Chapter Text
Miles had only now realized how big his new office was. The ceilings climbed up to heights he almost couldn't make out, and the floor seemed to be more like a ballroom than a work space. The windows, however, gave him a panning view of the cityscape he actually rather admired. Perhaps that was the only thing he could actively think to enjoy about the current circumstances.
He guessed that past owners of the Chief Prosecutor title would have liked all this space. To him, it only felt empty.
The sun had set only moments ago and the excuses for staying this late were beginning to dwindle. Earlier this week he had been introduced to his new secretary, and already, she had set in on reminders to not work so far into the night this time. If he could help it, he would, but there wasn't a day in Miles' life that he hadn't been busy. Especially with his recent promotion.
And, though he had known that being Chief Prosecutor came with its own supply of new stresses, he hadn't put much thought into it until he had first stepped into this room.
Considering this, and perhaps subconsciously trying to push it to the back of his mind, Edgeworth took a look at the view of Los Angeles below him. These were the kinds of sights that made him grateful for his lack of a fear of heights. Elements of the colored skyline caught his eye. The skyscrapers were drenched in colors of the sunset above. The sinking light painted beams of deep crimson into the cloudless sky. In the opposite direction were the remnants of a few hours ago, of the day that had since passed. The two collided into a defined line of purple, dividing the city into two halves. This unique shade of purple was, in fact, what dyed the city. Perhaps there was a reason these colors were this significant to him.
Before he could realize how out of character it was for him, Miles had comfortably sat himself on the counter top in front of the window. It wasn't often he indulged in such immature activities. Strangely enough, he didn't make it a point to correct himself. This perch felt like a break from the world that seemed to collapse around him on an often daily basis.
When his boss had called him into this room a month ago, Edgeworth had thought he was joking. In fact, so much so that he almost cracked a smile. After a moment of silence to let him catch up to the him, the Chief explained that he was to retire in within a short while, and he wanted Miles to take over as the head of the office.
"It could only be you, Edgeworth." His words reverberated in the front of his skull. Their importance was unquestionable. Stunned, he had accepted the offer.
Though he might have made it seem like it, Miles was not at all unhappy about his promotion. He had, for the past fifteen years, been chasing criminals across the country and beyond, seeing firsthand the lengths that the guilty would go to in order to save their skin. He had seen thefts, kidnappings, murders, and assassinations; yet, he was never left unsurprised. Edgeworth could never see himself doing anything else. And despite his young age, he was becoming exhausted by it all.
Simply put, he had figured out that taking the job would require him be less active in the field while still being able to go after these criminals. It seemed like the perfect compromise, especially after after all his years of dedication and hard work.
Ah, Miles had come to a conclusion about his feelings. It was not the displeasure of the new job that was causing his melancholy, but rather, the organization it took to transfer into it. An adjust into the lifestyle was all he needed.
Of course. How could he have forgotten the move?
The reminder that his things would not be transferred from room 1202 until at least after the holiday break was over was threatening to overtake this conclusion's positive affects. His secretary had informed him a mere hour ago that the moving company wouldn't be able to make it to the Prosecutor's Office until the following week, once all of the required employees had returned from their vacations and the new year was over. The entire situation had only caused his negative feelings about the position to worsen.
Without a place to work, Edgeworth would be forced to sit idly by while criminals got off the hook. He could always work from home, but this would mean his newfound subordinates would be left unsupervised. Despite his faith in some of them, most probably would not manage the building on their own. He could have worked in his current room, if, perhaps, he hadn't preemptively packed everything away. His only solution would be to wait for the holiday season to finish. Miles decided that this must have been the catalyst for his worry.
Miles' habit of always busying himself pushed him to come down from the counter top and assess the number of boxes both in his new and old offices. There were maybe... ten? If his memory was correct, which it often was. And the twelfth floor was only a couple of flights of stairs down, so if he could make a few trips, gather his essentials, then...
"Damn it," Miles said aloud. He had thought too far ahead of himself. What he really needed was his desk, something far too heavy to carry himself. If he could just find someone, something. He wouldn't allow himself to sit and wait.
Before he could think of any other solution, Miles' attention was drawn by the sound of his phone going off.
Rather, it was the melody of the Steel Samurai's theme song that had caught him by surprise. He made a note to have a conversation with Maya Fey about interfering with his belongings.
