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State v. Edgeworth – Day One
Ray slips into the gallery, his hat pulled low over his head. He’s one of the first in the courtroom and quickly chooses a seat near the back of the gallery, somewhere with a good view of the defense bench but far enough away that he won’t be visible from the courtroom itself. He doesn’t want to be seen today, some small paranoid part of him convinced that he would be outed as an intruder once the trial began. But an intruder into what? A private family affair? Gregory’s last wishes? Perhaps the end of Gregory’s bloodline, the last tie he had to this world finally severed forever.
Ray isn’t sure what to make of that.
It doesn’t matter though, as Ray’s musings are quickly cut short. The doors to the courtroom suddenly swing open, silent on well-oiled hinges, but instantly drawing Ray’s attention. He stares as Miles Edgeworth himself strides in, followed closely by two people. One is a nervous-looking young man with spiky dark hair and an ill-fitted shockingly blue cheap suit that looked like it had been picked out of the bargain bin at the Goodwill Outlet. The other is a young teenager wearing clothes that Ray can only describe as, well, eclectic. She’s wearing purple robes, her dark hair tied up into a strange topknot and some sort of chunky necklace with a strange golden stone in the middle resting around her neck. Ray assumes that the young man in the suit (Spiky, Ray nicknames him) must be his attorney and the young girl is perhaps his paralegal or assistant (Ray settles on Purple for her). However, a stranger watching the trio enter the courtroom would certainly have reversed Spiky and Miles’ roles. Miles is confident, his steps steady and demeanor calm as he walks to the defendant’s chair and sits down. He’s the epitome of an attorney; completely unshaken by the courtroom and paying no heed to the crowd slowly growing in the gallery. Spiky meanwhile, is a mess. He’s clearly flustered and trying to force a smile as he stumbles to the defense bench, dropping case files onto it and spreading them out, murmuring to Purple as he works.
Where had Miles found this attorney? Ray wonders, watching the young man as he starts organizing papers on his desk with Purple’s help. He’s new – that’s obvious, his badge shiny and bright, pinned onto the lapel of his ill-fitted blazer with all three buttons buttoned up. Ray can instantly tell that the attorney is foolish, his badge too bright, too clean on his lapel, catching the light with not a single scratch on it. It was a common trick among new attorneys to place their badges in a bag of coins, allowing the coins to rattle about to dull and wear the badge down. A shiny new badge after all was a sign of inexperience, of naivety, and Ray could not think of a single attorney who stumbled into court like this, his badge sparkling, a bright and clear target to let opposing counsel know that he didn’t know anything.
It makes no sense, honestly. Ray’s frown deepens as he watches the attorney. Miles had money, Ray was aware of that, both from Von Karma and from his position as a prosecutor. Paying top dollar for the best defense attorney in town shouldn’t have been difficult for him. So why did he go with this boy? Hell, Ray had seen 1Ls that looked more composed than Spiky, currently frantically shuffling papers on his desk.
Why hadn’t Miles come to him?
Ray isn’t sure what he would have said if Miles had asked him, honestly. Gregory’s creed, the most important thing that Ray had left of his mentor, a promise to defend whatever poor sap stumbled into their office would make denying Miles impossible. But anger, deep, bitter, driven by losses too horrible and too many to name, would have made defending Miles impossible. Two impossibilities then. Perhaps that was why Miles hadn’t come. Perhaps he was aware of the conflict he would have caused, a contradiction with no evidence to help explain it away.
Or perhaps it’s shame, Ray muses. He doesn’t know if this is him projecting onto Miles, extrapolating his own feelings onto the young man but it’s possible. Shame at who he had become, shame at how far he had strayed from his father’s path, shame at his own shadow, too deep and too long, darkening the entrance of somewhere he had once loved and been loved. Would seeing the offices change Miles? Would seeing Gregory’s name, chipped and faded on the placard Ray had never been able to remove remind him of what was important? Or would it just be some small embarrassment, the poor paint job in the office regarded with disdain and no understanding that the shitty threadbare carpets and constantly broken blinds were the result of too many pro bono hours and not enough billables?
For all of Ray's speculations, it’s impossible to know what Miles is thinking. His expression is calm and emotionless and Ray intently studies his face as he sits in the defendant’s chair. He’s handsome, Ray notes, and the semblance he bears to Gregory is striking. Miles has the same strong nose and jawline, the same intense glare, mouths pulled down, brow furrowed in concentration, the same gray eyes, steely, sharp and full of intelligence. But there’s a coldness in Miles’ eyes that Ray was unfamiliar with. Gregory had been an intense man, serious and determined, but he had above all been kind.
Ray can see none of that kindness in Miles Edgeworth.
