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Chapter Text

Miles fixed his tie in the courthouse bathroom mirror, taking great care to secure the knot at least three times before he was somewhat satisfied with how it looked. He then twisted the cold water knob of the sink, splashing his face in quick, short motions with the icy water to give himself a burst of energy. He couldn’t linger at the sink for too long — Larry and his father were waiting for him. Shaking his head to knock the water droplets away from his face, he leaned to the side and grabbed a paper towel out of the nearby dispenser and dried his face before placing his glasses back on; this was as ready as he was going to get. He adjusted the gold badge on his lapel, tried to smile to himself in the mirror, then exited the bathroom.

When he entered the defendant’s lobby, he saw Larry Butz pacing in frantic circles in the center of the room. Watching him with a tired expression was his father, who sat on one of the nearby couches with his legs crossed and the day’s newspaper folded neatly in his lap. “Ah, Miles,” Gregory Edgeworth nodded when he noticed his son. “There you are. Perhaps he will listen to you.” 

“I doubt—” Miles started to say before Larry rushed at him, tears streaming down his face.

“Edgey! I’m gonna die!” Larry bawled, clinging desperately to Miles’ suit jacket. “They’re going to send me to the electric chair!”

“Lawrence, please. You’re getting hysterical.” Gregory sighed. “You can’t go into this trial thinking that you’re going to lose. Please have some faith in me and my son, and please don’t wipe your snot on Miles’ jacket.”

“S-sorry Mr. E,” Larry sniffled. “A-and sorry, Edgey. I’m gonna ruin your fancy suit.”

“It’s fine,” Miles said, gently patting Larry on the back. “I don’t care about the suit. I care about proving your innocence.”

“Edgey!” Larry’s tears started all over again. “Y-you’re the greatest guy I know!”

“I would do anything to help a client—but you’re special,” Miles smiled at him. “You’re my best friend. And you’re not going to jail on my watch.”

“Wonderfully put, Miles,” Gregory said. He opened his briefcase and got up from the couch, handing Larry a tissue. Larry turned to accept it, then threw his face back into Miles’ jacket, loudly blowing his nose against his chest. “I think you’ll do just fine.” 

“I don’t have a choice,” Miles said as he tried to pry Larry off of him. “Larry can’t be convicted of murder, I won’t allow it.”

A bailiff then entered the lobby to fetch them. Larry fell slack against Miles as he saw the bailiff, and Miles was able to gently push Larry aside. He nodded at the bailiff,  a lump forming in his throat as he willed himself to walk out of the defendant lobby’s doors. His father touched his shoulder and gave him a comforting squeeze. “Relax. I’ll be with you the entire time.”

“It’s a bit hard to relax when your best friend is on trial for murder,” Miles said. “But I’ll try.”

They followed the bailiff as he led them to the outer doors of Courtroom Number 2. “The odds are in our favor,” Gregory said as they walked. “The prosecutor on this case is Winston Payne, and his bark is far worse than his bite.”

“Uncle Eddie said that you usually get into screaming matches with him,” Miles said. “Come to think of it, I don’t ever think I’ve seen you scream before. He must really rile you up.”

“Your uncle is being hyperbolic, as usual. Payne is the one who screams, not me. That man has a voice that could shatter glass,” Gregory snorted. “I ought to have brought earplugs with me—I apologize.”

The bailiff held the door open for them, and Gregory led the way inside. Miles and Larry trailed behind him like ducklings—a habit they never seemed to break out of, even after all these years. Gregory made it about halfway down the defendant’s side of the courtroom before he stopped dead in his tracks. “That’s not...”

“Father?” Miles asked, peering around his shoulder.

Miles had spent numerous years watching his father’s trials, and the man behind the prosecutor’s bench was dressed unlike any other person he’d ever seen in court. He almost didn’t know what century he was in as he looked at him. His suit looked modern enough—dark blue, black loafers, and an impressively fashionable (to Miles, at least) baby blue waistcoat. But it was the item around his neck that threw him the most. A garish, ruffled… thing was hanging off the center of his shirt collar. A cravat? Or was it technically a jabot? He thought it made the man look like a vampire. The dangling teal teardrop earrings that he wore didn’t help either. “Is that…Prosecutor Payne?”

“No,” Gregory was full-on staring now. “That’s—you’re…von Karma?” his voice was hoarse as he spoke.

Von Karma. Miles shuddered at the name. He had never met the man, but he’d heard plenty of stories from his father about their intense courtroom showdowns and longstanding bitter rivalry. Von Karma had it out for his father from the moment he received a penalty in court. Miles remembered that day well—he was in the gallery when the penalty happened, and he watched fearfully as von Karma’s face twisted into fury, contempt burning in the pits of his eyes. He raced into his father’s arms as soon as the trial ended; von Karma approached them as they hugged, and he desperately tugged on his father’s suit sleeve, making up some excuse to leave. Miles then hid in the bathroom after insisting that Gregory follow him in. He was still hiding in the stall when the earthquake struck…

Miles shivered; he hoped he’d never have to see Manfred von Karma ever again. But it wasn’t like the man behind the bench was any better. When Gregory uttered von Karma’s name, the man gave a sickening smirk.

“Ah, unfortunately, no. But I’m honored, Mr. Edgeworth,” he said, his smirk widening. Miles almost expected to see fangs, but the man’s canines looked normal. “I’ve heard plenty about you from my mentor. I’ve looked forward to facing you in court for some time now.”

“You’re—”

“Nick? NICK!” Larry cried out, nearly launching himself across the room. “That’s you, isn’t it? Nick Wright! I’d recognize those mismatched blue and brown eyes anywhere!”

“Ah, the man of the hour himself. What was it that we used to say? If something smells…” he said, rubbing his chin in thought. “Well, I never thought that would amount to a murder charge. Congratulations, you’ve somehow sunk lower than I could ever imagine.”

“Aw c’mon Nick, it’s us!” Larry said, gesturing to himself and Miles. “Your old pals! Don’t be like that! We’ve been trying to figure out what the hell happened to you for years!”

“Pals?” The man looked past Larry, past Gregory, and directed his attention at Miles. “You and…” his eyes widened, “ Miles? Miles Edgeworth? ” 

“Yes?” Miles asked, wanting to desperately sink into the floor. 

“Is that really you over there in those horrendously oversized glasses with a defense attorney’s badge stuck to your suit?”

“...Yes?”

“Oh my god,” he started to laugh. “I saw that the defense on this case was Edgeworth—I thought it was Gregory Edgeworth! N-Not Miles Edgeworth!” he held his stomach, laughing so hard that tears formed in his eyes. “So you actually did become an attorney! I don’t know if I should congratulate you or not!”

A memory suddenly came to him, racing into his head like a bullet train as he witnessed the tears welling up in the brown and blue eyes of the man in front of him. “Wait…” he murmured. “You’re…You’re Phoenix Wright!”

“You didn’t know ?” Wright asked. “Did you even read the details of this case? What kind of attorney are you?”

“Prosecutor Payne was supposed to—”

“Payne is sick.”

“Oh.” Miles shrank back, trying to hide himself behind his father. Gregory crossed his arms, looking unamused.

“Young man, I don’t know who you think you are, but the commentary regarding my son is highly unnecessary,” he said sternly. “As is the laughter. I advise you to stop and remember that you’re in a court of law. I highly doubt von Karma would approve of your behavior.”

“Keep that name out of your mouth,” Wright spat, the smirk instantly dropping from his face. “Especially considering your track record against him.”

“I see that you’ve inherited his obsession with ‘winning’ as well,” Gregory shook his head. “Come along, Miles, Larry. Let’s get ready.”

The smirk reappeared on Phoenix’s face. “Don’t prepare too much; this trial will be over in three minutes.” 

Gregory grunted and went to his spot at the defense’s bench. “Ignore him.”

“Nick man, what the hell happened to you?” Larry asked, glumly slinking his way to the defendant’s chair. 

“I would be worrying more about yourself, Mr. Butz, seeing as you’re about to get a guilty verdict,” Phoenix said, snapping open his briefcase. “Murderous scum.”

Larry, for once in his life, shut up.

Miles bit his tongue and set his brown satchel bag on the bench, his hands trembling as he tried to pull his files out. Any sense of confidence that he’d had in the bathroom was now lying in pieces on the floor.

“Don’t let him intimidate you,” a warm hand came down upon his own, stopping the trembles. Gregory was murmuring quietly to him, shooting glances at Wright out of the corner of his eye. “Focus on Larry. You believe he’s innocent, correct?”

Miles nodded. “One hundred percent.”

“Then let von Karma’s student bluster all he’d like. Justice will prevail in the end.”

“Thank you. I don’t know what I’d do without you,” Miles smiled a he re-adjusted his glasses with his free hand. He then directed his smile towards Larry, hoping to inspire confidence in the man, as well as in himself. “Don’t worry, we’re going to win.”

Larry remained silent and attempted to flash him a tearful smile in return. A fire suddenly lit itself within Miles. His father was right—he didn’t know who Phoenix Wright thought he was, but he was going to wipe that smug smile right off his face. 

The trial was turning into a disaster.

Wright had just submitted the murder weapon to the court—a statue Larry made in the shape of The Thinker . He then immediately proceeded to badger Larry, hurling insults left and right as he brutally destroyed his character in front of the court. But that wasn’t enough to satisfy his lust for carnage—after thoroughly trouncing Larry, he set his destructive sights upon the victim herself.

“Mr. Butz,” Wright said, interrupting another outburst from Larry on the stand as Miles desperately willed Larry to keep his mouth shut. “Surely you knew, right?”

Larry scowled. “Knew what? That I loved Cindy to death?” 

“I suppose the ‘to death’ part is accurate, thank you,” Wright bowed. Miles heard his father groan in frustration from his right. “But no. I was referring to the multiple ahem , lovers that she had.”

“Liar! She had eyes for me and me only!”

“Wrong. How do you think she funded her lavish lifestyle? Certainly not on modeling alone. We pulled her financial records.”

“I…I dunno. Maybe she had a side hustle? Like-like…knitting? And...selling her crafts to people?” Larry squeaked out.

Wright let out a cruel laugh. “No, Mr. Butz. She had several relationships with older men. In fact, she was in Paris until the day of the murder. I happen to have her passport with me,” Wright said, theatrically waving a blue book in his hand. “She quite enjoyed being a sugar baby.”

“O-objection!” Miles shouted, shakily pointing his index finger at Wright like he’d practiced in his mirror a hundred times before, in a pale imitation of his father. “This has nothing to do with the case!”

“Objection!” Wright rebutted, snapped his fingers at Miles like he was a misbehaving dog. “It has everything to do with the case. I’m discussing the motive here—Mr. Butz found out about her relationships and murdered her in a fit of jealous rage.”

“Where’s your proof of said relationships?”

“Proof? Please Mr. Edgeworth. That’s—”

“Multiple relationships?! ” Larry roared. “That-that cheating little…Argh! She’ll have hell to pay when I question her in the afterlife!”

The courtroom fell silent.

“And that,” Wright said smugly, “is all the proof I need. The prosecution rests.”

“My goodness! Well said, Prosecutor Wright!” The judge clapped politely. “You’ve done it again!”

Wright bowed. “Thank you, your Honor.” 

“He’s done nothing !” Miles exclaimed. “He’s offered zero substantial evidence! He’s-he’s bluffing his way through this trial!”

“Objection,” Wright didn’t even make eye contact with Miles this time; he just stared down at his fingernails in boredom. “Mr. Edgeworth, might I recommend that you focus on your client, who is currently in the midst of incriminating himself, instead of me?”

“Might I recommend, Mr. Wright, that you focus on the basics of law and provide evidence to the court, instead of slandering a dead woman!”

“Fine, you want evidence?” Wright asked, slowly dragging his gaze upwards before he made direct eye contact with Miles. “I’ll give it to you. The prosecution would like to summon Frank Sahwit to the stand!”

“There’s a witness? ” Miles hissed as Larry made his way off the stand. “Larry, you didn’t tell me or my father that!” 

“Cindy, how could you…” Larry grumbled, paying no heed to Miles. Miles could almost strangle him. He thought that defending his childhood best friend would be the perfect first trial for him as a new defense attorney—but now he was watching his dreams get flushed down the toilet in real time. 

The prosecution’s witness didn’t help. He was a smarmy-looking man, looking extraordinarily happy for a murder trial. 

“Sure, I saw the guy,” the witness, Frank Sahwit said, rubbing his hands together after Wright asked him a question. “I was in the apartment complex, selling newspapers, when I saw him run out of the lady’s apartment. He left the door wide open, so I went in to investigate, and then I saw her body! I ran out and used a payphone to call the police. It was about, oh, 1 pm.”

Miles jumped to attention from behind the bench. There’s an obvious contradiction here.

“Defense, you may now begin your cross—”

“Objection!”

“O-oh, that was rather sudden, Mr. Edgeworth,” the judge said. 

“I too am shocked by his lack of decorum, your Honor,” Wright said. Miles didn’t like how he looked at him—it reminded him of a predator sizing up his prey. “I suppose they don’t teach manners in school nowadays.”