Retrieving the device from his right pocket, Miles could read the name printed clearly at the top. Under other circumstances, he would have dreaded picking up, but she would have been on the other side of the world by now. The time had to have been earlier than she would have naturally been awake. It had to have been important enough for her to come to him, at the very least. He swiped the green icon on his screen to the left and put the speaker up to his ear.
"Franziska?" he asked.
"Miles Edgeworth." Though her voice was articulate as ever, his sister sounded utterly exhausted.
"What time is it over there? You should be asleep."
Franziska scoffed. "I don't get sleep. I get results." She seemed to ignore his question. He checked his watch; it'd been a while since he had traveled, so his knowledge of time zones was a bit rusty. He guessed it was 3 or 4 in the morning.
"I imagine you are questioning why I am calling you."
"I certainly-"
Before Edgeworth could say anything else, the unmistakable sound of a whip cracking through the speaker scattered his thoughts. On instinct, he had become almost submissive to her.
"Do not interrupt me," Franziska barked. Miles wanted to tell her that he didn't interrupt at all, but kept his mouth shut. It was better to let her take charge and let her run her course. She sighed, paused, and continued.
"While I am not interested in receiving any help from you, it seems that a case I have found myself assigned to requires your attention. Currently, you could say that we are overwhelmed. This case has been nothing but a nuisance for them, and it seems even for me."
"You want my help."
"Hardly. If I wanted assistance, do you think I would have come to my little brother? Interpol just seems to be understaffed, is all," Franziska said, and waited a few beats too many. "However, should you choose to take this opportunity, I feel the need to warn you about your possible personal connections to this case."
Edgeworth mulled over her words carefully and shoved his free hand into his pocket. Franziska could have meant a number of things by what she had said, the first to come to his mind being that this was an elaborate hoax to get him to not be alone during this time of year. There wasn't another clear explanation to her outright vagueness about the call.
"Such as?"
"We believe that we're after Shelly de Killer."
Miles swallowed hard. There was that, too, he supposed.
"And you're sure that it's him?" Edgeworth's voice became demanding.
"There's an alarming amount of evidence leading Interpol to that conclusion, yes. I can't say that I'm against their reasoning, either," Franziska explained. "We have the murder weapon ,bloody footprints leading away from the body and out the door, and a witness who descibed a tall, dark figure heading toward the scene of the crime- all adding up to de Killer as the perpetrator. And, most importantly..." There was a pause on the other line and the sound of a camera shutter. "This."
Edgeworth felt his phone vibrate against his cheek, and he pulled away to see that he had a new text from his sister. As he pulled out of the phone app and into his messages, he felt his worry solidify.
The image Franziska had sent was of a body, as he had unfortunately predicted. He had seen plenty in his time as a prosecutor though, and this detail was not what troubled him. The man in the picture was on his back and on the floor, hands at his sides. Clearly, he surmised, his body had been arranged by the killer. A knife had been stuck into the center of his chest, and through it also was a single white card, with the unforgettable image of a pink seashell displayed on its face.
"Your method of convincing others is effective. I'll say that much," said Edgeworth. This has confirmed it, though. There was no chance of a copycat- no one would dare to imitate him without facing some dire consequences.
Shelly de Killer had really returned.
"If there is a chance to contain this threat before it escapes Germany, we are working to do so. All airports have been notified to be on the lookout for suspicious behavior and to look out for a man fitting the description of de Killer. However, that does nothing if he decides to escape into France through the border."
Miles heard the impatient tapping of her heels on a hard floor. It was entirely possible that, through this conversation, she had realized how much the odds were not in her favor.
"Franziska, there's no guarantee that de Killer has kept the same look over these past 8 years. TSA might pass him by completely," Miles added.
"Add another mark to the list of reasons de Killer might get away again, Miles Edgeworth. I don't care. I understand the situation at hand perfectly. Either way, Interpol's involvement isn't going to lead anywhere without a catalyst.
"So you have your man, albeit a faceless one, and a mountain of evidence against him. Some, as you seem to have concluded, that would surely convict him. But aside from your perfect case, you don't have any ensured way of catching him." Franziska's silence told him to continue. Something about the way she worded that last line seemed to be loaded.
"What kind of catalyst do you have in mind?" To Miles' surprise, Franziska chuckled into the receiver.