His face is hard and cold, his expression stiff. Ray studies him as he gets up to talk to his attorney, who had been whispering to Purple only minutes before. Miles joins their conversation, also keeping his voice low as he gestures to some papers on the defense’s bench. He’s intense and Spiky is clearly flustered, the tips of his ears pink as Miles leans into his personal space, whispering something to the defense attorney as he shoves a file into Spiky’s hands. Ray obviously has no idea what they’re talking about, probably going over trial points, but as he watches them, Ray compares Miles' mannerisms to the memories of Gregory in his mind. Miles is nothing like his father. Where Gregory had been open, excited, passionate even in debating, Miles is closed, haughty, angry almost, a deeply unpleasant frown etched deeply into his face as he talks furiously with his young attorney. The similarities between Gregory and Miles Edgeworth is only skin-deep then, the same genetic code perhaps, but none of the spirit.
Ray isn’t sure if he is happy with this revelation or not. If Miles Edgeworth is not his father’s son, Ray muses, then his probable Guilty verdict and subsequent execution will certainly be far easier to bear. But there’s a part of Ray that feels a deep guilt and shame as he continues to examine Miles’ features. When he had been alive, Gregory had talked about Miles extensively to Ray and frankly to anyone who would listen. He had been proud of Miles, had loved and cherished this boy – a man now but young, still so young – constantly telling Ray small anecdotes about his son when he saw something that reminded him of Miles.
Do you know of any substitutes for green peppers? Miles doesn’t like them so I would prefer to leave them out of this recipe I found.
Miles doesn’t like fairy tales. He’s far more partial to law books – I worry this may impact his ability to form friendships with the other kids.
Miles wanted an attorney’s badge for Christmas. Maybe I’ll get him one made of chocolate, I’m sure he’d love that.
And then Gregory had died and Miles had been taken far, far away to live in another country with the one man that Gregory had said he never wanted near his son.
Ray had tried to interfere, of course. He had heard of Gregory’s death and had hurried to the courts, determined to gain custody of Miles, determined to protect the child that Gregory had left behind and had loved so dearly. It had been a fruitless effort. The courts had looked at Ray, 19 years old and still in college, no income, no degree, no familial connection to the young boy who sat silently and stoically next to his state-appointed foster worker and had asked him one simple question; why?
And Ray had been unable to answer. He had spluttered, bumbling over his words as he tried to make his case, the raw pain of Gregory’s death, the stress of the Masters’ retrial, the numbing fear of failing here, of letting Miles slip away making his tongue heavy and dull. Arguments, half-crafted and incoherent, spilled from his mouth as he clutched at Gregory’s fedora, presenting it to the judge who sat impassively on the bench before him as if that would explain everything. As if the worn seams holding the soft fabric together would split and speak, telling the court the truth – the monster that Von Korma was, the damage he would do to a boy like Miles, the wish Gregory had explicitly made a full year before his death; do not allow such cruelty near my son.
But an old hat, shoddy and run-down, the stitching soft and worn out from too many investigations in the sun and rain, had been useless against Von Karma’s clear and convincing arguments. He was a well-established prosecutor. He had two children of his own. Miles would be housed, cared for, financially secure and protected in the Von Karma household. And between the two, the judge had smiled at Von Karma, blithely rambling about how lucky Miles Edgeworth was that his father had such kind co-workers in the courts and Ray had wept, watching the young boy slip his hand into Von Karma’s much larger one before walking away from Ray, his tiny face frozen and gray eyes fixed forward, staring determinedly at some point Ray could not see.
Ray had tried to forget. He had tried to put Miles Edgeworth out of his mind as he moved forward, throwing all of his energies into becoming an attorney so he could finally get Masters out of prison. He had failed Gregory once, surely he could fix Masters at least, have some small atonement for not protecting Miles. And for a while the distraction had worked. Ray had devoted himself wholly and fully to becoming the best damn attorney LA had ever seen, to filling the shoes that Gregory had left behind and maybe, maybe someday, being able to destroy the very system that had allowed prosecutors like Von Karma to exist.
That had all come crashing down when Ray had seen the newspaper with “DEMON PROSECUTOR” boldly emblazoned on the front. He hadn’t believed his eyes at first, unwilling to believe the truth, the proof in bold black and white, damning evidence of the consequences of Ray’s failure to protect Gregory’s son. He had grabbed the paper and scurried back to his office, reading the familiar accusations with horror and had checked the court calendar, running out of the office almost immediately when he realized Miles would be in court that afternoon.
Much like this time, Ray had slipped into the gallery to watch Miles, hoping beyond hope that the newspaper had been lying, that it had been merely some tabloid gossip piece capitalizing on the suspicion surrounding Von Karma.
It hadn’t been. Ray had watched in horror as Von Karma’s words and Von Karma’s tactics spilled so easily from the young man who looked so much like Gregory. It was impossible to follow the facts of the case, impossible to tell what was real and what was not, each piece of evidence Miles presented to the court too perfect, too clean, the witness too well-spoken, smiling too widely for the court, a perfect case, the edges all filed down to fit neatly into Miles’ timeline of events. It was a façade. The evidence was forged, the witnesses coached, the trial a play, a corrupted and mangled show, some grotesque parody of justice that ended with the defendant, a middle aged woman, being dragged out of the courtroom as she sobbed, begging for a retrial, she had never seen that weapon it was impossible for her fingerprints to have been on it, as Miles looked coldly on.
