Chapter Text
Amongst the frantic hustle and bustle of attorneys, paralegals, secretaries, and clients—their scant number nevertheless generating a cacophonous ambience, sounds of human speech and machine interwoven with the boutique firm’s droning office lights—rang the work phone of the seated Gregory Edgeworth.
The first-year associate’s eyebrows knit in confusion. Whilst receiving a call in the middle of the day (a quick glance at his wristwatch confirmed it to be 2 p.m.) wasn’t by itself perplexing, he hadn’t yet expected to receive one as the newest addition to Grossberg Law Offices. It couldn’t have been his parents—they knew better than to contact him during work, lest his superiors perceive the diversion of attending to personal business as dereliction of duty.
Then, a client perhaps? Yet, how could that be? His paltry vocational development guaranteed that either he was responsible for originating a client, or that he would receive an assignment from one of the firm’s partners. At this point, a client approaching him unsolicited was inconceivable.
“Edgeworth, are you gonna answer that? Maybe sometime today?” From the incessantly noisy atmosphere emerged another sound, this one also carrying particular meaning for Gregory in contrast to the medley of nondescript and all-encompassing disturbances in the background.
Gregory diverted his attention from the device, startled out of his speculative stupor to meet the amused expression of the senior associate opposite him. His normally narrow eyes having in that moment grown considerably less slender, Gregory quickly nodded.
“Yes, of course,” he sighed, chagrined. Unlike his excitable demeanour, the phone before him remained consistent in its wailing.
Placing the receiver to his ear, the greenhorn for the first time voiced that mantra he had regularly chanted to himself in the days preceding his employment:
“Gregory Edgeworth, attorney-at-law speaking.”
The voice that greeted him on the other end was sedate, although its manner of speech precise, its owner committed to verbal efficiency without betraying personal distress.
“Greg, it’s good to hear from you. I’ve got a situation that could use your expertise. An… associate of mine has recently come under suspicion for murder—a murder which I firmly believe he didn’t commit.”
The revelation of murder was enough to galvanize Gregory into vigilance, muscles snapping to attention and thoughts tripping over one another in a race to be heard, to say nothing of the request for his services. He brought his free hand up to massage his right temple and regulated his breathing in an attempt to regain agency over his physical and mental faculties.
“Get a grip, Greg. A murder’s just been committed and an acquaintance is reaching out to you for help. Now is definitely not the time to be caught up in histrionics.”
“It’s good to hear from you as well, Enara. Although I’d rather we’d have reacquainted ourselves under better circumstances.” Cradling the phone’s handset between his cheek and shoulder, he performed a hasty sweep of the desk before him, his gaze finally landing on a blank legal pad which Gregory swiped together with a pen. “In any case, if possible, could you tell me what you know about the crime and the detainee?”
“Unfortunately, I’m not privy to the details. I tried speaking with Cullan—the, ah, suspect, Cullan Pritchford—but he was unwilling to divulge info about the incident,” she said, a tinge of exasperation leaking into her otherwise equanimous tone.
“I see,” Gregory murmured, hunched over his desk and eyebrows furrowed in concentration as he recorded the limited information Enara had provided. Too bad there was so little to write in the first place, he mused, trying to stifle his dismay.
“Is there nothing else you can tell me?”
What he thought was a sigh, though barely audible, reached his ears before the party on the other end of the line responded. “Not right now. But I think if you come with me to meet Cullan, he might be willing to co-operate with an actual lawyer around. I’m near the detention centre, can you drop by?”
Transferring the weight of the handset to his left hand, Gregory twisted in his seat to glimpse at the door leading to the office of the firm’s managing partner, Marvin Grossberg. He would have to convince his boss of the merit of an attorney fresh out of law school taking on the case of an unco-operative murder suspect without having gathered the facts of the case beforehand.
In other words, his prospects were nightmarish at best.
But he had a duty to advocate for those cast off, didn’t he? That was his raison d’être as a defence attorney after all—what invigorated him throughout law school and impelled him as he studied for the bar exam: to plead for the wrongfully accused, to stand faithfully by the side of the forsaken, to pursue for his clients a fair and just verdict. The attorney’s badge proudly affixed to his lapel was a testament to his commitment to those ideals.
Gregory turned back to his desk, resolute.
“I understand. I’ll be there as soon as possible.”