"I thought you would have at least guessed by now. A bit foolish for a Chief Prosecutor, ja?" She waited a moment to help Miles catch up to her, but must have grown tired of her own patience.
"I would need someone who has worked in cases that Shelly de Killer has been involved in. Preferably, even a person who might have had contact with him, be it a phone call or a cross-examination." The prosecutor clicked her tongue. "Ah, if only there were someone like that."
"You said you didn't want my help."
"I don't, and I'm not asking for it. All I need is someone who has experience dealing with this man. A character witness, if that would make more sense to your foolish mind. For the purpose of evidence."
Miles considered her offer. On one hand, it would be unwise to leave the office unattended, like he had been trying to work around. Irresponsible actions like that could end up costing a lot more than he would be willing to admit. It would be unlike him to make irresponsible decisions like those. Besides, he had already committed to settling down and staying out of the field.
And yet, on the other hand, though, he would only be trading one aspect of his job for another. A short week or two could be justified by the movers not being able to finish until then.
Justified to himself, that is.
The thing was, Miles knew he wanted to go. He loved investigations, and the chase of criminals that came with it. All that it would cost was some trust in his subordinates, who, now that he thought about it, would surely live without him. They had been doing it the rest of their careers, after all.
Surely, they would manage.
"I'll be there by tonight. Send me the case file as soon as possible," he said. Miles had barely gotten the sentence out before he felt another vibration. This time, an E-mail, chock full of PDFs.
"Already done. A foolish decision to underestimate my preparedness, Miles Edgeworth," his sister retorted. The exhaustion from the beginning of their call had crept back into her voice. In an attempt to perhaps retain her perfection, she seemed to be pulling what strength she had into this conversation. Edgeworth took their talk on a detour.
"I meant it when I suggested you get to sleep. I can't imagine you're feeling especially perfect with such little sleep and so much work to get done," he commented. There was a huff on the other end of the line. Franziska let her impatience
"Perhaps... it would not be wise to leave my focus unchecked. I will think about resting. Meanwhile-"
"I know, I know. I'll be there to help as soon as I can. You don't need to worry." The was another, final sigh.
"I told you not to interrupt me," Franziska said. He could almost sense defeat in her tone. The sound of being hung up on lead Edgeworth to look down at his phone, which had only just forced him out of the app. The slightest smirk crept its way onto his lips, though he would never admit it.
Before he could even start to think about it, Miles was already headed out his office door. Only at the last minute did he remember to turn back to switch off the lights. His secretary watched, with a curious gaze and a quirked eyebrow, as he worked through his key ring and crammed the matching one into the lock. With his phone clenched in his hand, he started down the hallway.
"Mr. Edgeworth, sir? I thought you were going to stay late today," the woman behind the desk called out to him. Concern flashed across her face. "Is everything alright? You seem rushed."
Miles realized how odd his behavior must have seemed to her; the sudden rushing out of his room did seem conspicuous in hindsight. Rather messily, he attempted to compose himself. Thinking for a moment, he adjusted his glasses, placed both hands in his pockets, and started back towards the desk that stood just a few feet outside his office. With a careful gaze, she watched him approach.
"I was thinking of taking a few days off, actually. Maybe even as long as a few weeks. Forgive me if I seemed to be in a rush," he explained. "I've suddenly been thrust into a tight schedule." Miles was almost startled when she gave him an unexpected smile.
"For a moment, I was concerned. A tight schedule, you say? What for?"
"I'm..." Miles stopped himself from answering. He couldn't very well tell her that he was chasing one of the most elusive serial killers ever known for his holiday break.
Come on, Edgeworth, think!
"I'm taking a vacation. To Germany."
Not bad. The woman's face lit up, so it seemed to have gotten the job done.
"Wow, really? Sounds like a fun time! But I didn't at all take you for the vacation type, Mr. Edgeworth, considering how often I have to practically beg you to go home. What's the occasion?"
Oh, but his response had been too good, and now she was asking questions he couldn't give easy answers to. Just brushing it off now would sound suspicious. His secretary picked up on his hesitation.
"Come on, I can keep a secret. Is it family, a friend you want to see? Oh no, I've got it!" A mischevious smile crossed her face. "It's an anniversary, isn't it? You're headed to Europe for love."