Ray had fled the courthouse immediately after that. He had rushed back to the Edgeworth Law Offices where he had slammed the door behind him, locking it, before running to his desk and pulling out the bottle of whiskey he kept in his drawer and pouring himself a drink, his hands shaking.
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry…” Ray had sobbed, repeating the words to the picture of Gregory he kept on his desk, a mantra he had chanted so many times in the years since Gregory’s passing. And Gregory had smiled at him, his face kind and warm, and Ray had placed the picture face-down, unable to look at it as he drank himself into a stupor at roughly 2PM on a Tuesday afternoon.
There's another slight squeak and Ray pulls himself back to the present, glowering as Manfred Von Karma finally enters the courtroom. He doesn't acknowledge anyone already present - not Ray, not Spiky, and not even Miles, the man he raised for the last fifteen years and mentored as a prosecutor. He moves quickly to the prosecutor's bench, the heels of his shoes and cane clicking sharply on the polished tiles of the courthouse, and begins to set up his bench for trial, his mannerisms collected and assured, not a hair out of place.
The fact that he shares the same cool presence, the same demeanor, even the same confident stride as Miles is not lost on Ray.
Trial is surely set to start soon if Von Karma is here, and Ray's suspicions are confirmed as the Judge enters from his chambers, slowly hobbling up to his bench. The gallery rises, then quickly is seated as the Judge sits down, waving a hand and State v. Edgeworth begins precisely at 9AM.
Introductions are made and Ray makes a note of Spiky’s name – Phoenix Wright and his assistant, Maya Fey. “Phoenix Wright” is certainly an odd name, and not one that Ray is familiar with. The LA criminal defense community is not small but Ray is familiar with most of the established attorneys in the area. So that meant Miles had probably gone with a complete newbie, had decided to take on his own mentor, one of the greatest living legal legends, the man who had bested his own father with a kid who couldn’t have been more than six months out of law school.
Ray cannot for the life of him figure out why. Wright is, well, he’s bad. He’s young and new and inexperienced and watching him go against Von Karma is frankly painful. He stumbles about with the first witness’ testimony, only digging Miles’ grave deeper as he establishes that Miles’ fingerprints are, in fact, on the gun that fired the fatal bullet. By the time the witness steps off the stand Ray is convinced that this would probably be one of the shortest trials he’s ever witnessed.
After a brief recess, the second witness is called and Ray feels his stomach clench unpleasantly as he realizes he’s right. The second witness is a photographer who was on the lake that night and while her testimony isn’t perfect, Wright quickly runs out of steam, something which Von Karma instantly catches onto. His smile is sardonic as he demands an end to the proceedings and Ray quickly glances at Miles who is watching the entire spectacle unfold, completely expressionless. Perhaps that was it then. Perhaps Miles knew an attorney like Wright had no chance against Von Karma and wanted a speedy resolution to his crime, something quick, painless, and hopeless.
Ray glances down as his hands, uncertain if he wants to see the end of this trial. Perhaps he should leave, let the courts sort the rest out and read about it in the newspaper. He’s getting ready to slip out, his phone in his pocket, hat in hand when there’s a sudden commotion and Ray’s attention is drawn to Wright’s assistant, Fey. She’s yelling at the witness and Ray idly wonders if her parents know that their daughter is playing hooky to assist in a murder trial as she pleads with the photographer, begging her to tell the truth. The witness’ short temper quickly gets the better of her and she snaps at Fey, more testimony spilling out of her mouth in response to the girl’s harassment. It’s a desperate ploy, one that probably would never have been employed by a more experienced defense attorney and it almost costs Wright the case as Von Karma demands the defense attorney be held in contempt of court. Fey protests even more fervently at this though, insisting that she’s the one who should be held in contempt of court, she’s the one who had the outburst, it wasn’t Nick and while her words are jumbled and nearly incomprehensible, her voice shows her conviction, ringing clearly even as she is visibly shaking. And it works. She is quickly escorted from the courtroom, shooting Wright a quick smile before marching out, her head held high and fists clenched tightly into balls.
Such a shameful tactic of course earns a taunt from Von Karma and a demand that the trial come to its obvious conclusion but Wright almost seems re-energized by his assistant’s outburst. He refuses to back down, instead demanding that he be allowed to cross-examine the new testimony that had been forced out of the witness. Wright is, well, right here, Ray knows, he has a right to cross every statement the witness makes but Ray can’t help but feel the attorney is just wasting everyone’s time. The witness had said just one thing for god’s sake – a throwaway claim that she had seen Miles on the boat.
But it’s a contradiction and Wright catches it, latching onto it desperately as he waves some photograph in front of her face. He’s rambling, going on about she couldn’t have seen the faces when her expensive camera hadn’t even been able to and well, it also somehow works. More testimony comes out and Wright keeps pressing, throwing evidence about, his bench becoming more and more cluttered as he almost haphazardly presents contradictory evidence to the court. Von Karma is clearly annoyed by this turn of events, glaring at Wright who keeps pushing, unflinching, desperately arguing his case to the court – that it was impossible for Miles Edgeworth to have been the shooter on the lake that night.