Miles could have been combative and point out that they were the same age (and that Wright sounded like a crumbled old fogey), but decided not to take the obvious bait. He soldiered on, pretending as if Wright had never opened his big, fat mouth. "Sorry for the interruption, your Honor. But there is a contradiction within Mr. Sahwit’s statement that cannot be ignored. As I recall from the crime scene photos that Mr. Wright displayed earlier, the victim had a corded phone in her apartment. Mr. Sahwit,” Miles turned his attention to the smiling man on the stand. “Why did you simply not use the victim's phone to call the police?”

“W-well you see…” Sahwit started to fidget. Got him .

“Objection!” Wright cut in, and Sahwit visibly relaxed. “Honestly, Edgeworth, did you even read the briefing? Are you certain that your badge isn’t made out of cardboard?”

“I did, Mr. Wright. And perhaps you should focus more on the details of the case rather than needling me at every opportunity.”

“Then you must have been reading with your eyes closed. There was a five-hour blackout in the complex at the time of the murder. Mr. Sahwit couldn’t have used Ms. Stone’s phone.”

“I-I see…”

“Yes, and I see that they don’t teach reading comprehension in schools nowadays either.”

“Objection!” Gregory scowled and slammed his hand down on the defense’s bench, causing Miles to jump. “Your Honor, I request that the prosecution refrain from making sordid remarks about the defense. It’s highly unnecessary.”

“Ah, yes, of course Mr. Edgeworth! Prosecutor Wright,” the judge cleared his throat, trying his best to look stern. “Please be more respectful of the opposing counsel, lest you be found in contempt of court.”

Wright clicked his tongue. “It’s sad when you have to get your father to defend you, hm?” He said, quiet enough to escape the judge, but loud enough for Miles to hear. He then cleared his throat and smiled up at the judge. “Of course, your Honor. My apologies.”

“Thank you, prosecutor Wright. Mr. Sahwit? Would you like to give your testimony again?”

Miles seethed as Sahwit restarted his testimony, having a hard time focusing on what he was saying.

“Do you need me to take over?” Gregory asked quietly.

Miles grit his teeth. "No."

“Miles, it’s really no problem—”

“I said no!” This time Miles was the one to slam his hands down on the bench, causing Sahwit to pause mid-testimony. A hush descended upon the courtroom.

“Mr. Edgeworth?” The judge asked. “Er, the junior Mr. Edgeworth, I mean. Did you have an objection?”

Miles caught a glimpse of Wright’s smirk from across the room. He inhaled slowly and steeled himself. “...Yes, as a matter of fact, I do. I would like to discuss the autopsy report. Mr. Sahwit?”

“Yes?” Sahwit started to fidget again. Miles noticed that he had had his hands clenched so hard that his knuckles turned white.

“You’re certain the time was 1 pm when you saw my client?”

“...Yes?”

Miles tapped his finger against his temple and smirked. “Thank you. You’ve been very helpful—this proves that my client could not have committed the crime.”

“Oh please . Who’s the one bluffing now?” Wright commented.

“Not me,” Miles said. “Did you even read the autopsy report, Mr. Wright? Ms. Stone’s time of death was 4 pm. It would have been impossible for Mr. Sahwit to find her dead at 1.” 

“Well, that’s easy to explain,” Wright said casually as if they were discussing the weather instead of a brutal murder. “He simply forgot the time.”

“Ah, if I may interject?” the judge asked. “I have to say that I doubt that explanation, Mr. Wright. Mr. Sahwit—”

“It was 1 pm! I’m not lying, I swear!” Sahwit interrupted, stomping his foot on the ground. “She was killed at 1!”

“And what makes you certain of the time?” the judge asked.

“I heard it on the TV!”

Miles snorted. “Objection. Didn’t the prosecution just claim there was a five-hour blackout? Are you lying to the court, Mr. Sahwit? That’s a crime, if you’re unaware.”

“O-oh silly me. I m-must be mistaken!” Sahwit let out a nervous laugh. “It wasn’t the TV, it was that hideous clock in the shape of The Thinker! That’s where I saw the time.”

“That is nothing remotely close to what you just said,” Miles rolled his eyes. “First you claimed it was the TV, and now you say you saw the time from a clock? Why are you lying to the court so much, Mr. Sahwit? That object—the murder weapon—that you saw was a statue, not a clock. What are you trying to hide?”

“Uh…You see, I must have…I…I…” Sahwit looked at Wright. “Help?”

“Honestly,” Wright sighed, looking as composed as ever. “Mr. Sahwit is telling the truth. The murder weapon is a clock. If you tilt the neck, it reads the time out loud. Mr. Sahwit heard the clock call out the time from the entrance of the apartment. Remember, Mr. Butz struck Ms. Stone with the clock. In doing so, the neck of the clock was moved, activating its voice function. Simple as that.”

“Bull—I mean, objection!" Miles pointed, this time with vigor. “There is absolutely no way Sahwit could have known that the statue was a clock without holding it himself! Yet he claimed not to have entered the apartment. I think…” He smiled at Sahwit, who was now visibly sweating. “I think Mr. Sahwit struck the victim with the clock, rather than Mr. Butz. I also believe you were correct in you deduction, Mr. Wright. When Mr. Sahwit struck the victim with the clock, the neck was moved, and the clock spoke the time out loud. It clearly left a strong impression on him.”

The courtroom fell silent for a third time. Wright gaped at him. “Did you just accuse my witness of murder?”

“Yes, and I’m confident in—”

“You…You…You HALF RATE DEFENSE ATTORNEY!” Sahwit bellowed. His hand flew straight to his scalp and he pulled at his hair, ripping the toupee from the top of his head and launching it straight at Miles. Miles let out an undignified yelp and ducked down as the toupee went soaring above him, hitting the wall behind the desk with a pathetic thump .

“Nice dodge,” Gregory nodded, index finger and thumb on his chin in contemplation. “It took me several years before my reflexes were as sharp as yours. I’ve had many things thrown at me in court, but a toupee is a first.”

“It’s times like these that I’m thankful that I grew up with Larry,” Miles said as he stood upright. He placed his index and middle fingers against his neck and felt his heartbeat hammering through his veins. “Especially when he went through his WWE obsession.” 

He smoothed the wrinkles out of his pants and when he looked up, he happened to catch Wright’s eye from across the room—lips twitching as a genuine smile attempted to form on his face. When he saw Miles looking at him, he quickly bit the corners of his mouth and forced his face back into a neutral expression. 

Another outburst from Sahwit quickly drew both of their attention back towards the witness stand.

“You have ZERO evidence to support your claims!” Sahwit was still red-faced and out of breath. “If you’re going to make such awful accusations against me, I’m leaving!”

“If you’d like evidence linking you to your crimes, I’ll happily oblige,” Miles said calmly. “Your Honor? Would you erm, do the honor?”

“Oh yes! I’m quite curious about the clock. Thank you, Mr. Edgeworth!” The judge’s eyes gleamed like he was a child on Christmas morning. He gripped the neck of the clock and tilted it backwards, and the clock called out the time—three hours behind the current time. Miles smirked.

“Thank you, your honor. Well, Mr. Sahwit? How’s that for your evidence?” he asked. “The clock is currently three hours behind. Ms. Stone died at 4 pm; if you heard the time as 1 pm, well now, that would explain the discrepancy, wouldn’t it?”

Sahwit began to sweat, and stains formed underneath his armpits. “Wrong—WRONG!” he bellowed again as Miles braced himself for another attack. Luckily it appeared that Sahwit was out of hair projectiles. “It’s three hours behind NOW, but where’s the proof that it was running three hours behind on the day of the murder, hm? HM?!” Sahwit jabbed his finger rapidly in the direction of Miles. “You no good snake-in-the-grass lawyer!”

“I…That is to say…Erm…” Miles hemmed and hawed. Sawhit made a good point; he had no proof. 

“If the defense is finished, I see no reason to keep Mr. Sahwit on the stand,” Wright interjected. The smug smile was back on his face—any bit of humanism that he’d displayed earlier was long gone. “He’s extremely upset and fragile, as you can see.”

And so Miles did what he had always done when he was scared and panicking; he turned to his father and asked, “Help.”

“Do you think Sahwit did it, Miles?” Gregory asked, appearing as calm and collected as he always did, despite the fact that they were on the brink of losing. 

“Yes, I’m sure of it. I can tell based on his testimony and his reaction, but if I don’t prove it, then Larry is going to jail on a murder charge.”

“Then you must prove it.”

“How? There weren't any other witnesses, or a camera! How can I prove it?”

“Breathe, Miles,” Gregory placed his hand atop Miles’ shaking one. “You have everything you need in order to prove our client’s innocence. Your panic is clouding your thoughts. Now think—why would the clock be three hours behind?”

Miles glanced down at the surface of the bench where his documents and notes were strewn about. “I’m not sure…I don’t think Larry would mess it up like that on purpose. Ms. Stone must have tinkered with the time for some reason. She was in Paris…” Miles trailed off, and then it suddenly dawned on him.

Eureka.

“She was in Paris!” he exclaimed out loud.

“What?” the judge asked. “What about Paris? Have you ever been, Mr. Edgeworth? I’ve heard it’s quite nice this time of year.”

“This is meaningless,” Wright grunted. “Mr. Sahwit, you may leave the stand.”

“Hold it!” Miles bellowed, pointing at Sahwit. “Ms. Stone was in Paris until the day of the murder, a fact that Mr. Wright happily pointed out for us.”

“Yes, visiting her sugar daddies,” Wright waved his hand. “A point that incensed your client into a confession, as I recall.”

“Paris time,” Miles continued, ignoring Wright’s bait, “is nine hours ahead of Los Angeles’.”

“So?”

“So the clock is nine hours ahead instead of three hours behind, as Ms. Stone neglected to reset the time upon her return. When Mr. Sahwit struck Ms. Stone, the clock was announcing that it was one in the morning, not one in the afternoon.”

Wright’s jaw dropped as he was rendered momentarily speechless. “That…That is an absurd claim to make—”

“AHHHHH!” Sahwit bellowed, clawing at his face. “Fine—FINE! I did it! I killed her! I killed her with the clock!”

“ What?! ” Wright yelped. “You can’t just say that!”

Sahwit continued to yell until he fell backward on the stand, smacking his head against the floor below. Wright’s yelling filled the silent void after Sahwit went down, and was only stopped by the rapid banging of the judge’s gavel.

“Order! Order! My goodness,” the judge said as Wright and the gallery quieted down. “This has certainly turned out differently than we all expected. Bailiff, please escort the witness to the medical station, and then place him under arrest. Mr. Edgeworth? Er, the junior Mr. Edgeworth?”

“Yes, your honor?” Miles asked, quickly standing to attention as he tried to ground himself back into reality after Sahwit’s confession.

“I must say I’m impressed. I don’t think I’ve ever seen someone defend their client so quickly AND find the culprit, all in one session! The senior Mr. Edgeworth should be very proud of you.”

“I am,” Gregory said, moving a finger underneath the rim of his glasses to wipe away a tear that had formed “Thank you, your Honor.”

“Of course. At this point, it is a formality, but I will state it for the records regardless. This court finds the defendant, Mr. Lawrence ‘Larry’ Butz…Not Guilty!”

The final smack of the gavel upon the judge’s walnut desk was the sweetest sound Miles had ever heard.

“Edgeyyyyy, you’re my best friend in the whole wide world, you know that, right?” Larry hadn’t let go of Miles since the moment they returned to the defense lobby. Right now he was clinging to Miles’ left arm, tears and snot dripping down his face, eerily mimicking his behavior from earlier.

“Y-yes, I got the picture after the first five times you stated that,” Miles said, politely trying to pry Larry off his arm. “I’m glad I was able to adequately defend you.”

“Adequately?” Larry sniffled. “Are you kidding? That was AMAZING! You were like a superhero up there! You are a superhero, you’re MY superhero—” 

“Alright, Milesarino!” Eddie Fender, Gregory’s legal partner (and Miles’ honorary uncle), strolled through the doors of the defense’s lobby, arms out and poised for a hug. “That’s how you do it! You were amazing out there!”

Miles was thankful for the excuse that he now had to shove Larry away from him as he walked into his uncle’s arms. Eddie pulled him into a tight embrace. “I’m proud of you, kiddo. You’re living up to the family name!”

“Thank you, Uncle Eddie,” Miles smiled as he inhaled the comforting scent of Eddie’s bargain-bin cologne. “I had a feeling that you’d come to watch, though I didn’t want to impose it upon you.”

“Are you kidding? I wouldn’t miss your debut for anything! If I did, your old man would kill me.”

“Don’t be hyperbolic Edward,” Gregory said. “Though I would have been rather disappointed in you if you did miss it, especially considering how extraordinary the trial was. You’d be kicking yourself for weeks if you hadn't come.”

“Got me again, boss-man” Eddie grinned, slapping Miles on the back before freeing him from the confines of his hug.

The doors to the lobby opened again, and an unrecognizable man and woman entered the room.

“Holy shit , look at that babe…” Larry murmured. Miles sharply sent his elbow into Larry’s side as the woman approached him with a smile.

“Miles Edgeworth?” she asked, extending her right hand.

“Erm, yes, that’s me,” Miles stared down at her outstretched hand. “D-do I know you? Apologies if I do, it’s been an eventful day.”

“No, I don’t think you do,” she chuckled. “It’s alright. I’m Mia Fey, of the Fey and Co. Law Offices. My boyfriend and I were in the gallery today. That was a phenomenal trial, congratulations!”