Miles blurted out the first answer he thought would get him out of the hole he had dug for himself. Unfortunately, he didn't have much time to think before he fell further into it.
"Yes."
Realizing what he had said, he felt his cheeks burn. They must have been the color of his suit by now. He wanted to bury his face into his hand, but decided against it before his brain could carry the thought into his arm. He cursed himself instead.
"How romantic! I'm learning a lot about you today." She spotted his humiliation, and almost instantaneously, her attitude turned from mischievous to sheepish.. "I guess I've interrogated you enough for now. Have a good New Year's! You have to tell me all about it when you get back."
Miles turned and walked away, fighting back every urge to just run. Despite his undeniably impressive record in court, he was starting to think it that might have all just been dumb luck, because only an idiot would have messed up that badly. What was he supposed to do now? He wasn't in any relationship, so what was he going to do when people started asking questions about his imaginary partner?
He grabbed the handle to the door leading into the stairwell and swung it open, ready to be rid of this memory- at least until he was reminded of it upon his return.
"I've heard it's cold in Germany this time of year. Tell the missus to bring something warm, yeah?" She called after him, and, looking to bring his embarassment no further, he gave no such response back.
Despite the fact Los Angeles was infamous for its traffic, Miles had long gotten used to it. Thus, he was occupying his thoughts with other matters. The case, for example, was one of them.
It had been almost 8 years since he had last encountered Shelly de Killer, and it had been under circumstances not entirely under his control. But while it wasn't the best of ways to meet an assassin, he couldn't say that it was worse than the first time they had met.
That was, if you counted that as meeting.
Nonetheless, he knew that he was not a foe to be underestimated. The two times he had worked cases involving him had been under the most unique of conditions, and there was no guaranteeing that would be the case now. In fact, it would be unwise for him to assume so, and thus, here he was, trying to outsmart a man who he knew almost nothing about, whilst being thousands of miles away from him.
de Killer had escaped twice, both times under his watch. He couldn't let it happen again. Edgeworth sighed and changed lanes.
That first fight against him had been the closest anyone had come, in a very long time, to catching him. It was important for that fact to not stray from the front of his mind. Miles made a reminder not to forget that crucial detail, lest he forget that the idea of catching him was not impossible. There must have been aspects of those two days all those years ago that made it that trial special. That was all he had to dissect to figure out how to catch him, he decided.
Aspects of that trial? He could think of a few that stuck out to him.
Maya Fey's fate was the obvious one. The hunt for the assassin and the hunt for the spirit medium he held hostage were one in the same, and perhaps the rush to find her was what both saved her life and lead his team to several of his hideouts. The evidence collected at those locations helped to uncover everything from aliases to murder weapons to disguises, all things that would have been left unfound if not for the chase.
Detective Gumshoe and Franziska's help to get the final pieces of evidence to the trial couldn't be ignored, but they were a constant with the other instance of de Killer. They weren't what held everything together.
After pulling into an exit, Miles now sat at an intersection with a few dozen other cars, waiting for the light to give them their turn to cross.
"What held everything together?" Miles repeated aloud.
He didn't have to ponder the question for long.
Edgeworth had guessed that man had come to the same epiphany during that trial as he did before returning to America; their teamwork was what brought Maya home. It was what saved her life. It was what put Damon Gant and Matt Engarde behind bars, what sent Dahlia Hawthorne back to wherever she came from. He had saved countless lives through fighting tooth and nail, never giving up on a soul.
Miles' own included.
Wright had always had something inside of him that Edgeworth could never seem to grasp. Maybe it was that trust, that belief in his clients he always prided himself on. It was a while before he figured it out. Because while Edgeworth had taught him that proving your client innocent wasn't all there was to being a defense attorney, Wright had taught him that the opposite true even before that.
According to Franziska, sometimes he even acted like him- bluffing, of all things. He had noticed this on a few occasions, but who was to say there wasn't more he had subconsciously picked up?
Miles was snapped out of his daydream by the sounds of incessant horns. Before his eyes, he could see that the light had turned green, though he hadn't known how long ago. He moved his foot to the pedal next to it.
Aside from his sister and himself, Phoenix Wright was the person who knew how to get closest to de Killer. Edgeworth ignored the chorus of horns that blasted at him as he turned right at the last minute.
He had his answer. Wright was it.