And again it works. The judge looks at the case that Wright, a novice that Ray had never even heard of before, has laid out before him and rules, clearly to Von Karma’s chagrin, that he could not declare a verdict. Wright had bought Miles another day. Ray has to admit he’s impressed; few veterans could last that long against Von Karma.
Still. Ray knows that Wright has only managed to delay the inevitable. Putting his hat back on his head, he silently slips out of the gallery, resolutely not looking back as Miles is led out of the courtroom in handcuffs.
Day Two – State v. Edgeworth
The second day of trial sees Ray bright and early in the courtroom, one of the first people in the gallery, watching silently as Miles once again speaks harshly to Wright. They both look terrible. Neither looks like they’ve gotten any sleep, deep bags under their eyes and good god, Ray doesn’t even think Wright’s changed his suit. Did the man seriously only have one suit? Wright’s assistant is back, also dressed in the same attire he had last seen her in, her face also worn and pale as she organized their case files.
Ray had used the time between the first and second day of trial to get some more information on Phoenix Wright and Maya Fey. His initial assessment of the young attorney had been correct. Wright is a brand-new attorney, a 2016 graduate who had just passed the summer bar exam. He is in good standing with the California bar and has a grand total of three cases under his belt. Two of those cases had been against Miles Edgeworth and Wright had won all three.
Perhaps that was it then. Ray had mused, frowning as he skimmed through old newspaper articles. Perhaps Miles thought the man who had bested him could also best his mentor. But Ray couldn’t see it. The article and outcomes of the cases spoke for themselves; Phoenix Wright had undoubtedly faced Miles Edgeworth twice and beaten him both times but such an outcome was impossible to imagine. The idea that Miles could have been beaten by someone almost comically flustered, someone who had to be saved by his teenage assistant – Ray is still struggling to picture it.
Maya Fey is a mystery as well. Wright’s bar page had Fey and Co. Law Offices listed as his place of employment, and after some poking around Ray figured out that Fey and Co. referred to one Mia Fey, a young attorney who had been murdered earlier this year. Her name had come up in the case brief for Wright’s second trial as the victim with Maya Fey as the defendant and Miles Edgeworth as the prosecutor. It had been an ugly trial, Ray could tell just from flipping through the opinion and newspaper articles covering it, and had been noted by the legal community as the case that shattered Miles’ Edgeworth perfect record.
Because of course the loss of Miles Edgeworth’s perfect record was far more important to the legal community than the blind grief of Maya Fey. A teenage girl put on trial, falsely accused of murdering her own sister and the only thing the damn prosecutors cared about was that one of their own had just lost his winning streak.
Perhaps the most shocking thing had been finding out that Maya Fey was the daughter of the hoax medium that had claimed to have channeled Gregory Edgeworth all those years ago. Ray had, of course, never believed in the medium’s claims and had felt some strangely sick vindication when the defendant from the DL-6 case had been pronounced Not Guilty. The resolution of Gregory Edgeworth’s murder trial had, of course, provided no relief to Ray. He was constantly reminded that the man who had murdered Gregory had been allowed to walk free on an insanity plea, only slightly mollified by the public humiliation of the police and the prosecution in failing to convict such an obvious murderer.
Ray has no idea what had happened to Maya Fey’s mother after that but it would explain the strange clothes she wore and potentially the lack of parental supervision. Beyond that there wasn't much Ray had been able to find on either Maya Fey or Phoenix Wright; certainly nothing that would explain why Miles had entrusted probably the most important trial of his life to these two. Maybe the answer would become apparent as the trial continued, but Ray finds that extremely hard to believe after yesterday's performance.
The trial once again begins precisely at 9AM. If Ray had thought Wright’s performance on the first day of State v. Edgeworth had been desperate, he was completely unprepared for the second day.
It’s somehow even more of a mess. The first witness is some senile old man who keeps falling asleep on the stand, dozing off before Wright can get a single straight answer from him. Wright is unable to press the witness or present evidence, the witness’s condition making him impossible to pin down.
So Ray isn’t surprised when the judge brings his gavel down, declaring Miles Edgeworth guilty within the hour.
Ray, to his own chagrin, finds himself disappointed. He had known that was going to happen. The only surprise he tells himself is that Wright lasted as long as he did against Von Karma. But even then. Yesterday Ray had seen something in Wright, and for a second he had hoped that maybe this young attorney could do what Gregory had never done and rip Von Karma’s mask off for the world to see. But that had just been wishful thinking. The conclusion of this trial was inevitable, regardless of Miles’ guilt. Manfred Von Karma would always, always be sure of that.
Should he visit Miles in prison? Ray muses. Perhaps a last goodbye, maybe an apology…Ray is still going over these thoughts, so lost in his own mind he is completely startled when a “WAIT!” reverberates through the courtroom. There’s a man at the witness stand, one Ray doesn’t recognize, with blonde-brown hair and a matching goatee. He’s yelling at the judge, demanding that he has the right to testify, claiming that he had heard it too – he had heard the gunshot that night as well.
