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The knock came heavy against the door. He didn’t intend for it to ring out so loud. The smallest sign of his composure slipping perhaps. Back at the precinct, he had nearly shouted at one of his subordinates (or someone who would’ve been should he have not retired) for not being able to do the impossible, so his emotions growing hot enough to put cracks in his iron veneer was not out of the realm of possibility. He’d have the reign himself back in if that were the case. Nothing good could come from that. Mindlessly he moved a cherry flavored candy pop into his mouth, something to keep his indulgent side distracted.
His ears took his attention immediately as footsteps joined his knock as deafeningly loud sounds. The reflection in the plaque, a bronze label covered in smudged fingerprints, revealed some young businessman listening to music through headphones seemingly unbothered by whatever disruption he may be making with his flippant footfalls. In the margins between “Wright” and “Anything”, he watched the man prance over to the elevator. With each step a small part of his mind prepared for where he could run, duct behind, and return fire assuming this frolicking fool turned to foe. A silly idea on all fronts, but it was easy to form, difficult to prevent, and placed his mind back on work rather than tragedy.
When the door opened, the businessman's footsteps gone and replaced with lighter impacts dampened by the flimsy door, he thought he was prepared for anything. He was not prepared for a starry eyed young lady holding forth a fanned out deck of cards. “Welcome to the Wright Anything Agency, would you care to take a card?” she said with unwavering glee. It reminded him of the tone a young Kay would use right before sneaking up on some poor overworked prosecutor her dad was soon to face. It was almost enough memory to get him to grab a card. Almost. “I’m here to speak with Mr. Wright, Kid” he said, attempting to walk past the teen further into the cluttered office. She put the deck away, it disappearing somewhere up her sleeve, but continued to insist on blocking his way. “Da- Mr.Wright is busy right now,” she said, her voice recovering quicker than most. “If you’re looking for a lawyer, then you could consider one of our partners”.
It didn’t sound like a receptionist's voice, at least not superficially, but those words seemed to be the right combination to piss him off. Just that certain insistence of being shoved away from what he should be doing by someone so headstrong, seemed to act as a tow cable, dredging up day after day of working with prosecutors with more ego then sense. Once again he found himself going out of his way to do something good and now before him was an obstacle who held enough authority to halt him. Shit like this is why he retired. Shit like this-- No. He cut his mind off in its tracks. This was the same bullheaded mindset that had brought him here, there’s no need to yell at this girl. But there was a need to glare and hopefully get her out of her way. Perhaps the only look able to match the Chief Prosecutor's, it showed very little effect against this pest of a welcoming committee. It did manage to spook off another young lady who had the misfortune of walking in from one of the side rooms at just the wrong time.
“This is--” he begins, recentering himself with the taste of cherry against his tongue, “a personal matter”. The girl seemed satisfied with this answer, stepping aside with an understanding nod. “And this an urgent matter?” she asks, her voice gaining just an ounce of tact, as if she remembered that homicide was the primary driver of business here. A dry yes parsed his lips as he returned to the consideration that informed his drive from the precinct: how to break the news. He knew that there was no good way to do it, never in his life had he ever envied the paramedics whose entire job it was to do so, but his usual blunt delivery probably wouldn’t help anything. Regrets about not sending a junior officer crept in, before swiftly being discarded with the knowledge that they didn’t know the police chief. Then again, he didn’t know Phoenix Wright.
“Detective Badd?” the attorney asked, clearly half guessing off of a vague memory. “That is my name,” he said, the soot in his throat not helping his attempt at a lighter tone, “Or former detective, if the last decade’s to be believed”. “Oh yeah. Gumshoe did mention something about that,” he half whispered under his breath, though still clear enough to Badd and the young attorney cowering behind a molehill of paperwork. The smallest pause in these brief introductions was enough to make him decide on a course of action. “I’d like to have a chat, Mr. Wright,” he said, punctuating it with a simple, “A private chat”. There was another unending pause, before Phoenix sighed and asked Athena to step out for a moment. She retreated quick as could be, almost covering her ears as she passed by the former detective. He didn’t know why, and he didn’t care enough to ask. He just took a seat opposite of Wright, and breathed.
“Dick Gumshoe, the chief of police--” he paused, the slow formal march of his words felt wrong to hear. It felt wrong to hear them in his voice. It felt wrong to hear them in Miss Skye’s. They were words he shouldn’t have heard, period. He was there to congratulate a man he had seen take the mantle of leadership for a floundering force with goals to resharp it into something to be proud of; a task no less impressive then what the Prosecutor's office had begun half a decade ago. “4 Years” the banner proclaimed, a splotchy paint job done by break room invader and great thief Faraday. It was meant to be a small affair, with a cake and a few good words and a few bad jokes. And yet, there was an air of disappointment when he unknowingly placed the party on hold due to a small encounter while on the road. No one thought that it was anything. Worse case scenario this would become another Gumshoe great chase, concluding with a great reward once he returned with some not great thief at half past midnight.
Everyone returned to work, ready to listen for the sign that a break was imminent and a return to the break room was needed. The only person with a direct line to the chief was Ema. Being the only person with a strong enough will not to spill a hint to this unauthorized party, she was a natural choice. Nearly anyone else would’ve at least tried to get the man back sooner, or protest just enough to make him suspicious and inevitably ruin the surprise. This would also mean that no one knew exactly where he was. Ema had turned the radio down to a whisper, listening in only enough to know whether the chase was on or he was returning to base. She didn’t think what it meant when he described his situation as an “old fashioned car chase” and didn’t commit to memory the roads he was declaring.
“-- died in a car accident earlier today”. His mouth was dry as he parsed the faces that the attorney before him was making. Mr. Wright muttered Gumshoe’s name a few times, clearly taking a moment to think. “I see” he said, his voice airy, as if his lunge were in too much shock to muster a breath. Badd knew he had a second purpose here, yet the moment demanded his silence. The attorney shook his head and grabbed his phone. “Has his wife--?” he began, before discerning an answer from Badd’s look. “Could you inform the Chief Prosecutor?” he asked, feeling a weight grow on his shoulders. Phoenix gave him a look of indigent pain and sighed. “I can”