Miles relaxed and took her hand, shaking it firmly. “Thank you, Ms. Fey. I’ve heard my father mention your name, it’s an honor to know that you were watching.”

Fey aimed a smile at Gregory. “Good mentions, I hope.”

“Of course,” Gregory nodded. “I have nothing but respect for the way that you and Mr. Armando run your trials. You’re two people after my own heart.”

“I’m flattered, old timer,” the man (Mr. Armando, Miles assumed), grinned, making direct eye contact with Miles. “Way to go! You showed that pompous asshole a thing or two!”

“I wouldn’t call him pompous ,” Miles said, in an attempt to be polite. 

Armando snorted. “Then I’ll do it for you. I’ve faced Trite in court before and he’s trounced me—glad someone around here could put von Karma’s lapdog in his place.”

“Do you come up with nicknames for everyone?” 

“Only for those I love, and those I hate. But don’t worry, you’re not on my list. You did good, kid. Even with a crazy client like yours.”

“I’m not crazy!” Larry huffed, looking sour as Armando placed his arm around Fey’s shoulders. “I was fighting for my life up there!”

“And incriminating the hell out of yourself,” Armando snorted. “Your poor attorneys. I would have strangled you myself if I was down there. But anyways…I have a question for you.”

“I-Is it a nice question…?”

“Course. My girlfriend,” he pulled Fey in close, “is really interested in that clock of yours. I was wondering if I could commission you to make another one.”

“Diego, really, it’s unnecessary…” Fey blushed. “I’m sorry, Mr. Butz. Please don’t trouble yourself, you’ve been through a lot—”

“Here!” Larry cried out, hands flying into a raggedy backpack on a nearby coffee table. He pulled out a Thinker clock and thrust it into a startled Fey’s hands. “It’s on the house!”

“This isn’t…the murder weapon, right?” Fey grimaced. “I don’t want to own a clock that killed a woman, and it would be illegal for you to take this from the evidence pile.”

“It’s another one,” Larry said, looking glum. “I made two to commemorate me and Cindy. But after all this…well, I don’t want it anymore. It’s just a reminder of a doomed relationship.”

Fey looked at the clock, then back to Larry, before gently placing it into his hands. “I can’t take this from you,” she said, shaking her head. “Not when you made it for the woman you loved.”

“She didn’t love me, though. You heard Nick out there; she had flings with multiple guys…”

“Mr. Butz, if I may be crass for a moment, Prosecutor Wright was talking out of his ass. Take it from me—Ms. Stone loved you.”

“How would you know? You don’t even know me!”

“Because she kept your clock,” Fey said, patting the top of the clock’s head. “She even took it halfway around the world with her. She wouldn’t have done that if she didn’t love you.”

“C-Cindy…” Larry stared down at the clock and started to bawl. He then threw his tear and snot-filled face back into Miles’ suit.

“Sorry,” Fey smiled at Miles apologetically. “I was trying to comfort him. I can pay for the dry cleaning.”

“It’s alright,” Miles responded. “I came to terms with the fact that my suit would be ruined by Larry a long time ago. If you haven't caught on by now, he's very theatrical.”

“Edgey! She loved me! She loved me!” Larry sobbed into Miles’ chest.

“See?”

“I do. I’m glad he has such a supportive friend who doubles as a brilliant defense attorney,” Fey’s smile widened, and Miles’ cheeks turned cherry-red. “I look forward to seeing more of your trials, Mr. Edgeworth. Please don’t hesitate to reach out to me for advice.” She reached behind her and grabbed Armando’s hand, giving it a gentle squeeze. “Come on, Diego. I think we’ve bothered them enough.” 

“Wait!” Larry cried out, throwing himself off of Miles. The force of his sudden movement nearly knocked Miles to the ground. Larry rushed towards Fey and Armando and pushed the Thinker clock back into Fey’s hands. “Take it!”

“But this was a symbol of your relationship—”

“It’s fine,” Larry shook his head. “I’ll be okay with my memories of Cindy. Take the clock—I don’t think I could stand to look at it anyway, not after what happened to her.”

“Are you sure?”

“If you don’t take it I’m gonna throw it out.”

“Sold,” Armando grinned. “Thanks, kid. What do I owe you?”

“Nothing. Well…Maybe dinner?” Larry scratched his chin in thought. “Or a gift card? For dinner?”

“Larry, that’s not appropriate,” Miles sighed. He bowed his head apologetically at Armando. “Please excuse my friend.” 

“Ah, what the hell, why not?” Armando waved his hand. “We can celebrate the verdict. Besides, I want to pick your brain a bit, attorney to attorney.”

“You want me to come?” Miles asked, surprised. “This was only my first trial, and I feel like I could do better—”

“You did fine. And bring your old man and his associate too. I have a lot of respect for the Edgeworth Law Co., and it’s always fun to swap stories.”

“A free dinner sounds good to me!” Eddie clapped his hands together with a grin. “Go ahead and pick the spot, L-man, and make it good! None of your usual convenience store garbage. Last time you came by, you brought those weird gas station hotdogs, and we all got sick.”

“You told me that you liked those!” Larry huffed. “So you all lied to me? Even Mr. E and Edgey?!”

“I’m not a part of this,” Gregory said, suddenly focusing on the ficus in the corner. “My, what an interesting plant; it’s gotten so big since I’ve last been in this room…”

The sound of a default cellphone ringtone cut through the background argument of the pros and cons of hotdogs that Larry and Eddie were having. Fey pulled a small flip phone out of her pocket, juggling the unwieldy clock in her other hand. “Hello? Oh, Maya! Is everything alright…? Good, good. I just got done watching the most incredible trial—hang on, it’s a little loud in here.” 

“I’ll let you know what we pick. You go talk to your sister,” Armando said, pecking Fey on the cheek. “And tell her I said hi. It’s been too long since we’ve seen her.”

Fey smiled at him and headed for the lobby doors. “Sorry, could you repeat your question? Diego says ‘hi’ by the way…”

“Alright, kid, you pick,” Armando said to Miles once Fey left the room. “I don’t think your friend is going to quit arguing anytime soon, and I’m about five seconds away from eating the upholstery off the couches over there.” 

“A wise decision, he and my uncle are known for their hours-long arguments,” Miles said. “There’s a nice brewery downtown that we take Larry to on his birthday—he loves their gimmick burgers. I’ll give you the address.”

As Miles fished for a piece of scrap paper in his pocket, his thoughts drifted to Phoenix Wright. When the judge announced the not-guilty verdict for Larry, Wright was stone-faced, but his eyes told another story. His eyes seemed…afraid. Miles didn’t know why, but the fear in Wright’s eyes bothered him immensely. He wondered if he was still around—perhaps he could speak with him…

His train of thought was interrupted once Armando loudly announced that he was heading to the brewery downtown. As soon as Larry heard the name of the restaurant, he stopped arguing with Eddie and ran towards the lobby doors, demanding that the rest of them follow suit. Miles sighed to himself and retrieved his satchel bag before following his father to the front of the room. He figured he was overthinking things—Phoenix Wright would be fine. Losing in court wasn’t the end of the world.

Chapter Text

It was pouring down rain the day they learned about Mia Fey.

Miles was sitting at his tiny desk in the corner of his father’s law firm, half working on legal documentation and half working through his book of sudoku puzzles, when the phone on his father’s desk rang, jarring them from their rainy day stupor.

“Edgeworth Law Co., Gregory Edgeworth speaking,” Gregory said into the phone. “Hello? Mr. Armando? Slow down, I can’t understand you…” Gregory’s frown increased as he listened to the voice on the other end of the line. “Could I give you my cellphone number? I’m going to step out into the hallway for a moment. Thank you.”

As soon as he gave out his number, Gregory hung up and rushed out the door, leaving Eddie and Miles alone in the office.

“Whew, boy, sounds like we just got something serious,” Eddie whistled. “And the boss-man doesn’t want us to hear. What do you think it is, Milesy?”

“A murder. I’m certain of it,” Miles frowned into his sudoku book. “And based on my father’s reaction, it’s sensitive information. Why else would he leave the room?”

“You think he’ll tell us?”

“He’ll have to. You won’t stop hounding him until he does.”

“Right as always, Milesy. You sometimes scare me with how insightful you are; it’s a little freaky.”

Miles snorted and went back to working on his puzzle. He could hear the muffled sounds of his father’s voice from the hallway as his volume grew louder and became more frantic.

Gregory entered the office a few minutes later, looking grim. 

“Who died?” Eddie immediately asked

Gregory sighed and rubbed the bridge of his nose. “It’s terrible, Edward. Ms. Mia Fey — ”

“ She died?!”

“Let me finish,” Gregory looked sternly at Eddie, who gulped and sank into his chair. “Mr. Armando is incredibly distraught at the moment, and this is not a situation to be taken lightly. As I was saying, Ms. Mia Fey…She was attacked in her office late last night. Bludgeoned with the statue that Lawrence gave to her.”

Miles felt like he was going to throw up. “I-In the same way that Larry’s girlfriend died?” he croaked out.

“Yes, but fortunately, Ms. Fey isn’t dead. Mr. Armando was able to get her to the hospital in time. Unfortunately, she’s in a coma, clinging to life.”

“So why did he call? It wasn’t a recommendation for an estate lawyer, was it?” Eddie asked.

“ Edward. ” Eddie sank further into his chair at Gregory’s tone until he was almost on the floor. Gregory cleared his throat. “ Ahem . Mr. Armando called looking for a defense attorney. Ms. Fey’s sister is being charged with the attack and is currently being held down at the detention center. He said that he’d defend her himself, but he can’t leave Ms. Fey’s side, or rather, he won’t leave Ms. Fey’s side.”

“So you’re taking on the case?” Miles asked, the gnawing sensation in his stomach growing by the minute. “But aren’t you and Uncle Eddie swamped with cases right now?”

“That’s where you come in. Miles,” Gregory said, turning his attention to him. Miles didn’t like the mournful look in his father’s eyes. “Could I ask you to take on this case? For me?”

“I’d…I’d do it, even if it wasn’t for you,” Miles said. “You obviously believe in the innocence of Ms. Fey’s sister.”

“I do, and so does Mr. Armando,” Gregory nodded. “He’s worried about her—she’s a 17-year-old girl spending the night in the detention center downtown. Could I ask you to visit her? Now, perhaps?”

“Of course,” Miles brushed aside his paperwork and puzzle book, letting them fall to the floor as he grabbed his satchel bag. “You don’t have to ask me twice.”

Miles didn’t know what to expect when the guard escorted his client to him. His father had said she was young, but witnessing her enter the room broke his heart. She sat in the chair on the other side of the glass, eyes downcast.

“Hello,” Miles spoke into the microphone on the desk. “My name is Miles Edgeworth, and I’ll be defending you.”

The girl mumbled something but didn’t look up.

“Miss…Fey, is it?” Miles asked again. “I understand you’re going through a difficult time, but I need you to answer some questions for me.”

“Maya,” she said.

“What?”

“My name is Maya,” she repeated, raising her head. Tears streaked down her cheeks, the marks shimmering like diamonds underneath the bright fluorescent lights. “P-please don’t call me Miss Fey, that’s what people called m-my, m-my s-sister…Oh, Mia!” she started to sob into her hands. “Mia, Mia! Why?”

“D-Do you need a moment?” Miles asked. “I can step out.”

“Nooooo!” Maya exclaimed, pressing her hands up against the glass. The sudden motion almost made Miles fall out of his chair. “Don’t leave me!”

“I won’t, I promise,” Miles said after momentarily catching his breath. “But you have to answer my questions. I can’t build your defense if you don’t.”

“I don’t know if I can. I-I already told the guy with the spiky hair everything!”

“Y-you spoke,” Miles' stomach bottomed out. “You spoke with Prosecutor Wright?”

“Yeah. He was a real weirdo!” Maya suddenly looked indigent. “I got pulled into a room with a loooong table and the world’s dimmest lamp, and then he offered me coffee, tea, or water. Who does that?”

“Miss F- Maya, that's a common courtesy for an interrogation — ”

“I don’t care—It was probably poisoned! I wouldn’t put it past that black-quilled lunatic!” 

Miles did his best to stifle a chuckle. After all, he was here representing his father—he must remain poised, dignified, and respectful. “What did you tell him?”

“To get bent.”

“ What? ”

“Yeah, I mean, what did you expect? He said I tried to kill my sister! Wouldn’t you do the same?”

“I’m an only child, so I’m afraid I cannot speak in regards to the matter of —”

“Well, okay then. Say you were accused of trying to kill your best friend, and then some weirdo wearing a tissue around his neck flashed his fancy badge at you and started pointing a big, rude index finger in your face. You’d do what I did, right?”

An image of Larry flashed into his head. “I don’t think I’d be quite so… passionate, ” he said. “But you didn’t tell him anything else? Besides the uh, part about ‘getting bent?’”

“Nope!” Maya said proudly. “Not even after he begged!”

Miles quirked an eyebrow. “Excuse me, he did what?”

“He clasped his hands together and said, ‘Please, Miss Fey, it would be in your best interest to tell us the truth.’” Maya said, imitating Wright's voice. “‘Your sister is in a coma, and her boyfriend is distraught. He implored us to bring her potential killer to justice. You’re only hurting him more by refusing to speak with me.’”