Nobody knows what to make of the yelling man. Von Karma is furious, pounding his cane and snapping his fingers, demanding that the verdict had already been handed down but Wright is not backing down either, smacking his own desk and glaring Von Karma full in the face as he demands the man’s testimony be heard. Both sides are yelling over the witness, determined to be heard and the judge has to smack his gavel several times before the courtroom quiets. A recess. The judge settles on a recess, clearly at a loss of what to do and both sides hurry out of the courtroom, Wright grabbing the new witness and dragging him into the defense lobby after him.
They reconvene and somehow the trial gets even crazier. Wright seems somehow familiar with the new witness and they quickly establish some sort of strange rapport. Ray can’t tell if the witness is purposely being obtuse or if he just honestly is that stupid. There’s a back and forth about Christmas, about it almost being Christmas and then not being Christmas, and apparently this distinction matters because Wright will not drop it, fixated on the damn holiday and Ray is almost irritated at him, unsure of where he’s going.
The pieces eventually slot together though and Ray finally understands what Wright is arguing, that there had been two shootings and the entire thing had been an elaborate set-up to frame Miles. But why? Miles is called back to the stand and he’s explaining a letter he received and Ray is suddenly hit with a sinking feeling that this case is tied directly to the DL-6 incident. There’s too many pieces; the victim, the timing, Miles’ involvement, hell even the defense bench had a connection to the incident. Ray had been working as a criminal defense attorney long enough to recognize when evidence crossed the line from coincidence to conspiracy and this case isn’t even close. There’s something else here, something insidious going on under the surface and Ray realizes he is almost afraid to find out.
The judge finally decides to call the strange old caretaker back to the stand but he’s gone and the police cannot find him. He’s fled. It’s suspicious, too suspicious and Ray sits there, ignoring the chaos in the courtroom as he slowly works through the pieces. The old man is connected to the DL-6 incident, someone who would want to murder Hammond and frame Miles. The list of suspects is short and Ray grips his hat, lost in thought as the Judge once again adjourns court for another day. The last day is it then. Day three will resolve this trial for once and for all and as Ray leaves the courthouse he can’t help but shake the sinking foreboding that day three will somehow be even more explosive than the previous two.
Day Three - State v. Edgeworth
Ray is back in his usual spot on day three of State v. Edgeworth and has to admit he is somewhat alarmed by the state of the defense bench. Wright somehow looks even worse than he did the previous two days. He’s pale and haggard, his suit (Ray is confident that the man has only one suit now) rumpled as if he slept in it. Or more likely hadn’t slept Ray thinks studying his face. There’s a subdued air over the defense bench and Fey looks like she’s about to burst into tears, her face twisted with sorrow and dark hair frazzled. Miles looks…well he also looks awful. He looks tired of course, dark circles under his eyes, but there’s something in his expression, a haunted guilty look that Ray cannot quite parse. It’s not because of the current case, Ray is certain of that – even if the judge isn’t convinced of Miles’ innocence, Ray had been long ago. It’s something else then and it is eating Miles alive.
Something had happened in their investigation yesterday then and whatever that something was it wasn’t good.
That realization is supported when trial starts, with Wright boldly proclaiming that the old man on the witness stand is, in actuality, Yanni Yogi, the defendant from the DL-6 case, a creeping suspicion Ray had picked up on the second day of the trial. But Wright can’t prove it. Von Karma had prepped the old man, Ray realizes with a biting anger, because of course he did, of course Von Karma would twist this case like he had every other goddamn case he handled. There’s no fingerprints, no paperwork, no way for Wright to establish that this old man is Yogi and finally, finally, it looks like Phoenix Wright is out of ideas. Yanni Yogi had murdered Gregory Edgeworth and now it looked like he would succeed in framing Miles Edgeworth too.
Von Karma of course is cruel in his victory. He begins taunting Wright and Ray thinks that maybe he really should leave this time but he finds he can’t. Twice – twice so far Wright had pulled off what could only be described as a miracle, even getting the judge to retract a guilty verdict in the face of Manfred Von Karma and Ray can’t help but finding himself hoping beyond all hope, almost expecting Wright to once again pull something completely unexpected out of thin air. It’s stupid and it’s foolish and Ray knows that both of those previous incidents had involved Wright being saved by someone else but still. Ray finds himself staring intently at Wright, studying the young attorney’s desperate expression, inexplicably trusting that somehow Wright will be able to turn the situation around again.
“Perhaps you’d like to cross-examine his parrot for a little comic relief, hmmm?”
It’s a taunt, or it's intended to be a taunt, but as soon as the words are out of Von Karma’s mouth something in Wright’s expression changes. His glare slips, morphing into an almost thoughtful expression, eyes widening and head tilted slightly and no, surely he cannot be considering – Fey is whispering furiously to Wright, there’s a pause in the proceedings and Ray is leaning forward, staring at Wright, his mouth slightly open in disbelief, surely he cannot be serious, he cannot be doing what Ray thinks he is about to do -
“Your honor! The defense would like to take Von Karma up on his proposal!”
