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Hugh isn’t used to wearing a tie.
He doesn’t realize this, though, until he’s halfway to the address he’s plugged into the GPS on his phone. It hangs around his neck, an unfamiliar and uncomfortable weight in comparison to the terra cotta band that rests underneath his blue and brown tweed suit.
After failing the Themis entrance exam of his own merit, he’s decided to rough it and go the apprenticeship route to qualify for the bar— but so far, that’s meant interview after interview that hasn’t panned out as he’s explained his situation, even though he’s memorized as many ins and outs of the law as possible.
He comes to a humble brick building— and becomes all too aware of his wool tie again. He pulls at the knot and steps inside, making his way up the stairs to the suite on the second floor, to a frosted glass door dignified only by gold lettering.
There’s some muffling behind the door, a couple shouts of excitement and a cool tone undercutting it all, but Hugh takes a deep breath and knocks thrice, the conversation ceasing immediately.
The door opens to the sight of a man in a brown button up, blue tie, and atrocious fedora. Standing near him a good few feet away is a woman about his own age in a tan trench coat over a pink waistcoat and navy shirt— that isn’t what gets Hugh’s attention, though— what does get his attention is her criminally high ponytail with a jingling hairpiece dangling from where it meets her head that jingles louder still when she turns around.
“Oh, hi! Are you Mr. Shields’ 10 a.m?” she asks, bringing a gloved hand to her chin as she beams.
“Er, yes,” he says, regaining his composure, pushing up his glasses.
“Ooh, guess that’s my cue to get outta dodge.” She produces a file— from where, Hugh’s eyes don’t catch— and hands it over to the other man. “Anyway, as promised, that file on you-know-who, stolen straight from the desk of one Sebastian Debeste on behalf of the Chief Prosecutor,” she chirps with a knowing wink.
The man’s smile, so cool before, falls to something earnest as he flips through it. “Oh… oh, this is great.” He beams. “She’s got an appeal in two weeks, and she needs a lawyer. If all goes well, she could be out.” Finally, the hatted man looks up. “And that’s where you’ll come in. You’re Hugh, right?”
“Er, yes. Sir,” he says, unable to stop fidgeting with his glasses. It’s become something of a bad habit ever since he learned about the bribery— the closest thing to a physical wall he can put up.
“Alright, come on back.” He turns to the woman once again and removes his hat for a quick bow. “Thank you, Kay. Tell Sebastian and Miles I said thank you, too.” Wordlessly, she smiles, gives a two-finger salute, and nearly dashes out the door, shutting it behind her.
The world blurs a bit as he follows the man down the hall and into a private office. It’s rather small, but full of character— the shelves are crammed with notebooks and framed photographs of all sorts of people— a woman with roses in her hair standing with a man with a white afro, what looks like a younger version of the woman he saw earlier and the Chief Prosecutor, a woman holding a gavel and standing proudly next to a man about his age holding a baton— and that’s just the start of it.
“Ray Shields,” the hatted man says, introducing himself with an extended hand. “The one and only full-time employee of Edgeworth Law Offices. The owner, too, but that’s not as important.”
Hugh shakes Ray’s hand and says, “Pleasure to meet you. I have an extra copy of my resume in—” he searches his bag for the folder that had a couple extra copies, but to no avail.
Shit.
Talk about being off to a bad start.
“I… seem to have lost it. My apologies.”
“It happens. Have a seat.” Ray says with a casual, almost knowing smile; he remains standing. He paces around the room, and it’s equal parts patient and assertive— then, he leans back on the side of his desk.
“You know, I’ve never really gotten the chance to have a student. The people I work with always end up teaching me more than I teach them.” His eyes widen a bit before falling back into his cool smile from before. “Sorry, this is about you, isn’t it?” He pulls a paper from the desk. “I know you already sent your resume my way, but tell me a little about yourself. I’m a little curious about this last part here. Says you had top grades at Themis Legal Academy and won the mock trial at their festival but dropped out the semester you were supposed to graduate.”
Hugh takes a steadying breath— this is the point where the interviewer at most firms before would force a smile after hearing his story; they would remain polite until he left, then send a rejection not 24 hours later. “It turns out that my parents were buying my grades. I’m sure you’ve heard about the arrest of Professor Means.”
Ray’s face remains stalwart, unflinching. “Read about it in the paper.”
“I wanted to make something of myself,” Hugh continues. “I didn’t want to be the product of my parents’ actions. I understand they did it to help, but… it didn’t. It only led me down a path where I thought myself to be above everyone else.”
A long silence follows, Ray staring him down with some inscrutable, durable gaze that clearly isn’t going to crack any time soon.
“Is that it?”
“I’m sorry?”
“I said,” Ray repeats, “is that it?”
Hugh’s face pulls into confusion. “I’m afraid I’m not sure what you mean.”
Ray starts laughing, and Hugh’s stomach sinks. Of course, this was an inevitability: to be laughed at, smiled at politely, called a failure in hushed whispers when people think he can’t hear them, to be nothing without his fool’s gold achievements in academics that don’t even matter in the long run.
“C’mon. Everyone in the legal system is connected. I knew about that little detail before your name even crossed my desk.”