“Oh, please . Mr. Armando said no such thing!”

“Right? I know!” Maya nodded. “If you’re going to lie through your teeth, at least make it believable. Diego would never be as melodramatic as that. He’d tell spike-head the same thing I did: get bent!”

Miles relaxed in his chair. “You did the right thing, Maya. And please don’t speak with him or any member of the police without talking to me, okay?”

“I wouldn’t anyways—they’re all a bunch of weirdos. The only one I liked was Detective…um, Gumtree? I think that’s what his name was. He was in Mia’s office after I was arrested and told the officers to be nice to me.”

“Detective Gumtree, right…” Miles wrote the name down in his notebook. “I’ll speak with him and get the details of the case. Are you going to be alright if I leave?”

“I don’t have much of a choice, do I?”

Miles frowned and set his notebook down. “Miss — Maya, yes you do,” he said. “I can stay here with you if you’re scared.” 

“I’ll be okay. You should go to sis’ office. That’s where it…happened,” Maya grimaced. “And could you water Charley for me? I want him to look his best when Mia comes back.”

“Charley?”

“You’ll see him when you go in — can’t miss him! He’s the tall guy in the corner with the leaves.”

Miles parked his burgundy sedan outside the building that housed the Fey and Co. Law Offices. As he rode the elevator up to the 10th floor, he readied himself for what he would find, mentally preparing his arguments should members of the police still be around. He walked through the appropriately marked door and was accosted immediately.

“Hey, pal! I don’t know who you think you are, but you can’t come waltzing into a crime scene!” a tall man in a ratty green overcoat said. “Didn’t you read the signs?”

“The only sign was the one indicating that this was the Fey and Co. Law Offices,” Miles replied.

The man paused. “...Huh, guess I forgot to put that up on the door. Whoops! Anyway, the office is closed, sorry! If you need an attorney, you have to go elsewhere.”

“I don’t need an attorney; I am an attorney. Not that it matters at the moment—I’m here for the plant,” Miles said, hoping the man would buy his excuse.

“The…plant?” the man scratched his head. “Boy, I’ve met some wacky attorneys in my lifetime, but I don’t think I’ve ever met one that wanted to represent a plant. Mr. Wright didn’t say anything about that.”

Miles paused. “Mr. Wright? Prosecutor Wright? You know him?”

“Sure thing, pal! He’s my boss and the greatest prosecutor around!”

“You must be Detective Gumtree then,” Miles nodded. He reached into his pocket and pulled out his golden attorney badge. “Miles Edgeworth, attorney at law. I’m representing Miss Maya Fey and was hoping to look around.”

“It’s Gumshoe,” the detective grunted. “Do I look like a tree?”

Miles decided not to comment on the fact that he was tall and green. “My apologies. I — ”

“Anyways, Prosecutor Wright said not to let anyone ‘poke around’ the crime scene,” Gumshoe continued. “But…We’re done investigating, and I…Kind of feel bad for that poor girl. Even if she’s a killer. I don’t know what could drive someone to try and kill their own sister, but…I guess I can let you look around.”

Miles relaxed. “Thank you. Would you be willing to give me any case details?”

“Well…Mr. Wright said not to do that either,” Gumshoe rubbed the back of his neck.

“Detective,” Miles said. “Come now. There’s a 17-year-old girl in jail and a woman clinging to life in the hospital. It wouldn’t hurt to give me details—it’s only fair, right?”

“I’m really not supposed to. If Prosecutor Wright found out, I’d be in huge trouble, and he gets scary when he’s mad. The last time I got lectured, he busted out a comparison to some Shakespeare play. I was in a brain fog for the entire day after that!”

“Detective, please? I don’t want to get mean.”

“Mean? No offense, pal, but you look like you’d get knocked over in a strong wind,” Gumshoe snorted. “But…I guess I could give you the crime scene report. I also have the girl’s cell phone. Some guy named Armando keeps calling, and it looks pretty important.”

Gumshoe dug around in his coat pockets and produced a small pink phone with a…Miles’ eyes widened. 

A Steel Samurai charm on the antenna.

He immediately snatched it from the detective’s hands, causing him to let out an indignant “Hey!” before he pocketed the phone—he’d be having an intense conversation with Maya later. He then turned his focus back to the detective. “Thank you for the phone.”

“Not like I had much of a choice, pal.”

Miles ignored him and stretched out his hand expectantly. “The crime scene report, detective?”

“Sheesh, you lawyers are sure impatient,” This time, Gumshoe opened up his coat and pulled out a folder from under his armpit. He opened it, pulled out a stack of hastily stapled papers, and handed them to Miles. “Here.”

“Do you just keep that folder with you at all times?” Miles asked. “Doesn’t that get uncomfortable? Why not get a bag?”

“Prosecutor Wright is real insistent about keeping crime scene documentation and evidence out of public view, so I decided awhile ago to keep things close to me. That way, I never lose them!”

“That’s rather…interesting. I’ve never heard of that before, but I suppose there’s a first for everything. Thank you.” Miles slid the report into his satchel bag. He’d review it when the detective wasn’t hovering around. He made his way to the desk in the corner and started opening drawers, feeling the detective’s eyes on him.

“Detective,” he said after a bit. “Don’t you have anything better to do? Why are you still here?”

“Hey, this is my scene, pal. Don’t act like you’re in charge of me,” Gumshoe grunted. “...Truthfully, I’m supposed to investigate at the hotel next door, but I don't want to. The witness that Prosecutor Wright wants me to question is…strange. I don’t like the way she looks at me.”

“Witness? There was a witness? How? ”

“She was staying in a room at the hotel across the street,” Gumshoe pointed out the window. “And saw the victim’s sister enter the office and strike her.”

Miles pulled out a small, spiral-bound notepad and wrote down everything the detective said. “Mhm, and how could she tell it was Maya Fey?”

“I dunno, I haven’t talked to her yet. That’s just what Mr. Wright said.”

Miles snapped the notebook closed. “Thank you, Detective. You’ve been very helpful. I’ll be taking my leave now.”

“Huh?” Gumshoe asked, confused. “But didn’t you say you were here to investigate? And also something about a plant?”

“Ah, yes. Please water that for me after I leave.” Miles smiled and headed for the door. “There’s a bottle of water on the reception desk. Good day to you,” he said before leaving Mia Fey’s office. He was thankful that the detective working on this case had loose lips—this made his job much more manageable.

Miles didn’t return to Edgeworth and Co. Law office until late afternoon. When he returned to the office suite, he immediately beelined towards his desk without greeting his father or uncle. Both men shared a concerned glance before looking back at him. 

“Miles?” Gregory asked as Miles sank into his chair and closed his eyes. “Is everything alright? You’ve been gone an awful long time.”

“You don’t look so good either,” Eddie quipped.

“I’m fine,” Miles mumbled, massaging his temples. “I just…I had to deal with a very unique woman. She took up so much of my time, and I couldn’t reconvene with Miss Fey before visiting hours ended.”

“Was it April May?” Gregory asked.

Miles opened one eye. “How did you know?”

“I’ve been doing a bit of my own investigation per Mr. Armando’s request.”

“I thought you weren’t taking on the case?”

“That doesn’t mean I still can’t help,” Gregory said. “When Mr. Armando called this morning, he gave me the details about what happened to Mia Fey, her sister, and the name of the woman who phoned in the crime. Mr. Armando was also highly suspicious regarding his boss’ actions and wanted me to look into things for him. I delegated the young Miss Fey’s defense to you while I handled the other matters. I knew Marvin Grossberg wouldn’t speak with you, but I was betting he’d speak with me.”

“And…?” Miles asked. “What did he tell you?”

“Nothing,” Gregory sighed. “Which made it all the more suspicious. He’s afraid of something—or someone . Armando reached out to him when Miss Fey was arrested and said that Grossberg refused to represent her—he said he got into a shouting match with Grossberg over it. Or rather, he screamed into the phone while Grossberg remained silent. I promised him that I would investigate. When you left to visit the detention center, I went to the Grossberg Law Office.

“He was tight-lipped about everything, no matter how often I asked him to be honest with me. While in the middle of badgering him, he received a phone call and left the room. I did a mini-investigation of his office, but nothing really turned up besides a golden lighter with a ‘Bluecorp’ logo on the back and a Polaroid of a woman with the description ‘FQ-9 Incident, part 1’ listed.”

“That sounds like a code,” Miles noted, opening his other eye.

“It sort of is,” Gregory said. “The police give all of their cases that naming scheme.”

“So it’s a police case? What’s the FQ-9 incident?”

“I don’t know off the top of my head,” Gregory sighed. “The case names are obscure for a reason, and I doubt I’d be allowed to access the case files unless I had explicit permission. When Grossberg returned to his office, I asked about the photo. He looked terrified and told me to leave, so I returned here.”

“Do you think he has a connection to this incident?”

“He must—why else would he refuse to represent someone so close to his associate? And why else would he chase me out of his office over a Polaroid?”

“This is a mess,” Miles muttered, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “Are you coming to the trial tomorrow?”

“I was going to come watch as support.”

“Could I ask…Could I ask for you to join me at the bench again?” Miles asked. “Please.”

Gregory frowned. “Are you afraid?”

“...Yes,” Miles sighed deeply. “Especially since I learned that Prosecutor Wright is overseeing the case. I don’t — I don’t feel confident handling things on my own just yet. And I would hate to do a disservice to Ms. Fey’s sister. She was so scared, father…She was crying in the detention center and begged me not to leave. I can’t bear to let her down.”

“If you want me to be there, I’ll be there.”

“Thank you. I know it’s a horribly selfish request.”

“There’s nothing selfish about asking for help,” Gregory said firmly. “And you know that. Even if you had hundreds of successful cases under your belt…If you asked for my help, then I would happily oblige.”

Miles nodded. “I feel like with you by my side and the evidence I uncovered, we have a sure shot at getting Miss Fey cleared of her charges.”

When Miles arrived at the courthouse, Maya was already in the defendant’s lobby, downing a soda like it was the source of liquid on Earth. “Hi,” she said forlornly when Miles and Gregory walked in. “Who’s that?” she asked, gesturing her left shoulder towards Gregory.

“Gregory Edgeworth, senior defense attorney. I’m assisting my son on the bench today,” Gregory said and approached her, holding his hand out. 

Maya grabbed it swiftly (causing Gregory to grunt in surprise) and shook his hand half-heartedly. “Hi.”

“Have you heard any news about your sister?” 

“No one’s told me anything,” Maya mumbled. “They won’t let me talk to anyone except my lawyer. My only comfort is that I know she isn’t dead—I don’t feel her energy.”

“You don’t…what?” Miles blinked.

Maya sighed. “Feel her energy. If she was dead, I’d feel her around me. I made her pinky promise to come back to me if she ever died. It’s selfish, I know, but I’d still be able to talk to her that way. She’s the only one I have left…”

“Miss F — Maya, if I may so politely ask,” Miles cleared his throat. “ What are you talking about?”

“The Fey women are famous for their spiritual intuition,” Gregory explained. “They are a matriarchal lineage and have produced some of the best spiritual mediums this world has ever seen.”

“What,” Miles said in a deadpan. “Father, surely you don’t believe — ”

“He’s right,” Maya said. “Every girl in my family has spiritual powers, including Mia. But Mia never liked to use them; she…left the family after everything that happened with my mother.”

Maya hung her head, and Miles felt a sense of pity for the girl, even if he couldn’t quite believe what he was hearing. Spiritual powers weren’t real, but it wasn’t the time nor the place to pick a philosophical argument with a teenager. 

“Misty Fey,” Gregory nodded. “I remember hearing about her. She was a once-in-a-lifetime spirit medium.”

“And she’s been missing since I was a toddler,” Maya mumbled. “She was asked to help the police solve an unusual murder. She channeled one of the victims and named a suspect, but the suspect was acquitted in court. Someone named ‘White’ got ahold of the court transcripts and sold the information to the media, and my mother became a laughingstock. She then left. Mia…Mia never forgave her. She was supposed to become the next leader of our village, but when she came of age, she left home and decided to go to law school.”

“I had no idea,” Miles frowned. “I’m…sorry if I seemed insensitive.”

“How would you know? You just met me,” Maya shrugged. “And now my mother is gone, my sister is in a coma, and I’m on trial for attempted murder. We’re a mess.”

“Well then, let’s help you fix some of that mess,” Gregory smiled. “My son and I will do our best to secure your acquittal.” 

“From Samurai fan to Samurai fan, it’s a promise,” Miles added.

Maya’s head shot up like a rocket. “You’re a Steely?!”

“Naturally. There’s no finer form of media out there for a man of my profession,” Miles said proudly, ignoring his father’s breath of amusement from behind him. “I retrieved your phone from the detective yesterday. I can’t give it back to you yet—it’s evidence—but I saw your charm. You have an excellent taste in accessories.”

“Oh my god!” The life sprang back into Maya, and she started jittering in place. “Did you see the new episode last week?! You have to tell me your thoughts this instant! ”

“Of course,” Miles pushed his glasses up his nose with a smirk. “The Steel Samurai was marvelous, as always; Mr. Powers is truly a master of his craft. However, some of the effects were subpar, especially during the scene where the Steel Samurai faced off against the Copper Cowboy. Did you notice…”

A bailiff came to collect them, and Miles and Maya babbled to each other about the Steel Samurai the entire way to Courtroom Number 2. At the same time, Gregory followed from behind, not understanding a word they were saying but glad to see Maya in a better mood.

