“Sir, can you please have a seat.”
Donald J. Trump had stood up to leave the Manhattan criminal courtroom as Justice Juan M. Merchan was wrapping up a scheduling discussion on Tuesday.
But the judge had not yet adjourned the court or left the bench. Mr. Trump, the 45th president of the United States and the owner of his own company, is used to setting his own pace. Still, when Justice Merchan admonished him to sit back down, the former president did so without saying a word.
The moment underscored a central reality for the presumptive Republican presidential nominee. For the next six weeks, a man who values control and tries to shape environments and outcomes to his will is in control of very little.
Everything about the circumstances in which the former president comes to court every day to sit as the defendant in the People v. Donald J. Trump at 100 Centre Street is repellent to him. The trapped-in-amber surroundings that evoke New York City’s more crime-ridden past. The lack of control. The details of a case in which he is accused of falsifying business records to conceal a payoff to a porn star to keep her claims of an affair with him from emerging in the 2016 election.
Of the four criminal cases Mr. Trump is facing, this is the one that is the most acutely personal. And people close to him are blunt when privately discussing his reaction: He looks around each day and cannot believe he has to be there.
Asked about the former president’s aversion to the case, a campaign spokeswoman, Karoline Leavitt, said that Mr. Trump “proved he will remain defiant” and called the case “political lawfare.”
He is sitting in a decrepit courtroom that, for the second half of last week, was so cold his lead lawyer complained respectfully to the judge about it. Mr. Trump hugged his arms to his chest and told an aide, “It’s freezing.”
For the first few minutes of each day during jury selection, a small pool of still photographers was ushered into Part 59 on the 15th floor of the courthouse. Mr. Trump, obsessed with being seen as strong and being seen generally, prepared for them to rush in front of him by adjusting his suit jacket and contorting his face into a jut-jawed scowl. But, by day’s end on Friday, Mr. Trump appeared haggard and rumpled, his gait off-center, his eyes blank.
Mr. Trump has often seemed to fade into the background in a light wood-paneled room with harsh neon lighting and a perpetual smell of sour, coffee-laced breath wafting throughout.
His face has been visible to dozens of reporters watching in an overflow room on a large monitor with a closed-circuit camera trained on the defense table. He has whispered to his lawyer and poked him to get his attention, leafed through sheafs of paper and, at least twice, appeared to nod off during the morning session. (His aides have publicly denied he was dozing.) Nodding off is something that happens from time to time to various people in court proceedings, including jurors, but it conveys, for Mr. Trump, the kind of public vulnerability he has rigorously tried to avoid.
Trials are by nature mundane, with strict routines and long periods of inactivity. Mr. Trump has always steered clear of this type of officialism, whether by eschewing strict schedules or anyone else’s practices or structures, from the time he was in his 20s through his time in the Oval Office.
The mundanity of the courtroom has all but swallowed Mr. Trump, who for decades has sought to project an image of bigness, one he rode from a reality-television studio set to the White House.
When the first panel of 96 prospective jurors was brought into the room last Monday afternoon, Mr. Trump seemed to disappear among them, as they were seated in the jury box and throughout the rows in the well of the court. The judge has made clear that the jurors’ time is his highest priority, even when it comes at the former president’s expense.
Mr. Trump’s communications advisers or aides who provide him…
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