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Mia left four months ago.
Maya went back to Kurain three weeks ago.
And Phoenix Wright, rookie defense attorney, hasn’t taken a case ever since.
There are days when Phoenix enters the office and sits at his old desk. It still feels odd to cross the door, to sit where Mia used to sit. So now that Maya’s not here to take Phoenix’ seat at the reception, he works at his former desk.
When he does work.
Lately all Phoenix does is sit at his old desk. And then he goes over to the other room. He hallucinates sometimes, at least he thinks he does, because for an instant, for the shortest of moments Mia is here. The light flickers and she’s gone. Sometimes Phoenix can’t help but glance at the window. No, not the window. Just under the window. Where he stayed. Where minutes stretched for hours. Where he held her shoulder until he felt her body go completely cold.
Phoenix waters Charley and walks back to his desk.
Mia’s been here for all of Phoenix’ lawyering life. Before he even started being serious about it. She was here when he got the news, when he passed the bar. He will always remember how he couldn’t bear to open the envelope. He shoved it onto Mia and hid his face behind his hands. When he finally dared to look, he found Mia staring at him as if to say you want to stand in the courtroom, you want to go to war, but you can’t open an envelope. Phoenix knows her disapproving stare very well. He used to hate it, to hate how it made him feel to know that he disappointed the person he admired most. These days, he would give anything to disappoint her if it meant she could still be here with him.
That day, Mia had taken the envelope in her hands and stared at the envelope like she was scared of what was inside too. I remember when I got mine. That was all she said. A veil briefly passed over her eyes before the usual determined glint surfaced. Mia aggressively tore the envelope and Phoenix got scared she would rip the letter as well. But she didn’t. And then there was nothing but overwhelming joy on his mentor’s face when she showed him the letter. Phoenix didn’t ask Mia how she felt at the time, too preoccupied by his own envelope, his own verdict. Maybe if he had, she would have talked about her past, she would have talked about Kurain, about the expectations Mia had set for herself, the shadow she was chasing. Maybe she could have told him about Redd White.
Maybe.
Maybes are all Phoenix thinks about these days. Maybe he’s not fit to be a lawyer. Maybe he’s not fit to be anything at all. Maybe that’s why he sits at the reception desk and lets Mia’s life insurance money pay the rent and office expenses. Even from below the grave she has to provide for him, to help him just get by. Phoenix still has the decency to feel ashamed, but he doesn’t have the energy to do something about it.
These days, Phoenix has been touring the place like it’s the first time he’s ever been here. It’s like, with Mia’s parting, the office is a completely different place. Some new, gloomy and cold light is shed on the rooms Phoenix thought he knew. There are hints of Mia’s secrets everywhere, hints that make Phoenix’ chest grow tight when he realizes he never noticed what was right in front of him.
An old magatama, white sage and four orbs like the ones on Maya’s necklace kept in a box over the office fridge, hidden in plain sight as if Mia knew that was the best way for Phoenix never to question it or look inside. If Phoenix had just looked inside, if he had just been curious enough to ask the chief about it, maybe she would have told him about Kurain, about Misty Fey, about why she was doing all of this.
Mia’s list of names, the one Phoenix read out loud during the Redd White trial, carved on the coffee table, under Mia’s desk and certainly other places Phoenix hasn’t found out yet. Phoenix inexplicably burst into tears when he first saw the list again. He looked frantically for every other occurrence, moved furniture, moved everything. If he had found it earlier. If only.
A cardboard box hidden behind Mia’s oldest case files with two dusty white coffee mugs, a wooden name plate that reads ‘Mia Fey’ in shiny golden letters, and an old business card for Grossberg Law Offices with four lawyer names written on it. There’s also a lone key lying in the box and it’s the one item Phoenix can’t make sense of. He hasn’t found what it opens yet (none of the doors in the office; none of the doors at Grossberg’s office either–yes, Phoenix tried). Maybe he doesn’t need to know what the key opens. Maybe he’ll allow Mia to finally rest with all the secrets he didn’t know she had.
The thing about Mia is that she’s always felt approachable. She was so open and helpful that Phoenix never thought she had anything to hide. It was easy to believe that nothing was up with her. That she wasn’t in danger, that she wasn’t going after the most powerful man in town.
But the signs were here. Mia hid everything in plain sight. The magatama she always wore, the late nights she spent working when she didn’t even have a case… Now Phoenix starts remembering fleeting moments that made no sense. He wonders where she always disappeared off to, every Friday afternoon.
No, it’s not about a case. No, you can’t come with me. Maybe someday. Watch over the office, will you, Wright? I won’t be long.
She’s gone now. But she still haunts the place. She still haunts him in everything that he does. His mentor, his friend. Now Phoenix even misses her sister. Quite ironically, Maya kept him grounded.
Phoenix looks around. He can still remember the first day he stepped into Fey & Co. Law Offices. It wasn’t even a law office yet. The rooms were empty and Mia had asked Phoenix if he could help her move in. She apologized profusely, she said she knew it was around Phoenix’ finals, but Phoenix didn’t mind. It took his mind off the procrastinator’s guilt. When Mia opened the door to the office for the first time, Phoenix couldn’t help but be in awe. He remembers how his voice echoed in the empty rooms.
Wow, it’s a big office, chief!
It won’t look as big once I’m done moving.
How many lawyers do you figure you can fit in here?
About three. Might go up to four if we squeeze, but three is a good number for a firm.
But… you’re the only lawyer in the firm, chief.
For now. Okay, Wright, less yapping and more heavy lifting! Let’s get started. We have a big day ahead of us!
Phoenix lets out a bitter laugh.
No, he was definitely right. It’s a big office. A big, empty office.
And he’s all alone now.
He's on his own now.