Wright was at his bench, waiting with his arms crossed as they entered the room. Miles noticed that, for once, he had his mouth closed in a tight-lipped smile. A silent tension filled the room as they got themselves situated, and no one spoke until the judge entered the room, banged his gavel, and declared court to be in session.

Wright proceeded with his opening statement. “We are aiming,” he said, his cheshire-cat grin returning. “To aim for a life in prison sentence. If Ms. Mia Fey happens to die while in the hospital,” he paused for dramatism, leaving several members in the gallery hanging off the edge of their seats. “We hope to aim for the death penalty.”

Several things happened at once.

The gallery erupted into an explosion of whispers. Maya shrieked. Gregory slammed both hands down on the defendant’s desk and exclaimed, “That’s absurd!”

And Miles looked Phoenix straight in his brown and blue eyes, furious. “She’s seventeen! Have some mercy , Wright!” 

“Mercy? Please,” Wright scoffed, eyes hardened. “You won’t be asking for mercy once you hear the details of the crime. The circumstances are rather brutal. It’s a shame; I don’t know what would drive a person to try and murder their own flesh and blood, but those are the circumstances that surround this trial.”

“I didn’t think you could sink any lower, but congratulations,” Miles spat, venom dripping in his words. “I look forward to tearing your witness’ testimonies to shreds, cretin.”

“Ooh, such big, scary words, Edgeworth. I’m shaking .”

“Order! Order! I said order!” The judge cried out, rapidly banging his gavel on his desk. “My goodness, how are we supposed to run a trial with so much noise? I ask that the interruptions be kept minimal.” The judge cleared his throat and nodded at Wright. “You may call the first witness, Mr. Wright.”

And so Wright did, calling up Detective Gumshoe to describe the scene of the attempted murder of Mia Fey. At one point, Miles got into a 15-minute-long argument with Wright over blood being found on Fey’s fingertips. 

“Mr. Wright, Mr. Edgeworth, I hate to rush things, but I would implore you to please make your point,” The judge said, interrupting another name-calling session. “We don’t have all day.”

“Yes, your Honor. My apologies,” Miles said, aiming a pointed glare at Wright. “My point is that, according to the crime scene report helpfully given to me by the detective, Ms. Fey fell unconscious almost immediately after being struck with the Thinker object. She couldn’t have possibly written her sister’s name.”

“Oh Edgeworth, Edgeworth, Edgeworth. I hate to burst your bubble, especially after you seemed so confident,” Wright said. “But unfortunately, the report the detective gave you was…outdated.”

“ What. ”

“Yes, terrible, isn’t it?”

“Why are you just saying this now?! ” Miles snapped. “You should have submitted the most current report before the trial started!”

“I must have forgotten. Whoops,” Wright smiled. “I tend to do that.”

“You’re lying through your teeth.”

“Prove it.”

“Nngrk! I…” Miles balled his hands into fists.

Wright’s smile widened, showing his canines. “That’s what I thought. I’m so terribly sorry to pull the rug out from underneath you. Ms. Fey was conscious after being struck and was able to write down her attacker’s name using the blood from her sustained injuries before she passed out.”

“Thank you, Prosecutor Wright,” The judge nodded. “You may call your next witness.”

Miles seethed again from behind the bench. “There’s no way, there’s positively no way that ‘updated report’ nonsense is true…” he muttered.

“That was a move straight out of von Karma’s playbook,” Gregory sighed, momentarily removing his glasses to rub his eyes. “I’m sorry, Miles. We’ll get him.”

“We better. Forged reports have no place in the courtroom.”

“You think he forged it? That’s quite an accusation.”

“I don’t care. He’s trying to get Maya the death penalty , Father. He clearly has no sense of ethics.”

“Don’t let your anger get the best of you. Remember your client,” Gregory gestured towards Maya, who appeared calm on the surface as she flashed Miles a smile. But one look at her paper-white knuckles gripped around the arms of the defendant’s chair said otherwise. “You’re fighting for her, not for a personal vendetta against Wright. There’s still another witness—we’ll keep fighting until the judge makes the final call.”

“Thank you, Father,” Miles said. As Wright’s next witness, April May, took the stand, he and Wright made eye contact again. Wright took his left index finger to his throat and mimed a slicing motion across when the judge wasn’t looking.

That did it.

As April May testified, Miles decided to be as much of a nuisance as possible to Wright and press her on every single statement.

“Ms. May,” Miles began, and April May heaved an exaggerated sigh.

“Again? You have another objection?” she asked with a pout. “What’s with you? Can’t you let a girl rest?”

“It’s simply a part of my job, miss. I’m not targeting you specifically, I promise.”

May leaned forward, making sure the courtroom had a good view of her cleavage. “Oh, come on, Mr. Lawyer. You’re stressing me out! You don’t want to upset little old me, do you~?”

“As I was saying,” Miles began, completely ignoring May’s laughable attempt at seduction. “You claimed to have witnessed my client attacking her sister with a clock.”

“Of course, handsome.”

“How did you know it was a clock?”

“Why, anyone could tell, silly!”

“That’s where you’re wrong,” Miles said, tapping his index finger against his temple. “The clock’s mechanism is all internal. You wouldn’t be able to tell it was a clock by sight alone. You’d only know if someone told you or if you held it yourself.”

“I…er…” May leaned forward more, pushing out her chest toward Miles. “I heard it from my hotel room!”

“Wrong again, Ms. May. That seems to be an unfortunate habit of yours,” Miles shook his head with a smile. He reached into his pocket and pulled out Maya’s phone; the Steel Samurai charm on the antenna swung from side to side like a pendulum from the motions. “Do you know what I have here?”

“A girly phone with an ugly little robot head on it?”

“Tch, ugly? Please, you clearly don’t know fine art when you see it…” Miles grumbled. He then cleared his throat. “It is my client’s cellphone. Ms. May, did you know that on the night of Ms. Fey’s attempted murder, she made a phone call to her sister?”

“Oh, how awful!” May said, laying the back of her hand across her forehead. “To think that’s what probably led to the poor woman being beaten with a clock!”

“Mhm. Let me reiterate my point. Did you know,” Miles paused for emphasis, “That Ms. Fey called my client on the night of the attack?”

“Well, I certainly know now.”

“I think you knew it well before today.”

“How dare you! What are you implying?”

“Ms. May, do you remember when I visited you in your hotel room yesterday?”

“Why, of course,” May said, flashing him a sweet smile. “How could I ever forget a face as handsome as yours? You spoke with me for hours , you sweet little thing~.” She crooned, causing the gallery to erupt into furious whispers again.

Miles did his best to ignore them. Even the judge was caught up in the moment, staring down at him with shock. “Ms. May, you seemed very upset when I went to open one of the drawers in your hotel room.”

“What woman wouldn’t react to a man trying to go through her…personal belongings?” May asked with a smile.

Wright whistled. “Buttering up the witness, are we Edgeworth?”

“I went back after you left,” Miles declared, trying to override the noises of the crowd as he felt his ears burn. “And discovered a wiretap receiver in the very drawer you didn’t want me opening.”

The smiles slid off of Wright’s and May’s faces simultaneously. It was almost comical, and if Maya’s life wasn’t literally at stake, Miles would have laughed at them. “Would you like to know what I think, Ms. May?”

“Not really, no,” April May now had a deep scowl etched on her face. “I don’t care for the opinions of insignificant men.” 

“I think,” Miles continued, “That you tapped Mia Fey’s phone. I have a recording of the conversation between my client and her sister, and I’ve already submitted it to the court. On the recording, Ms. Mia Fey explicitly tells my client that she removed the clock mechanism from within the statue. You heard her refer to the statue as a clock, and that’s why you so confidently referred to it as such."

May was now glaring daggers at him. “I’m right, aren’t I?” Miles asked.

“You don’t have to answer him,” Wright quickly cut in. “Ms. May, you’re well within your rights to remain silent — ”

“ Shut up! ” May snapped at Wright, who squeaked out a little “eep!” as he flinched and ducked behind the stand. “What did I just say about not caring for the opinions of insignificant men?”

“I was just trying to help — ”

“Put a sock in it,” May huffed before setting her sights on Miles. “And you . You think you’re so clever, don’t you? Sneaking into a lady’s room while she’s gone—shame on you!”

Miles snorted. “What kind of ‘lady’ goes around wiretapping phones?”

May hissed at him like an angry cat. “Fine, you little four-eyed freak — I did it. I tapped Fey’s phone.”

“You really didn’t have to answer him,” Wright said. “Ms. May, you have rights — ”

“Shut up!” She roared again, and Wright paled, nearly backing into the wall behind his desk. “I will admit to tapping the phone, but I didn’t attack Fey, and that’s the truth! And if you don’t believe me, I have an alibi from one of the hotel employees!”

“Oh, really now?” Miles asked, this time producing a smirk of his own. “I’d like to hear from said employee.”

“Very well. If the prosecution has no objections?” The judge asked, looking at Wright, who was still cowering behind his desk. Wright gave a rapid shake of his head. “Then I would like to summon the next witness!”

The next witness, a hotel bellboy, offered a near-useless testimony. Miles was almost bored to tears by his ramblings about how May took her coffee, how she loved her coffee, and how beautiful her chest was (and he nearly gagged more than once as he described her, in his own words, “ample bosom”). It was only when he mentioned the price of May’s coffee that Miles perked up.

“Hang on,” Miles cut in as the bellboy began rambling about May’s beauty again. “You just stated that Ms. May paid $18 for an iced coffee. That’s rather expensive, isn’t it? Even at a high-class hotel such as the Gatewater.”

“Y-yes well it was for two, so really it was $9,” The bellboy said. “Still a little pricey,  but you’re paying for the Gatewater name! And we take that seriously, sir.”

Miles’ eyes widened. “Did you just say she ordered two coffees? Tell me the truth, and remember that you currently stand in a court of law. Was there someone else staying in the room with Ms. May?”

“Uh, w-well…”

“Objection!” Wright hollered, seemingly recovered from whatever emotion May had stirred up within him earlier. “I…I object to that question! That was…objectionable!”

Miles, Gregory, Maya, and the judge stared in utter disbelief at Wright as he spoke.

“Would you, er, care to elaborate on your objection, Mr. Wright?” the judge asked.

Wright shifted from side to side. “I…Uh…It’s just…objectionable! It’s the principle of the matter, Your Honor—clearly you see it too!”

“...Overruled,” the judge said after a moment. “Witness, please answer the defense’s question.”

“...Yes,” the bellboy sighed. “Yes, someone else was staying in Ms. May’s room.”

Miles inhaled slowly. “And why,” he said, “did you not mention this in your earlier testimony?”

“Well, in all due respects, sir, you didn’t ask.”

“Oh, come on! ” Miles slammed his hands on his desk. “Don’t give me that! That would be a normal thing to mention!”

“A-ah, yes. Right again, sir…” the bellboy tugged at his collar. “Well, I was asked by um, the respectable Mr. Wright over there not to mention the other occupant of the room unless I was specifically asked to do so.”

“He told you what? ” Gregory interjected. He whipped his head toward Wright, who was now visibly sweating behind his bench. “Mr. Wright, what is the meaning of this? Are you obfuscating justice?!”

“M-me? What about you ?” Wright weakly countered. Gregory narrowed his eyes, giving out a rare glare. Wright gulped. “Sorry, sorry, Mr. Edgeworth. Yeesh , why is everyone yelling at me today…?”

“The truth, sir,” Miles said, grateful that his father was currently dealing with Wright’s ridiculousness. “Ms. May checked into her room with another individual. Earlier, when you were spouting a soliloquy about Ms. May, you never once mentioned another person being with her. Therefore, am I correct in assuming that her companion wasn’t in the room when you delivered her room service?”

“You would be correct, sir.”

“Thank you,” Miles bowed his head politely. “Your Honor, it seems we’ve learned of another person who may have been involved in this crime. Ms. May has an alibi at the time of the attack, but that doesn’t clear the one of the person who was with her! In light of this, I think it’s impossible to judge my client for this crime for the time being!”

“Oh, you’d love that, wouldn’t you?” Wright commented. “That’s a rather convenient setup for you.”

“Welcome back, Mr. Wright. I’m glad to see you return from cowering behind your desk. Don’t worry, I won’t yell at you. Much,” Miles said. “And it seems you feel the same; after all, it was you who hid the presence of Ms. May’s companion from this court!”

“Y-you little novice attorney!” Wright spluttered. “Where do you get off, talking like that?”

“I don’t believe my confidence in the matter is unfounded, Mr. Wright, considering that I walked out of here with a victory the last time we faced off against one another.”

“You — !”

“Enough!” The sound of the judge’s gavel caused both of them to flinch. “I acknowledge the defense’s argument and expect the prosecution and defense to look into this matter fully before tomorrow. Until then, the trial of Maya Fey is adjourned for the day!”

“B-but, b-but, you can’t — ”

Wright’s weak protests were cut off by more rapid-fire gavel banging, and he looked like he was about to pass out. Miles opened his mouth to say something, but Maya tackled him from behind before he could.