“You… you did?” Hugh’s eyebrows shoot up. “Then… why am I here?”
“You know, you ask a lot of questions.” Ray laughs again. “I thought that was my job. But I’d love to know your own answer to that question of yours. Why are you here, Hugh?” His mouth pulls taut into a thin line.
“I… I want to uphold the letter of the law,” Hugh starts. “Before everything happened, I would’ve said something about using my intelligence to help other people. But now… I wanna make sure things are fair, like they should’ve been for the people I went to school with.”
Ray nods, a conceding pout. “Sounds good. How do you plan on doing that?”
Hugh manages to regain his bravado— it seems as if Ray’s gonna hear him out to the end in earnest.
It’s the first time he’s really felt listened to, if he really thinks about it. In class, he’d drone on about precedents, to the bored nods of his classmates and professors; even his parents at the dinner table would sit with taut smiles and say, “That’s nice,” but Ray is looking at him with what feels like a foreign but genuine intent to understand.
“I want to make sure everyone, whether innocent or guilty, gets a fair trial.”
Ray’s expression goes stony. “That means you could reduce the charges for murderers, you know.”
“That’s the point.” Hugh’s gaze falls into his lap. “After, well… everything, people wouldn’t give me a chance. They’d already judged me as a problem, and the only people who would talk to me were my friends. I… I’m lucky to have them. And… I want to be that person for other people. Someone who will believe in them, even if they’ve done something wrong. Someone who will fight for their fair treatment, for a consequence that fits the crime.” He looks up at Ray, who’s smiling. He looks almost… impressed.
“Good man.” After a quick glance toward the shelf of photos, he turns back and simply says, “Alright. Can you start now?”
“N-now? As in today?”
“Pretty sure that’s what now means, Hugh.” His face is back to its deadpan seriousness before cracking into a snicker. “Geez, I’m getting too old to frown.” He grabs what looks like the file from earlier and opens it. “We’ve got a case going to court soon. It’s an appeal for an old friend of mine. We’ve got a little errand running to do today, mostly. To Central Prison to chat with her for a bit, then scouting the public defender applications at the courthouse for prospective clients.”
Hugh cocks his head, his hair moving with it. “Isn’t this a private attorney’s office?”
“Doesn’t mean we can’t do a bit of good here and there.” Ray looks toward the shelf again. “You’re a law student. You wanna learn, right?”
Hugh becomes all too aware of his tie again.
“Er, yes. Of course.”
Ray walks over to the framed photos, waving him over. “What nobody tells you about being a defense attorney is that you learn a lot from your mentors and influences, sure, but you learn the most,” he taps the photo of the man with the afro, “from your clients. They’re the real teachers here. I’m just the one showing you how to file paperwork,” he adds, chuckling. He points at the woman with the roses in her hair, smiling fondly. “She taught me that behind every crime is a human being with experiences just as complex as our own, for better or worse.”
He points at the Chief Prosecutor and the woman from earlier. “They taught me that faith will often get you through when evidence can’t. And Prosecutor Debeste here,” he points at the judge and the man next to her, “taught me that even someone who’s failed can succeed under the right mentorship.” His eyes dart to a larger photo that hangs on the wall by itself, but it doesn’t escape Hugh’s notice.
“Gregory Edgeworth taught me everything I know about law. My clients have taught me everything I know about life, and I’m still not done learning. Nobody ever is,” Ray says, sounding pensive as he walks over to the photo— what looks like a younger version of himself with an older man bearing a striking resemblance to the Chief Prosecutor who wears a hat just like the one that sits atop Ray’s head. He turns back around to Hugh. “I think it’s about time I start teaching, though, if you’re ready to learn.”
“I am.”
By the time Hugh gets back home for the day, he’s been ran ragged: he’s had to taste some questionable confections offered by Ray’s client who had him giggling like some obviously lovesick fool the entire time, he’s had an encounter with the prosecutor from Ray’s photos who’s much more attractive in person, he’s gotten chased by a dog in an alley that was only appeased by a ribeye steak from the local butcher’s, and he’s investigated at least three other crime scenes that seemed so strange that they could be the set of an entire video game.
And he thought the Wright Anything Agency was abnormal.
His journey home is (thankfully) uneventful, save for the usual barrage of unusual people on the subway.
He turns his key into the lock of the apartment he shares with Robin and Juniper, and they’re both already chatting over takeout at the kitchen counter, but they both gasp out smiles when they notice him dropping his messenger bag onto the secondhand chair by the door.
“You’re back!” Juniper chirps, shoving a container in his hand. “We got dinner to celebrate our best friend’s new job,” she adds, somehow smiling even wider.
Hugh quirks an eyebrow, setting the paper box down on the table. “How did you know I was going to get hired?”
“Well, we figured you were either working all day today or that you got murdered. Myriam and I had a bet going for H-O-U-R-S!” It’s then that Hugh notices a box shuffling near the trash can, making a noise that sounds suspiciously like laughter.
“It wouldn’t be the first time a defense attorney was out for bloo—”
“Anyway! How was it?” Juniper interrupts, her eyes shining with enthusiasm after a quick glare towards the box. “Did you learn anything interesting?”
Hugh finally loosens his tie and smiles. “I did. But I’ve still got a long way to go.”