Oh, fuck. He absolutely is.
The courtroom erupts into pandemonium again and Ray quickly glances over at Miles who is also staring at Wright, his face echoing Ray’s own disbelief. So that hadn’t been part of the trial strategy then. Ray at this point has no idea what to make of Phoenix Wright, a baby attorney less than a year out of law school who is currently screaming at prosecuting legend Manfred Von Karma about his right to cross examine a bird in a court of law, each sentence delivered with such conviction that Ray finds himself agreeing with the defense attorney and apparently the judge shares Ray’s sentiment because suddenly there is a bird on the witness stand and Ray is absolutely lost.
Ray doesn’t know if Wright is a genius or just absolutely insane but one thing is apparent – in this moment, Wright does not give a fuck about anything beyond saving Miles Edgeworth. His reputation as an attorney, his pride in the courtroom, the ridicule he’s sure to face once the press reports on this trial, Phoenix Wright just patently, completely, and thoroughly does not care.
Gregory would probably have liked Wright and Ray cannot think of any higher praise for a defense attorney.
Apparently the parrot is just the thing Wright needed to bust this case open though because once Wright is able to tie the parrot back to the DL-6 case, the old caretaker is pulled onto the stand again and suddenly he’s talking – confessing to his crimes, to his role in the murder, tired, apparently of living this lie and Ray cannot quite believe what is happening because Manfred Von Karma is the prosecutor on this case yet somehow the judge is swinging his gavel down and loudly proclaiming Miles Edgeworth “NOT GUILTY”. Ray is in shock. This new defense attorney, barely out of law school, has shattered Von Karma’s perfect record, has managed to do what so many seasoned attorneys before him had failed to do, what Gregory had failed to do, and has, against all odds, won.
But Von Karma – Ray frowns – he’s not reacting like Ray expected. When Gregory had scored a penalty against the prosecutor, he had gone nearly out of his mind with rage. Now he had lost, beaten by a complete novice, and yet he just stood there, calm and collected as ever, tapping his finger impatiently as the judge starts talking procedure, apparently completely unperturbed by the destruction of his prized record.
What was going on? Ray didn’t like this, didn’t trust Von Karma. If the man was this assured in himself then there was surely something going on, something that Wright and Ray had both overlooked. But Yogi had confessed and there was only one murder so what was Von Karma expecting?
Ray’s answer comes in the worst way possible.
The judge has wrapped up all the loose ends and is getting ready to adjourn court, when there’s another outburst, another “Objection!” yelled, this time from Miles himself who has been standing at the witness stand as the verdict was handed down. Why is Miles objecting now? Ray frowns, watching with interest as Wright tries unsuccessfully to shut Miles up, arguing that the case had already been resolved and there was no need for further deliberation. He is quickly overruled by Von Karma and the judge and Miles begins speaking, talking about a reoccurring nightmare, and suddenly the world around Ray is swimming, there’s some weird buzzing in his ears, as Miles Edgeworth claims he murdered his own father.
That was it then, wasn’t it? That’s why Von Karma was so unbothered by the verdict. This trial wasn't about Hammond and the murder on Gourd Lake. It had never been about Hammond. This was about Gregory Edgeworth and the unresolved case that his murder had left behind. This had been Von Karma’s end goal. To get Miles Edgeworth to confess on the stand that he had murdered his own father, that he had been the one to shoot Gregory Edgeworth. It’s sick and its cruel and it’s twisted, a final blow against the best defense attorney, the best man Ray had ever known and even if it was the truth, even if Miles had killed his own father, to dredge up such a painful past now…this isn’t about truth or justice or closure. Ray knows this. This is about Von Karma’s revenge, his deep hatred against Gregory, weaponizing a tragedy to destroy the last person Gregory had left behind.
Ray hates it. The courtroom is silent as Miles talks, claiming that he had shot his own father and Von Karma is smirking, and Ray hates him. Even if Miles had thrown the gun, it had clearly been an accident, the guilt and suffering he had endured for years after Gregory’s death far more punishment than he ever deserved. This isn’t justice. This isn’t right, this isn’t fair. Even if Miles isn’t punished harshly for Gregory’s death, Ray knows the guilt of what he has done will destroy him. By exposing the truth, Von Karma has achieved the cruelest revenge imaginable against Gregory.
The court takes a brief recess and in that time Ray finds himself unable to stand, the weight of the proceedings weighing too heavily on him. This was it then. This was the truth of Gregory’s death and the knowledge that Gregory had been killed by his own son, the boy he had loved more than anything in this world, hurts. If only Ray had gotten in the elevator. If only Ray hadn’t left early. If only Ray had been there, he could have done something, stopped the fight, not left it to a terrified nine-year-old who had only acted to try to save his father. Miles Edgeworth wasn’t the only guilty party in the death of Gregory Edgeworth and Ray wonders wildly if he should also break his silence.