“Mr. Edgeworth! Mr. Edgeworth! That was amazing!” she said, a little (too) loudly in Miles’ ear. 

“Quite,” Gregory beamed. “Why, you almost didn’t need me at all.”

“No, you were a valuable asset,” Miles said. “You quieted Wright for me, allowing me to focus on the bellboy.”

“All a part of the job, son.”

“Woohoo! Should we go out to celebrate?” Maya asked. “I’m thinking burgers!”

“Ah, unfortunately, Miss — Maya,” Miles shimmied his way out of Maya’s grasp to thoroughly look at her. “You will have to spend another night at the detention center. We haven’t cleared you of your charges yet.”

“Oh…”

“However, I…Would be willing to buy you dinner from the detention center’s cafeteria. Would that be an acceptable compromise?”

“They have steak, not burgers, but…I guess I should order something a little less expensive, huh?”

Miles smiled at her. “If you want a steak, I’ll buy you a steak.”

“Oh, come on, Mr. Edgeworth!” Maya huffed “I can’t ask that of you.”

“Miles.”

“What?”

“Call me Miles. Mr. Edgeworth is what people call my father.” Miles began packing up his notes. “It’s less confusing when we’re both around. Besides, you’re a fellow Steely. You can call me Miles.”

“Ooh, that reminds me! We never finished our analysis of last week’s episode!”

“I’ll tell you the rest of my thoughts over a steak dinner,” Miles said, heading for the courtroom exit. “And then, when I get the charges against you dropped, perhaps we can…Have a watch party for next week’s episode?”

“Yeah!” Maya held up her fist to him at the courtroom entrance. He stared down at it, not knowing what she was after. Maya shook her head and gently closed his hand into a fist before she bumped her own against his. “It’s a promise!”

Chapter Text

After the trial, they didn’t have much time to rest. As soon as Miles and his father were done eating with Maya, they went back to their office to plan the next move. Miles removed the plethora of notes he'd taken during the trial and spread them out over his father’s desk (the surface much larger than his own). They both stood over the notes, almost in perfect synchronicity with each other as they pored over everything that happened.

“How was the trial?” Eddie asked. “You guys are looking a little rough.”

“We were able to get it extended until tomorrow, but I think that’ll be our last chance,” Miles commented, a deep frown on his face as he reflected on the notes before him. “I think the most important thing to do right now is to figure out the identity of the man who was with Ms. May in the hotel, but I don’t know how we’d go about that…”

“I think it’s time to pay Grossberg another visit,” Gregory said. “Would you come with me, Miles? Perhaps we can…convince him to talk if we lay on the pressure.”

“It’s not like I don’t appreciate the help, but wasn’t the whole point of you asking me to defend Maya was because you were swamped with other cases? What about your other clients?” Miles asked.

“I must confess that this case has become quite important to me,” Gregory sighed. “I may be a tad bit overworked, but it’s nothing I can’t handle.”

“But, Father — ”

“I’ll take on the extra workload,” Eddie interjected. “Don’t worry about it.”

Gregory shook his head.  “Eddie, I can’t ask that of you. It was my decision to step in. You don't need to burden yourself with extra work because of me."

“Too late, I’ve already made up my mind. And you know it can’t be changed once that happens,” Eddie grinned. “Though I may take a vacation after this.”

“Of course, it’s only fair.”

“No need to look so serious, boss-man!” Eddie laughed. “I was kidding!”

“Well, I’m not. It’s important not to overload yourself. I would hate for you to burn out,” Gregory’s expression softened. “You’re too important to our family.”

“Aw, get out of here before you start making me cry in front of Milesarino,” Eddie waved his hand. “Go on, shoo!”

“We appreciate you,” Gregory said. “Come along, Miles. I’ll drive.”

Miles followed his father down to the street outside the office, where his grey sedan sat parked near a flowering redbud tree. As he slid into the passenger seat, he couldn’t help but smile—his father had been driving this car for as long as he could remember. Miles used to be relegated to the back seat only, but as the years ticked by and he grew taller, he was soon allowed into the coveted front seat. He remembered the front of his father's car being enormous as the passenger seat seemed to swallow him. Nowadays, he had to duck his head as he got in to avoid hitting the roof of the car's interior. Miles fiddled with the radio dial as his father drove, the station automatically broadcasting an AM news show, his father’s favorite. The low voices of the hosts crackled through the ancient stereo system of his father’s car—Miles turned the dial until he found the jazz station. He sat back and enjoyed the delightful noises of the soft piano and smooth saxophone. They didn’t talk — it wasn’t necessary. Miles closed his eyes and let the music envelop him, enjoying his father's calm, steady presence in the car.

But Gregory was anything but calm once they parked outside of the Grossberg Law Office building. Miles could tell that he was upset from how he carried himself — his mouth was set in a firm, hard line, and his posture was stiff and hurried. He barely waited for Miles to leave the car before he took off into the building’s lobby. They rode the elevator in silence, and Miles noticed the agitated tapping of Gregory’s foot against the tile floor. When the doors dinged open, Gregory power-walked to the office suite door and went inside without knocking — Miles hurriedly following at his heels.

“Grossberg."

Marvin Grossberg was behind his desk, fidgeting with a novelty desk toy shaped like a small duck. He flinched when Gregory spoke his name, and the duck flew out of his hand.

“M-Mr. Edgeworth! Y-you’re back! And so soon, too…” Grossberg laughed nervously.

“Yes, the trial went well for us, if you were wondering,” Gregory said, tapping his foot on the ground again. His taps were more rapid than in the elevator—Miles knew that, at this point, his patience was very thin. “Despite the fact that the prosecution is aiming for a life sentence — or a death sentence - for our 17-year-old client.”

“O-oh goodness me, that’s rather extreme, isn’t it?” Grossberg tugged at his collar. He peeked past Gregory’s shoulder, desperate to look anywhere but him, and saw Miles standing near the front entrance. “Is this your…?”

“My son, yes. He graciously took on the young Miss Fey’s defense.”

“O-oh, how noble of him.”

“Yes, and I see that’s apparently rare for an attorney nowadays,” Gregory cleared his throat. “Do you feel like talking today?”

“T-talking? About what?”

“I see this is going to go about as well as it did yesterday. Miles,” Gregory turned to him. “Would you mind taking over?”

Miles nodded and stepped forward, trying to stand as straight and tall as his father. “Mr. Grossberg, it’s a pleasure to meet you,” he said. He didn’t hold out his hand. “I’m curious to hear the reasoning behind your refusal to represent the little sister of your associate’s significant other.”

“Son,” Grossberg cleared his throat and tried to look less nervous. He failed spectacularly. “I don’t see how that’s any of your business.” 

“Well then, let me elaborate for you,” Miles set his hand down on Grossberg’s desk. “A child’s life is at stake, and you and I both know that there’s information you’re holding back. And I know that whatever information that is would help us immensely.”

“Information? Where did you get such a wild idea — ”

“My father found a Polaroid and a lighter in here yesterday.”

“Ah. That.”

“Yes. That. So, any time you feel like talking, feel free to do so. I’m a patient man; I don’t mind the wait.” Miles locked eyes with Grossberg to emphasize his point. “I also don’t mind making a call to Mr. Armando. I heard that the two of you had quite the conversation yesterday. Perhaps you’d like to continue it?”

“Y-you don’t know what you’re getting into,” Grossberg stammered. “I advise you not to pry any further, please, for all of our sake.”

“Father, could you give me Mr. Armando’s number?”

“Certainly, Miles. It’s — ”

“Wait, wait! There’s no need to disturb him. I know he’s rather distraught at the moment-”

“He’d be less distraught if you would choose to aid Maya Fey, instead of cowering at your desk!” Miles said, raising and slamming his hand back down on Grossberg’s desk like he was in the middle of the courtroom. “What kind of defense attorney are you? Is your pride more important to you than an innocent life?!”

An awkward silence filled the room as Miles glared at Grossberg. A weighted sigh drifted out from Grossberg's mouth. “I don’t have anything against the young Miss Fey; please understand that,” he said quietly. “I mentored Mia Fey when she first started her career, and she worked alongside Diego and me at this very firm before branching off and starting her own business. Mia used to tell us all about her sister, so I feel…close to them by proximity. I’m telling you this because I need you to know that it’s nothing personal—I would defend her if I could. I owe that to the Fey family.”

“But…?” Miles prodded.

“But I’m…I’m being blackmailed,” Grossberg hung his head. “I was told to stay away from Maya Fey if I ‘knew what was good for me.’”

“And now the pieces are falling in place,” Gregory said. “Mr. Grossberg, why didn’t you tell me this yesterday? I could have helped you.”

“No, you couldn’t. No one can, not when it comes to this individual.”

“Who is it?” Gregory’s tone was noticeably gentler. "You can trust us."

Grossberg suddenly looked ten years older. He slid open the top left drawer of his desk, pulled out another Polaroid, and tossed it across the desk. A grinning, purple-haired man stared back at Miles and his father, and the words “FQ-9 Incident — Exhibit B” were written underneath. “This is the second part of the photoset you found yesterday, Mr. Edgeworth. This man is Redd White, and he’s the most terrifying person I’ve ever come into contact with.”

“FQ-9…” Miles murmured. “There’s that code again.”

“Quite the infamous case, as I’m sure the senior Mr. Edgeworth will remember,” Grossberg nodded.

“I…I don’t, really. Forgive me,” Gregory said, embarrassed. “I’ve never been good at keeping up with the police’s case naming schemes.”

“You will when I explain the details to you,” Grossberg beckoned his index finger at Gregory, who leaned across the desk in response. Grossberg spoke to him in hushed tones, Gregory’s eyes growing wider and wider until Miles was convinced they’d pop out of his head.

“H-how could I have forgotten?!” Gregory exclaimed after Grossberg finished speaking. “I knew them both! What is wrong with me?”

“I was shocked that you didn’t remember. I know that case is burned into my memory,” Grossberg sighed. “A horrible tragedy.”

Gregory waved his hand. “I’ll tell you later, Miles. It was a brutal case, and it’ll be hard for me to discuss. This is neither the time nor the place.”

“But…”

“Later, when I feel up to it. I promise.”

Miles sighed in defeat. “Yes, sir.”

“Grossberg, this man has something to do with the current incident, correct?” Gregory asked, turning his attention back to the senior attorney. “Otherwise you wouldn’t have shown us his photograph."

“That’s where the blackmail comes in,” Grossberg fidgeted uncomfortably in his chair. “I…I did something horrible 15 years ago. I sold information to Mr. White. I…I was the one who leaked the details about Misty Fey’s botched channeling, and then White ran the story in the papers. I’m…the reason she became disgraced. And now White threatens to leak what I did, unless I do exactly as he says.”

“You did what?” Miles exclaimed in horror. Maya’s heartbroken face from yesterday when she told him about her mother entered his mind. He balled his hands into fists. “Do you have any idea of what that did to the Fey family?! You caused two young women to lose their mother!”

“I know. I…Know,” Grossberg hung his head again. “I’m not asking, or expecting, forgiveness. That’s the reason why I took Mia Fey under my wing when she was a fledgling attorney. I wanted to…I wanted to atone for what I did. I figured helping her start her law journey was a good start.”

“But you’re not helping at all!” Miles exclaimed. “You refused to represent Maya! You’ve been cowering in your office! And over what—fear of stories being run in a newspaper? Disgusting!”

“Miles, you’re getting worked up. I advise that you — ”

“No, Mr. Edgeworth, your boy is right," Grossberg said. "I'm a disgrace to this profession."

“You’re damn right I’m right,” Miles huffed. “You want to atone for your actions? You want to help the Fey family? Then give us all the information you have on Redd White.”

“I…will,” Grossberg said. “Anything you want, I’ll tell you. It’s time to stop hiding.”

“Thank you. Glad you see it my way,” Miles said, smoothing back his bangs.

“Redd White is the CEO of Bluecorp,” Grossberg explained. "Blackmail is the basis of Bluecorp’s entire business. They buy and sell information, and Redd White is the most powerful man in this city.”

“And what does he have to do with Mia Fey?”  Gregory asked. “Besides running that salacious story about her mother, of course.”

“From what Diego told me, Mia was investigating White. He said she dedicated all of her free time to looking into him. Now, from what I heard about yesterday’s trial, April May was the one who claimed she saw Maya Fey attack her sister, right?”

Miles nodded. “She admitted to tapping Ms. Fey’s phone but has an airtight alibi.”

“Of course she does,” Grossberg grunted. “Well, here’s the last bit of information I know for certain: April May is the receptionist for Bluecorp. Do what you will with that.”

“Father,” Miles said quickly. “Do you know what this means?! I think I’ve just figured out the identity of the man who was with Ms. May in the Gatewater Hotel.”

Miles and his father split up after that. Gregory said he was going to stay behind and speak with Grossberg further. Ever since Grossberg had brought up the FQ-9 Incident, Gregory appeared shaken and distracted. Miles bade him goodbye and then caught a taxi to the Gatewater Hotel so he could question the bellboy more, taking the Polaroid of Redd White with him. Much to his delight, the bellboy confirmed that White was indeed the man who had checked into the hotel with May, and Miles got him to sign an affidavit to verify what he saw. He returned to his apartment later that night, feeling confident despite his trepidation. He and his father had agreed not to go and question Redd White themselves—it was better to summon him to court in the morning and catch him off guard. It wouldn’t be an easy fight, especially with how powerful White appeared to be, but Miles wouldn’t rest until Maya Fey walked free.

