It would take a miracle, but it was Christmastime, after all.

Mark also asked me to put together gift packages for Cobb County election officials and workers, each stuffed full of expensive White House memorabilia that he and the president had selected to send. It might have been a good-faith gesture intended to show our appreciation for their hard work, but both the press and skeptical people could see it as an attempted quid pro quo for a favorable count. It took me a few days, but I managed to talk Mark out of sending them. To prove he hadn’t stopped trying to keep the president in office, Mark stepped up his efforts. “I’ll be the best chief of staff if I can keep him in office,” he explained to me. “If that’s what he wants, that’s what I want.”

Mark shook his head. “He’s so angry at me all the time. I can’t talk to him about anything post–White House without him getting mad that we didn’t win. I’m trying to figure out something to make him happy.”

Before the new year, I had thought that Mark had just been indulging some of the January 6th plans, but as the days passed, he seemed more prepared to embrace a plan for the vice president to reject states’ electoral votes. On New Year’s Eve, he asked me to talk to Tony about a potential motorcade movement to Capitol Hill following the president’s rally. Tony and I agreed that the movement would be almost impossible. I hoped Mark would not raise the issue again.

“You guys aren’t coming to the Capitol, right?” he replied. “There’s no way he wants to do that. Why would he want to come up to the Capitol?” “I don’t know,” I said. “Mark just asked me to figure out if there was a plan that we could potentially put in place. Kevin, I assure you this move can’t happen as of now. There are going to be way too many people. It’s not safe to bring him up.”

Conversation with Kevin McCarthy on Jan 6

called Mom to wish her a Happy New Year. She made a plea. “Cass, I don’t want you to go to work on January 6th. Are you looking at the news? Crazy people are going to that rally. You have to be careful.”

As I turned to leave the Roosevelt Room, George invited me to look through the documents with him. “There’s a lot of interesting stuff in these. I thought I knew a lot about Crossfire Hurricane, but turns out there is a ton I didn’t know. You should read them, too.” “Crossfire Hurricane? What does that mean?” I asked him, genuinely perplexed. He laughed and said I had a good sense of humor. I shook my head and walked out of the room. I had not wanted to know what was going on before, but I especially did not want to know now.

“Mark, he can’t possibly think we’re going to pull this off. That call was crazy, right?” I asked, looking for reassurance. The president had pressed Raffensperger to “find” the nearly twelve thousand votes that would have put him ahead of Biden. Mark shook his head and replied, “Cass, he knows it’s over. He knows he lost, but we’re going to keep trying. There are some good options out there still. We’re going to keep trying.” Pat Cipollone appeared in Mark’s doorway and said, “That call was not good.” Pat was also dialed in to the call.

Lindsey left, and the president convened a call with Freedom Caucus members to discuss the plan for January 6. When the meeting ended, Rudy asked me to walk his group out. I got my coat and escorted Rudy and his associates out of the West Wing. As we walked, Rudy said, “Are you excited about the sixth? It’s going to be a great day. I’m excited. We’re going to go to the Capitol, Cass!” “I’m curious, Rudy,” I said. “What are we going to do at the Capitol?” “It’s going to be great. The president is going to be there. He’s going to look powerful… The chief knows all about it. Talk to the chief about it.” Remarkably, I followed Rudy’s advice and went to discuss the topic with Mark. He was still in his office, seated on his couch, scrolling through his phone. I leaned against his doorway and reported that I had just had an interesting conversation with Rudy. “It sounds like we’re going to the Capitol.” Mark didn’t look up, but he stopped scrolling for a moment. “There’s a lot going on, Cass… Things might get real, real bad on January 6.”

“What’s Mark thinking?” Kevin asked me later that day on the phone. “He’s giving the president bad advice.” “What do you mean?” I asked, but I’d had the same conversation with John Ratcliffe. “When I talk to the president, sometimes he admits he lost the election, and then he immediately says he didn’t lose it and there’s a way that he’s going to stay in office. Where is he getting that? I can only imagine that Mark is lying to him,” said Kevin. “Cass, there’s no way he actually thinks he won the election, right? Like, he knows it’s over.”

“We have intel about potential violence at the rally,” he told Mark. Max Miller had been hanging around our office suite. “It’s only going to be dangerous if the Boogaloo Bois come,” Max said. Mark seemed puzzled. “I haven’t heard of them. Are they dangerous ones, or is some other group dangerous?” Max said, “They’re all dangerous. Boogaloo Bois, Oath Keepers, Proud Boys.” “Antifa is dangerous too,” Mark added.

The president asked Mark to speak with Roger Stone and Mike Flynn, who would be staying at the Willard InterContinental that night. Also at the request of the president, Mark had already tried to make plans to meet with Rudy and Bernie Kerik at the Willard, where they had set up a “war room” to monitor efforts the next day to delay Congress’s certification of the electoral college results.

Peter Navarro stopped by our office to deliver more materials proving election fraud. Peter was a master at using PowerPoints to describe conspiracy theories. I usually took any items from Peter and, after thanking him, gave them directly to Mark, who ignored them. Peter was more demanding this time. “This stuff is important, Cassidy,” he insisted. There was a note of frustration in his voice. “And you should be paying attention. I need to meet with the chief and the president about it.” “Is this from your QAnon friends, Peter?” I asked. “Have you looked into it yet? I think they point out a lot of good ideas. You really need to read this. Make sure the chief sees it.” “Oh, I will,” I told Peter, with no expectation to share the document with Mark.

He reads correspondence, which I assume is from the Secret Service or local law enforcement agencies, about the crowd. More people than expected. Road closures. Enhanced security measures requested. People climbing trees. Issues at the magnetometers. Weapons. “Wait, weapons?” I’m confused. Tony lists weapons found on rally-goers. Knives. Bear spray. Military-style body armor. Flagpoles, some sharpened.

I’m struggling to process what’s happening as Mark, Pat Cipollone, Pat Philbin, and Eric Herschmann stumble back into the office. I overhear their conversation, and suddenly everything makes sense. They’re calling for the vice president to be hanged. The president is okay with it. He doesn’t want to do anything. He doesn’t think they’re doing anything wrong. He thinks Mike is a traitor. This is crazy. We need to be doing something more. My phone is pinging nonstop with emails, texts, Signal messages, and unanswered calls. Mark’s phones are too. I’m devoid of emotion as I consider what I should do, and then, letting what I just heard sink in, I’m gripped with anger and hurt. I snatch my coat and run out of my office to go to the Eisenhower Building. I need to check in with Mark’s Secret Service detail. We need to have a plan in case the worst happens. In case this is the beginning of a coup.

At her desk behind me, Eliza is watching TV. “There’s no way these are our people. This is definitely antifa.” I slowly turn around in my chair. “Are you kidding me?” “No,” she responds flatly. “Our people are peaceful.”