Court reconvenes and Ray finds he is unable to look away from Miles, who has taken the witness stand again, his face pale but determined. It wouldn’t be long now. The truth of Gregory’s death had finally been brought to light and Ray sits numbly, waiting for the judge to swing his gavel down and pass the guilty verdict.
But it doesn’t happen. Wright suddenly is speaking again and to Ray’s shock, he seems completely unfazed. If anything, Wright seems calmer than he has all trial, a strange sereneness surrounding him as he asks Miles to testify to what had happened. Miles is obviously confused too but obliges, relaying the events in the elevator fifteen years ago to the silent courtroom.
And then Wright objects.
There’s a contradiction in Miles’ testimony and Wright pounces on it and Ray realizes that Wright is not done fighting yet. Wright has, inexplicably and with no basis whatsoever, wholeheartedly rejected Miles’ claims. He had heard Miles confess to his father’s murder, a murder which he knew nothing about, a murder which had happened nearly a decade and a half ago, and had decided quite simply that this was not the truth. The calmness suddenly makes sense. Phoenix Wright was calm because he knew his truth and knew his path forward. Miles Edgeworth did not kill his father and Wright was going to prove this to the court and the world and Miles himself.
One of the most basic duties a defense attorney owed their client was a duty of zealous representation. Some attorneys, like Gregory, took that to mean holding a deep, unshakable faith in their client. Ray had followed that creed his entire career, often taking on cases that seemed helpless and holding onto that faith to fight for his clients. However, even then Ray couldn’t say he had ever taken a case where the client, with good reason and evidence, had confessed to the crime and he had simply ignored that confession. There's something else there, some reason that Wright is so convinced that Miles hadn’t murdered his father, and Ray’s curiosity is piqued.
It’s an uphill battle and there are points where Wright looks like he’s struggling. He’s hung his whole case on this second bullet but there is no second bullet but he still doesn’t give up. There’s a strange expression on his face as he talks, almost as if he is listening to something intently, hearing something or someone that nobody else can hear. He speaks haltingly, stuttering and clearly talking out of his ass, no evidence, no basis for the conjectures flying out of his mouth but Ray finds he can’t deny the possibility of what Wright is saying. It’s possible. There’s a second bullet hole and no second bullet and the idea that there was an outside party is possible. But who? The judge seems to be following the same train of thought and asks Wright to name his suspect and Wright pauses, taking a few minutes to consult with Fey. Something seems to pass between the two of them and Wright jolts in shock, some revelation slamming into him. He stares at Fey, eyes wide, before turning to the judge and finally responding to the question that the judge had asked, naming Von Karma as his suspect.
Ray wonders if this is some sort of joke. Wright is shaking though, stuttering over the name and clearly in disbelief himself. It can’t be. It’s impossible. There was no motive, Von Karma had no reason to kill Gregory, surely this must have been some wild speculation, but Wright is talking, pointing to a vacation Von Karma took after Gregory’s death and the bullet – the mysterious, lost second bullet which Wright is arguing is still inside Von Karma and the pieces are coming together and suddenly Wright’s wild claim might not be so speculative anymore. But god. The realization – what Wright is saying – the horrible, ugly truth he’s thrusting into the light is making Ray sick. He’s shaking he thinks, he isn’t sure, a numbness overpowering him as he watches the courtroom proceedings as if they were happening far, far away instead of right in front of him.
Manfred Von Karma killed Gregory Edgeworth.
It’s too much. It’s too much. It’s loss and it’s anger and it’s rage and Ray cannot handle it. It’s Ray, 19 years old sobbing at Gregory’s gravestone as he apologizes for leaving ahead of his mentor, for not getting into the elevator with him, young and desperate, pleading, begging, praying that maybe if he says sorry in the right way, if his conviction is clear and pure, maybe Gregory will come back. It’s Ray, 24 years old visiting Masters every day with Kate, watching the innocent man wither away and age and fall apart before their eyes, holding a sobbing Kate as she asks why, why, why as he numbly mutters empty platitudes, unable to give her any respite or comfort. It’s Ray, 29 years old, opening the newspaper and reeling in shock as a familiar pair of gray eyes stare up impassively at him with the words “DEMON PROSECUTOR” printed boldly underneath them, overpowering shame and guilt swelling up within Ray as he stares at the paper clenched in his hands, another reminder laid out in black and white of how he had failed Gregory Edgeworth once again.
Had destroying Masters not been enough? Had destroying Kate not been enough? Had wrecking their makeshift family, forging an autopsy report to condemn an innocent man, coercing a confession to protect his stupid pointless record, torturing Masters until his hair changed color and vitality faded – had that not been enough for Von Karma? Ray doesn’t know if he’s ever felt rage like this, isn’t even sure what the emotion clawing up from his chest is but he realizes that in that moment he’s never known this kind of pure hatred.
Wright’s talking still, pressing forward and either completely oblivious or simply ignoring the utter chaos exploding around him, his voice clear and crisp, his eyes sparkling with conviction, that stupid cheap oversized suit hindering him in no way as he points at Von Karma, surging towards the truth.