When Miles entered the defendant’s lobby in the morning, Maya looked the complete opposite of how she did the previous day. She launched herself at Miles the moment he stepped through the doors of the defendant's lobby, wrapping him into a bone-crushing hug and nearly making him drop his satchel bag.

“What’s this for?” Miles asked as he tried to catch his breath after Maya nearly squeezed it out of him.

“That’s my good luck hug!” Maya said. “Mr. Edgeworth is going to get one, too!” She let go of Miles and launched herself at Gregory next, who, despite having witnessed the hug, was still caught off guard by the sheer force of Maya’s momentum.

“I’m glad you have confidence in us, Miss Fey. We won’t let you down,” Gregory said, his voice strained from the pressure that Maya was exerting around his waist.

Miles looked away from his father and Maya as he heard the lobby doors opening again, freezing in place as he witnessed Phoenix Wright enter the room.

“Wright…?” he uttered, the sound of Wright's name dying on his lips.

This was the first time Miles had seen the man without any sort of smile on his face. Wright didn’t even acknowledge that he spoke; he beelined straight for Miles, getting closer and closer, and now he was too close, much too close…

“Hello, Edgeworth,” Wright said, stopping inches from Miles. He was so close that Miles could smell his cologne, and he felt like sneezing from the musky scent wafting off him. 

“Uh, is everything alright? I don’t think I’ve ever seen you come over here.” Let alone speak with me, he thought.

“I just came by to warn you,” Wright said. “Because I’m feeling generous, and I don’t want to blindside you. This morning, Chief Prosecutor Skye received a phone call from someone insisting to testify at this trial. I interviewed him right away at her request—and his testimony is pretty damning. Do you know what that means? It means we now have a decisive witness with decisive evidence.”

“And?” Miles scoffed. “Is that supposed to mean something to me?”

“Do I need to repeat myself? I said we have a decisive witness with decisive evidence. You can’t win.”

“I will be the judge of that, Mr. Wright. Things often aren’t as black and white as you would like to believe.”

“Oh please,” Wright rolled his eyes. “Yes, they are. The guilty will always lie to save themselves—true innocence is exceedingly rare. And that is why all I can ever hope to do is to get every defendant declared guilty. You won’t be winning today, Edgeworth. That first time was a fluke.”

“What sort of insane policy is that? Winning? Is that all you care about? People’s lives are at stake!” Miles shook his head. “What happened to you? As I recall, you yourself were falsely accused and then quickly proven innocent during — ”

“That’s enough,” Wright held up his hand. “I don’t want to hear anything else. People change, Edgeworth.”

“Yes, it seems they do,” Miles said sadly. “Sometimes for the worse.”

Wright bit his lip, and Miles thought he saw a trickle of blood form from the corner of his lower lip before he turned on his heel and headed for the exit.

“Hey! Spike-head!” Maya suddenly called out.

“Spike-head…?” Wright murmured to himself. “That’s a new one.”

“Catch!”

A package of Swiss Rolls suddenly soared through the air, hitting Wright square in the back of the head before bouncing to the ground.

“Maya!” Miles exclaimed, horrified. “Wright, I’m so sorry — ”

“Why Swiss Rolls?” Wright asked, picking the treat up off the floor. He was more baffled than anything else.

“Maybe eating a snack will make you a nicer person,” Maya shrugged. “Works for me when I get hangry.”

“Thank you…?” Wright said before quickly exiting the room, Swiss Rolls clutched tightly in his palm.

“Maya, are you crazy?!” Miles exclaimed as soon as Wright left. “He’s a prosecutor—he could have added assault to your charges, and I would have had no choice but to agree with him!”

“I was trying to ease the tension. You were both upset.”

“Look, I appreciate it, but that is not the way to go about things.”

“You never said that you knew Mr. Wright,” Maya said, completely ignoring his lecture. “What’s the story behind that?”

“...I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Huh? But why? It’s nothing bad, is it?”

“Maya, please. It’s not important right now. We need to focus on your case.”

Maya ignored him again, choosing another option once Miles shut her down. “Mr. Edgeworth, if Miles knows Mr. Wright, then do you know him too?”

“I used to,” Gregory said. “A long time ago. But if Miles doesn’t want to talk about it, then I won’t either. My apologies.”

Maya looked crestfallen. “O...Okay.”

“Come along, Maya; we have to go prove your innocence,” Miles said. “There’s no need for you to worry about myself or Wright. None of that matters anymore.”

And with that, he left the courtroom, feeling Maya's stare hot on the back of his neck. He tried to ignore the intrusive thoughts barging into his brain of that late summer’s day 15 years ago when the only problem he and Phoenix Wright had to worry about was stolen lunch money. He wished this trial would be as simple as that one—but something in his gut told him that he’d be fighting tooth and nail for Maya’s verdict.

Gregory hung back to make a phone call, promising to meet back up with Miles later in the trial. This left Miles to head into the courtroom with Maya alone, a prospect he was nervous about, even though Maya, in her own words, was there to “hype him up” and kept chanting lines from The Steel Samurai at him. When they entered the courtroom, Wright didn’t speak to him or even acknowledge that their earlier conversation had taken place, but Miles noticed (with a hint of amusement) that there were crumbs of chocolate in the corner of Wright’s mouth.

Redd White was just as obnoxious as Miles expected him to be. He strolled up to the witness stand, a giant grin plastered across his face, flexing his fingers outwards so the courtroom lights reflected off his big, gaudy rings. 

“Mr. White, thank you so much for your time. I know you’re a very busy man, so we’ll make sure to keep this quick,” Wright said.

“Naturally. I see why Chief Prosecutor Skye trusted you with this case,” White flashed a too–white smile at Wright. “It’s so unfortunate that my lovely secretary is currently in the detention center. I just had to come here myself and set the record straight! I won’t have a murderous girl cast a stain on a name as pristine as Bluecorp!”

“Thank you. Please tell the court what you witnessed on the night of the attempted murder.” 

“I was sitting in the hotel room across the street — ”

“Objection!” 

White paused. “Did you just…interrupt me?”

“Apologies. Mr. Edgeworth’s favorite pastime is interrupting witness testimony. Pay him no attention,” Wright said.

“I wasn’t aware that you suddenly became a judge, Wright,” Miles commented. “I have a valid question for Mr. White.”

“It’s not even time for your cross-examination. Maybe you should go back to law school and learn about the basic proceedings of a trial.”

“I know how trials operate—I’ve been attending them since I could form memories, as I’m sure you’re well aware,” Miles said. He looked to the judge. “Your Honor, may I?”

“Go ahead,” the judge nodded. “But after this, I want no more interruptions until it's time for your cross-examination.”

Miles nodded. “ Thank you. Now...Mr. White? Are you readily admitting that you checked into the Gatewater Hotel with Ms. May?”

“Hm? Oh yes, I am,” White said, looking disinterested as he adjusted the collar of his obnoxiously–colored suit. “I was taking a business trip. As my secretary, it was only natural that she accompanied me.”

“Why are you so easily confirming this? Prosecutor Wright seemed keen on obscuring your identity during yesterday’s trial.”

“Oh, that? That was a simple misunderstanding. I’ve got nothing to hide, so there’s no need for you to submit your silly little affidavit from the hotel bellboy.”

Miles stared at him in shock. “How did you know about that?”

“I have my ways, Mr. Edgeworth,” White smiled. “May I continue?”

“Yes, of course. I apologize for the needless interruption,” Wright said. “That’s not usually how we run things. Us prosecutors seem to have a stronger sense of etiquette.”

“And I appreciate that. Good manners are so hard to find nowadays. As I was saying, I was sitting in my hotel room, poring over some business papers, until I heard a frighteningly clangorous noise. When I looked up, I noticed a strangely bedecked girl with a top knot hit another woman over the head with a large object. The woman stumbled backward but kept her footing and tried to run for the exit, but the girl beat her again, and she fell unconscious.”

“A horrible tragedy. Clearly, these sisters had some bad blood between them,” Wright said with a mournful shake of his head.

“We do not!” Maya huffed. “Mia and I love each other! Don’t just blatantly assume things!”

“Sounds like something a murderer would say to save their hide.”

“No, it’s not! If you had a sister, you would know what I’m talking about!”

“I do have a sister, and let me tell you, Miss Fey, she wouldn’t let me murder her.”

“Don’t talk about Mia like that!” Maya lept from her chair, pointing her index finger at Wright, imitating Miles' stance when he had an objection. “Mia wouldn’t go down without a fight!”

“Ah, I wasn’t trying to smear the character of a woman currently fighting for her life in the hospital,” Wright shook his head. “I meant that my sister literally wouldn’t let me murder her—I think she’d kill me before I even thought of such a thing. But that’s neither here nor now. My family dynamic doesn’t have an impact on this case, and it doesn’t change the fact that you tried to murder your sister.”

“Grr, Miles! Say something!” Maya grumble-hissed at him. “Do your little finger point! Make him start sweating again!”

“In due time, Maya, I promise. ” Miles said. He then turned his attention to White. “Right now, I have several questions for the witness.”

“Of course you do,” White said, looking bored. “You seem like the type of person who reminds the teacher to collect homework at the start of class.”

“And I hope you feel the anxiety of someone who failed to do the homework assignment,” Miles responded. “Now, for my question—Mr. White, in what direction did Mia Fey run?”

“From where I was sitting, she ran to the left, her sister hot on her heels.”

“Hm, interesting,” Miles smirked. “That completely contradicts the floorplans of Mia Fey’s office. You should have seen her running to the right, not the left. If she ran to the left, then that means your vantage point would have been from inside the Fey and Co. Law Office. ”

“No, no, no. You can’t seriously be accusing my witness of murder. Again. ” Wright shook his head. “Unbelievable! Is that your new go-to tactic?”

“Only when it’s blatantly obvious that a killer is sitting in front of me.”

“And you clearly zoned out during my testimony,” White said, looking unphased by Miles’ statement. “I said she fell after she was hit a second time. She ran to the right after the first hit, then must have tried running left.”

“And you, clearly, are lying through your obnoxiously bright teeth,” Miles countered. “The crime report, or rather, the updated crime report, says that Mia Fey was hit once before falling unconscious.”

A brief moment of panic crossed White’s face before it smoothed back over, and his obnoxious smile returned. “Ah, forgive me. I’m not used to coming to court, and you and all of your…legal words,” White waved his hand, “are confusing me. I heard an uproarious noise while I was reading my papers, and I looked through the uh…the other…window and saw a glass lamp hit the floor! Ms. Mia Fey then ran to the left, dodged an attack, and ran for the door, but then was struck from behind by her sister!”

“I must thank you, Mr. White. Every time you speak, you seem to dig yourself further into a hole,” Miles smiled. “You were so eager to testify today, yet it seems to me that you clearly didn’t familiarize yourself with the basic details of this trial. I must again refer to the office floor pans. The glass lamp you're referring to is a tall floor lamp, and it was originally in the corner of the room, not visible from the hotel window. ”

The corner of White’s mouth began to twitch. “I…you…I must have been…mistaken again.”

“Mm, mistaken, yes. Perhaps you were mistaken about the vantage point—I know it must be hard to try and picture a mirrored office layout when coming up with the lie that you witnessed everything at the hotel across the street!”

“Objection!” Wright yelled. “Your slandering of my witness has gone on long enough, Edgeworth! Mr. White, why don’t you go ahead and admit what you did to the court?”

“I, uh, what?” White looked incredulous. “Did you forget what side of the courtroom you’re on?!”

“Not at all. I’m on your side, after all, even if I morally disagree with your activities,” Wright said with a dramatic sigh. “You might as well admit that you were the one who placed the wiretap in Mia Fey’s office last week. While ethically objectionable, it does explain why you know the interior of her office.”

“Why…yes, you’re right, you brilliant prosecutor!” White’s grin returned. “Yes, yes! I admit to tapping her phone—I had Ms. May lie to cover for me yesterday. The interior and exterior of the office melded together in my mind. I must apologize to the court for any confusion!”

“I…You…That’s absurd !” Miles choked out as he saw his opportunity for victory slip away from him.

“You put up a good fight, Mr. Edgeworth,” Wright smiled. “But it seems like the truth came out in the end.”

“Don’t quit your day job, kid,” White said. “Now, if that’s all, may I leave? I’m a very busy man.”

“Yes, Mr. White. Thank you for your time,” the judge said. “If there are no further objections, then I’m ready to give the ruling.”

Miles' brain felt like TV static as the judge, Wright, and White joked around with each other. He looked to his right for help, but Gregory wasn’t there, still somewhere in the defendant’s lobby, far away from him. The static in his brain grew louder. “I’m sorry, Maya,” he said, barely able to hear his voice over the noise. “I couldn’t do it.”

“Hold it!” The doors to the courtroom flew open, and Miles’ savior walked in. Gregory Edgeworth entered the room, cell phone in hand, looking triumphant. “Your Honor, I request that you withhold your final ruling for now.”

“Mr. Edgeworth!” the judge cried out in surprise. “I was wondering where you were. I’m glad to see you’re well! I was afraid you were sick.”

