FIFTY-TWO

Biden laid out his $1.9 trillion plan on January 14 to the country. He couched it as an emergency response to a crisis, with a touch of soul.

“We not only have an economic imperative to act now, I believe we have a moral obligation,” Biden said. “In this pandemic in America, we cannot let people go hungry. We cannot let people get evicted. We cannot watch nurses, educators and others lose their jobs.”

The plan’s core components included:

Klain was heartened by the response—and gave credit to Anita Dunn for captaining the efforts on communications and on lining up support from the business community, Democrats on the Hill and governors. It was taken seriously, and Republicans seemed distracted by the January 6 fallout, with their fiscal hawk tactics also rusty after four years of boosting Trump.

“I think we might have even underestimated how much the country was looking for someone, him, to say, this is what we need to do,” Klain said. “Yes, it’s big. Yes, it’s bold. Yes, it’s all these things. But you know what? We’re kind of tired of half-assed measures. We’re kind of tired of not being told it straight, you know?”

But the coverage was far less rapturous on some MSNBC panels and in corners of Twitter where progressives tracked every Biden move. Some House members criticized the $1,400 checks as falling short of the $2,000 Trump had suggested. Others liked that Biden was talking big, but could he pull it through? Was he just putting a marker down before he cut a deal with Mitch McConnell?

When McConnell watched Biden’s January 14 speech, he thought Biden was smart to get out there early to sell it.

“They want to do as much as they can as fast as they can,” McConnell said privately, “because political capital is always fleeting.” If he were in Biden’s shoes, he probably would have done the same thing.

But despite understanding Biden’s approach, McConnell reminded colleagues that his own 2016 memoir was titled The Long Game. That approach would continue to be his guide. Sit. Wait.

During the Obama years, McConnell and Biden usually only cut deals with each other when both sides were “between the 40-yard lines,” as McConnell called the sweet spot.

While there were many magazine profiles and newspaper stories about the two of them working on deals, McConnell knew they were not grand bargainers. At best, they were closers. Political realists.

Sitting idle while Biden pursued his big spending bill would be fine with McConnell. He had been in Congress long enough to watch Obama, George W. Bush, Bill Clinton and others get elected president and be aggressive, only to be rebuked by voters in the midterm elections.

“The old Joe will only come back when he has to, and that will depend upon whether or not he can succeed in running the table with Democrats only,” McConnell said. “If he can’t, then we’ll be back in the game.”

On a private, January 14 conference call with some of the party’s biggest donors, Karl Rove lamented the lack of Republican turnout in certain areas of Georgia. It was a disaster, but worse, it was a disaster that seemed destined to be repeated if Trump and his allies kept sowing doubt about the integrity of the vote.

“Essentially, I chalk it up to hardcore Trump supporters, who became convinced it wasn’t worth turning out because the election in November had been rigged and it wasn’t going to be any different in the runoff,” Rove told them. “The second problem was that the other side did its job. Black turnout was a bigger share of the overall vote.”

Near the end of the call, a donor pressed Rove for guidance on the future of the Republican Party, particularly for “old-line” Republicans like himself, following the Trump years and the events of January 6.

“What are your thoughts about how deep the rift is and what the last couple of months have meant?” the donor asked.

“I think there are deep divisions in our party,” Rove said. But inside the GOP’s grass roots, he worried that “a large number of Americans believe that the election was stolen.” It was a different reality.

“Look, I’ve been through a couple of presidential elections. But the president was given over 50 times to make this case in court. And I’ve gone and tried to be, you know, I’ve read the pleadings. And the pleadings don’t match up with the rhetoric,” he said. “But we have a large number of people who believe that it was stolen from him and that’s their first touch point.”

Moving forward, Rove said, “the question is going to be, are there people whose lives depend upon division and dissension and disruption in the party, who fight for the sake of fighting? Who say, ‘You know what, you can’t disagree with me unless—if you’re not with me, you’re a zero and I’m going to punish you.’ And I think that’s very problematic.

“I don’t have a good answer.”

Trump kept up his election claims, continuing to meet with allies who believed it was stolen.

On January 15, Washington Post photographer Jabin Botsford took a picture of Mike Lindell, the conservative Trump ally and CEO of MyPillow, heading into the West Wing to meet with Trump. Lindell was a fixture on Fox News and other networks, proclaiming election fraud in state after state.

“Insurrection Act now,” part of the memo in Lindell’s hand read, as captured by Botsford. “Martial law if necessary.”

Trump’s mood on the eve of Biden’s inauguration was flat. His aides had watched him, through the open door of the Oval Office, writing a letter to Biden, longhand, around 7 p.m. on January 19. He had asked some of them for suggestions. They encouraged him to be positive. But Trump had kept its contents private. He wrote it out alone.

Trump spoke with Kevin McCarthy, the House minority leader, by phone around 10 p.m.

“I just finished the letter.”

McCarthy said he was glad to hear it. He had been telling Trump to write it for weeks.

McCarthy grew emotional. Trump was not going to be attending the inauguration. It was a far cry from their sessions at Mar-a-Lago and on Air Force One, where they traded political stories and ate Starbursts, Trump’s favorite candy.

“I don’t know what happened to you in the last two months,” McCarthy said. “You’re not the same as you were for the last four years.

“You’ve done good things and you want that to be your legacy. Call Joe Biden.”

Trump dismissed the idea. McCarthy told him it was important for the country for some sort of conversation to take place. Make the transition real.

“Do it for me.”

McCarthy was upset.

“You’ve got to call him. Call Joe Biden.”

No, Trump said.

“Call Joe Biden.”

No.

“Call Joe Biden!”

No.

Trump changed the subject.

There had been reports that Trump was thinking about bolting the GOP.

“I’m not going to leave the party. I’m going to help you,” he said. He then gave McCarthy his new Florida phone number.

Trump never called Biden.

Later that night, Trump was busy at the White House, debating who should be given a pardon. The biggest question, though, was whether he should get one.

As various investigations, especially in New York, seemed to expand in January, Trump told Graham, “They’re trying to destroy my family.” Pardons for everyone in the family were possible. Trump asked Graham if he should pardon himself.

“A self-pardon would be a bad idea,” Graham said, “a bad idea for the presidency, bad idea for you.”

A self-pardon also would not be a cure-all for Trump’s legal troubles, his lawyers said. The Manhattan district attorney, Cyrus Vance, looking into the Trump Organization’s business practices, could continue to probe. A presidential pardon only applied to violations of federal, not state laws.

Trump resisted the self-pardon but plowed ahead with others during his final and frenzied hours in office. Over 140 people were granted clemency with a stroke of Trump’s pen near midnight on January 19, including Bannon, rapper Lil Wayne, former Detroit mayor Kwame Kilpatrick, and countless other allies in politics and business.

Biden’s inaugural eve was more subdued. Standing at the Major Joseph R. “Beau” Biden III National Guard Reserve Center in New Castle on January 19, the president-elect said he only had one regret: “He’s not here.”

“We should be introducing him as president,” Biden said.

For a split second, Biden’s voice cracked sharply and rose. His face scrunched in agony.

A second later, he carried on with his speech. The glint of the lights near the stage showed tears running down his cheeks.