Miles. Oh god, Miles.
Ray’s eyes snap to Miles, who is clutching at the witness stand like a life raft. He’s staring at Wright, his eyes briefly darting to Von Karma for a few seconds and Ray realizes that his world is utterly crashing down. His face is pale, eyes nearly bugging out of his sockets and knuckles white, his death grip on the witness stand the only thing keeping him standing. There is none of the calm confidence that Ray had come to associate with Miles, none of the assuredness, none of the certainty, just a pale naked fear as Miles Edgeworth’s entire life is suddenly turned on its head. He’s suddenly that nine-years-old boy again, standing terrified in the courthouse as everything he knows, everything he believes in, everything he has held true and dear is violently arranged in a court of law, publicly and clinically, the impassive mahogany of the bench and golden scales of justice providing no relief or softness as he is once again laid bare for the world to see.
And Ray knows it’s not Wright’s fault, knows that with an opponent like Von Karma Wright cannot afford to consider Miles’ feelings but as he watches the defense attorney speak, Ray realizes that in this moment, Phoenix Wright is destroying Miles Edgeworth.
Wright is not kind. He cannot be kind. He is not gentle or caring, his words are not soft and they do not ease Ray or Miles into the truth. Wright does not hesitate, he offers no pauses, no respite, no chance to allow them time to process their grief and loss. He talks, his face flushed as every eye in the courtroom is drawn to his cheap blue blazer and that small badge pinned to his lapel, a sparkling target to let opposing counsel know that he knew everything.
He speaks, ripping open wounds he couldn’t have known existed, each syllable a weapon, spackling the walls that Ray had built up around Gregory’s death, razing every defense he had ever constructed around his psyche and bearing the ugly truth for everyone to see. And god it hurts. Ray is vaguely aware that Wright has seized the metal detector from his bench and is advancing on Von Karma, but for what reason he cannot fathom. He cannot follow Wright’s arguments anymore, there’s a back and forth going on but Ray has no idea what they are saying.
There’s a harsh beep from the metal detector as Wright holds it up to Von Karma’s shoulder and the previously silent courtroom erupts in chatter again. Von Karma is pressing back though, claiming Wright cannot establish that the bullet is from the same gun that had killed Gregory, and Wright suddenly grins, victory clearly in grasp as he thrusts his last piece of evidence up so the entire court can see. It’s the bullet taken from Gregory’s heart and Wright points to the ballistic markings, his expression triumphant and certain and Von Karma loses it. He begins screaming, raving about how Gregory and Miles are his curse – how he will bury both of them, wishing death upon them and Miles is yelling too, demanding the truth from Von Karma, the man who raised him for the last fifteen years, and it’s chaos and yelling and it’s too much – Ray is going to faint, a rising crescendo a the truth to Gregory Edgeworth’s death finally is brought to light.
But as soon as it begins, it stops. Von Karma quickly calms down and explains everything before snapping his fingers and demanding the judge bring an end to the whole proceedings. Ray has also managed to calm himself, running the pads of his fingers over his battered fedora but he stares at Von Karma as he speaks, astounded by how completely unrepentant the prosecutor is. He doesn’t care. He feels the same contempt towards Gregory, towards Miles that he feels towards Masters, towards all the innocent people he killed and Ray has to ball his hands into fists, focusing on the pain of his nails biting into his palm to steady himself.
There’s more discussion and Von Karma is eventually led away, his steps as self-assured leaving the courtroom in chains as they had been entering it only hours before. The judge is speaking to Miles on the witness stand, who stares back up at him with a dazed expression, clearly not fully processing what had just happened. Then finally, finally, the gavel is coming down, declaring Miles Edgeworth NOT GUILTY and adjourning court, conclusively bringing the case to its end. The people around Ray also begin to leave, chatting excitedly, discussing the sheer drama of what they had just seen, the unlikely outcome of a complete rookie destroying one of the best prosecutors in the entire LA legal system in such a thorough way, and Ray realizes with a jolt that perhaps Miles had known. Perhaps that’s why Miles had chosen Wright. Perhaps he had seen something in his trials against the defense attorney that Ray was just realizing now.
Perhaps he can be saved.
Sighing, Ray slips his hat back on again, rising to leave. As he saunters out of the courtroom, he tosses one last glance over his shoulders, his heart finally lightening as he sees Miles talking to Fey and Wright. Miles' face is flushed and a strange expression, a strained and awkward smile, is finally breaking across his features. It’s there, Ray realizes. The kindness. It’s not gone, not entirely, at least. Gregory’s spirit is there; a tiny flicker but still there. With friends like Wright and Fey, perhaps not all is lost for Miles. Perhaps there’s a chance to turn things around. Ray is after all, a defense attorney at heart and he lives by Gregory’s creed - believe in your client until the bitter end. Believe in others till the bitter end. It’s not the end for Miles Edgeworth, not by a long shot and despite everything, Ray feels lighter than he has in years as he leaves the courthouse.
There’s still hope.