“I meant to come earlier, but I was caught up with a phone call,” Gregory said, reaching his spot at the defense’s bench. “Just before the trial started, I received news from Mr. Diego Armando—Mia Fey has awoken from her coma and has agreed to testify for the defense!”

“Huh?! Huh?! Huh?!” Wright shrieked in disbelief.

“Mia! Mia!” Maya exclaimed excitedly. Gregory pressed a button on his phone, and Mia Fey’s voice crackled loudly through the speaker.

“Hi, Maya. Are you okay?” Fey sounded weak. “I’ve been so worried about you.”

“Sis, are you crazy? You’re the one who everyone’s been worried about!” Maya huffed. “I’m not the one who’s been in a coma!”

“I can’t help but worry about you. Don’t worry—Diego and I will make sure you’re alright. I’m as decisive as a witness as one can get.”

“Y-your Honor, you clearly can’t expect her t-to give testimony,” Wright stuttered, sweating buckets. “While we’re all relieved at her miraculous recovery, I don’t know how reliable she can be, considering she suffered a m-massive h-head injury…”

“Is that Prosecutor Wright?” Fey asked. “Tell that porcupine-haired idiot that I’m perfectly sound of mind!”

“You’re on speaker, but I will happily relay the message,” Miles said in amusement. 

“Goodness me, I wasn’t expecting Mia Fey herself to testify today!” the judge said. “I’ll withhold my ruling at the moment. Mr. Edgeworth, please bring the phone to the stand!”

Wright looked like he was about to pass out again as Gregory stepped onto the witness stand, holding his phone out towards the court. “Whenever you’re ready, Ms. Fey.”

“Thank you,” Fey said. “We were listening to the trial from outside the doors—you’re all rather loud individuals—and I’d like to nip the prosecution’s last argument in the bud. Mr. White did not enter my office last week, and there’s already evidence in the court record that proves it.”

“Ms. Fey, may I remind you that you currently stand — uh, speak? In a court of law, and that perjury is a serious offense — ”

“And I will remind you the same thing, Prosecutor Wright,” Fey said, cutting him off. “Look at the paper with my sister’s name on it. If you flip it over, you’ll see it’s a receipt for a floor lamp purchased on the same day as my attack!”

“Guh,” Wright now looked nauseous. “I-I, I-I, um, your Honor? M-May I request an extension of this trial by another day? W-with all this new information, I think it warrants a more extensive investigation.”

“Objection! The prosecution is clearly stalling, your Honor!” Miles called out. “Mr. White’s guilt is as plain as day!”

“If anyone is going to call Mr. White to trial, it will be me!” Wright countered. “I need that extra day to see if there’s evidence to back your claims!”

“Evidence? I should think that hearing from the victim herself would suffice!”

“That’s enough, you two. Not everything has to devolve into a shouting match,” the judge said. “I deny the junior Mr. Edgeworth’s objection and am postponing the trial of Miss Maya Fey until tomorrow!”

“Wait, wait, wait!” Miles called, desperately waving his hands. "I implore you to listen to what Mia Fey has to say!"

“Ah, thank you, your Honor,” Redd White spoke up, drowning out Miles’ protests. “May I go home now?”

“Yes, of course. The court thanks you for your time.”

White gave an over-the-top bow and waved. As he turned to leave the prosecution's bench, Mia Fey's voice cried out from Greogry’s phone,  stopping White dead in his tracks. “Hold it! The prosecution’s witness will stay!”

“Oh, Ms. Fey! You sound like you’re at full strength!” the judge exclaimed.

“I have to be. Your Honor, please allow me one last chance to speak in defense of my sister,” Fey pleaded. There was a rustling noise over the phone. “I would like to read a list of names to the court. Ahem…”

Mia Fey began calling out a list of vaguely familiar names to Miles. Financial figures, celebrities, Government officials…He lost track of them all, but it was around the 15th name that White broke.

“S-stop! Somebody hang up that phone!” White cried. “T-That list…How did you get that list?!”

“Mr. White,” Fey paused, sounding smug. “I advise you to admit your guilt right now. Otherwise, I will release this list to the press! My boyfriend has a reporter on speed dial!”

“Ahhhhh! No!”

“Confess! Tell them! Tell them what you did!”

“I-I-I-!”

“Go on, use those big, fancy words you’re so fond of.”

“Fine! Fine!” White snapped. “Fine! I did it! I hit Mia Fey with The Thinker statue! I snuck into her office late at night and tried to kill her!” 

“You’ve got to be kidding me!” Wright yelled as the gallery around him exploded. “There’s no way that this has happened twice in a row!”

“Thank you, Mr. White,” Miles could almost see Fey’s smile through the phone. “Your Honor? I do believe this settles things.”

“Quite. Thank you, Ms. Fey. I wish you a speedy recovery,” the judge said. “You’re one of the best defense attorneys that we have.”

“Thank you. If you don’t mind, I’d like to remain on the line for your final ruling.”

“Of course. This court finds the defendant, Maya Fey...not guilty!”

The judge banged his gavel upon his desk, securing Miles' second victory.

There wasn’t much time for a post-trial debrief. As soon as the judge finished giving out his ruling, Maya grabbed Gregory and Miles by the arms and practically dragged them back to the defendant’s lobby with glee. “Let’s go, Edgeworths!” she yelled. “It’s burger time!”

“Maya, you're going to pull my arm out of its socket!” Miles whined. “Besides, don’t you want to go visit your sister?”

“Duh,” Maya huffed like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “But burgers come first. Mia isn’t going anywhere, and I’ll bet all the money in my pocket that she and Diego are being mushy with each other. If I see that on an empty stomach, I might puke.”

“Too much information, Maya.”

“You’d feel the same if you saw how Diego moons over her.”

“Your sister is a fortunate woman,” Miles said with a soft smile. Having someone “mooning” over him sounded nice, but he didn’t dare voice it out loud. He knew Maya would tease him relentlessly for that one.

“I believe you mentioned the name of the hamburger place you loved yesterday, correct?” Gregory asked, easily pulling his arm out of Maya’s grasp. “I’ll treat you. And if you let me know your sister’s and Armando's preferences, I’ll get them something, too.”

“Really?!” Maya gasped, eyes shining. “You’d do that for me?!”

“It’s the least I can do.”

“But you’ve already done so much for me!”

“Just let him pay, Maya. You’re not going to win an argument with him,” Miles said. “Trust me, I’ve tried and failed. Many, many times.”

“Woohoo, then it sounds like a plan! Burgers, here I come!” Maya called triumphantly, racing out the door with her arms up.

“Wait, Maya!” Miles called out, chasing after her. “You don’t even know what car to look for! Come back!”

He lost sight of Maya as soon as she turned the corner in the hallway, quickly running out of steam when he reached the front lobby of the courthouse. Only then, while he was panting against the wall, did he notice Wright exit the nearby bathroom, his eyes red and swollen.

Had he been in there crying?

Miles thought about calling out to him. As he debated whether to say something, he heard the muffled ring of a phone from deep within Wright’s pocket. Wright pulled out his phone and let out a strange cry—Miles couldn’t tell if it was sadness, fear, or a bizarre mixture of both. He clutched his phone in a death grip, then bolted towards the back entrance of the courthouse.

What was the matter with him?

Miles didn’t have much time to contemplate Wright’s peculiar behavior. His father soon caught up to where he was resting, casually strolling without a care in the world as he jingled his car keys around in his palm. “Ah, Miles, there you are. Let’s go meet up with Miss Fey outside. I’m sure she’s tried to open every car door on the street by now.”

“I think you’re right,” Miles sighed. “Let’s hope she doesn’t get herself arrested again.”

Miles peered over his shoulder as he left the courthouse with his father one last time. There were no signs of Wright. Miles hoped that whatever was on the other end of the phone was over mercifully quick for the man. He had never seen Wright look more terrified in his life.

Chapter Text

Maya had become a permanent fixture around the Edgeworth and Co. Law Offices in the month since her trial. She seemed to have attached herself to Miles’ hip; he had asked her about it once, and all she said was, “Sis is still in the hospital, and I’m bored.” He stopped questioning her after that—he knew she was lonely from how she described her life in her remote village in the mountains. Miles, his father, and his uncle didn’t mind her presence; on the contrary, she seemed to bring a fun, youthful energy to the firm. She was even starting to pick up on lawyer lingo after Eddie Fender started throwing LSAT questions at her for fun when he was bored. 

Seeing Maya around the office wasn’t unusual, but on one sunny October day, she nearly killed them all from fright when she kicked the front door open and barreled straight toward Miles’ desk.

“MILES!”

Miles shrieked and nearly fell out of his chair. Eddie laughed and raised his hand in a friendly wave. “Heya Maya-Papaya. How’s your sister?”

Maya turned to Eddie and said at a normal volume, “She’s doing better! Diego is making her do her physical therapy exercises—she hates them, but she can walk further and further each day!” She then whipped her head back towards Miles, who had shakily sat himself upright in his chair. “MILES!”

Miles winced. “Is the shouting necessary? You were able to talk normally to my uncle.”

“Yes, it’s important, Miles! They arrested the Steel Samurai!”

Miles sighed. “Is this the plot of a new special? You know my policies regarding spoilers, Maya. I will exit our Samurai text chat immediately should that be the case.”

“No, no, no! The actor of the Steel Samurai! He was arrested for murder, and they’re talking about canceling the show!”

“WHAT?!” Miles roared, matching Maya’s volume. He shot out of his chair like a rocket. “This is an emergency! Who’s his attorney?! We need to strategize here!”

“He doesn’t have one!” Maya exclaimed. “I heard it on the news before I came over here—no one wants to represent him because they’re calling it an open-and-shut case!” 

“The attorneys in this city have no respect for art,” Miles snapped. "What is wrong with them?”

“Your old man and I are right here, Milesarino,” Eddie said wryly. “Man, I’ve never seen you get so worked up before in your life. I don’t even think you were this upset when Larry was arrested.”

“This is different,” Miles huffed. “The greatest actor of our generation has been arrested!”

“The guy from your little samurai thing? Uh, okay. I’m all for the passion of defending, but I think you’re being a tad hyperbolic.”

“Tsk, you wouldn’t understand…Come along, Maya,” Miles marched towards the front door. “You know what we have to do.”

“I knew you’d do it!” Maya clapped, following behind him like an excited puppy. “That’s why I came here as soon as I heard!”

Miles forwent the elevator and bounded down the stairs, taking two at a time, as he raced for his car outside. Hang on, Mr. Powers , he thought to himself as he threw open the door of his sedan. We’re coming for you. I won’t let them convict you of murder, I swear it.

Miles had spent his entire drive rehearsing what he would say to Will Powers when he saw him. After all, Powers was his favorite actor, and he didn’t want to look like a fool in front of him. But as soon as the door on the other side of the glass partition of the detention center opened, Miles’ mind went utterly blank. Will Powers, the Steel Samurai himself, was standing right before him. And he was… handsome .

“H-hello,” Powers said, nervously twiddling his fingers together. “I heard there were attorneys here to see me? I guess news got around fast, huh?”

“M-Mr. Powers, it’s an honor,” Miles said, not knowing if he should bow to the man before him. “We’re huge fans of your work.”

“Oh, you’re fans? Not attorneys? I’d normally offer an autograph, but I have no way of getting it to you at the moment. Sorry for disappointing you.”

“We’re fans who are attorneys, that's all,” Maya said. Miles noted that her expression seemed a bit…unsettled. He coughed politely at her, causing her to roll her eyes. “Okay, okay. He’s the attorney, and I’m the uh…assistant!”

“A job she just created now,” Miles snorted. “Anyways, we’re here to help you, Mr. Powers. Can you tell us what happened?”

“My coworker, Jack Hammer, was found dead yesterday, with my prop spear skewered into his chest.”

“S-Skewered?” Maya looked sick. “L-Like a hotdog on a fork?”

“That’s actually a pretty good description of it, yeah.”

“He was murdered with the Samurai Spear? Who would commit such an atrocity?!” Miles huffed, banging his fists on the table. “...Wait, did you say Jack Hammer? The Evil Magistrate? That Jack Hammer?!”

“Yeah, the whole crew is crushed. We all loved Jack…” Powers looked glum. “But wow! You sure know your stuff! Most people just know us by our costumes.”

“Of course I know my stuff! What kind of man do you take me for?” Miles huffed. “I just can’t believe that the Evil Magistrate is dead.”

“Jack.”

“That’s what I said, isn’t it?”

“Uh, sure…” Powers said, looking at Miles like he was the weird one. Miles began to sweat.

Stay calm, stay calm. Miles turned his attention back to Powers, doing his best to sound composed. “May I ask you what you were doing on the day of the murder?”

“Sure. I got to the studio in the morning, ran through some action scenes, ate lunch, and then napped. I uh…Woke up late,” Powers laughed nervously. “So I booked it over to the studio. When I got there, everyone was standing crowded in a corner. As soon as I asked them what was going on, I was arrested.”

“So you slept…The entire afternoon?” Maya asked, looking more and more unimpressed the longer Powers spoke. 

“Isn’t that normal after eating a ton of meat? The production company, Global Studios, gave us a huge steak lunch.”

“How would you rate it on a scale of 1 to 10?” Maya asked. “Because let me tell you, if you thought that steak was good, you haven’t seen anything yet! When I was locked up in here last month, I had the juiciest steak in the world—I still dream about it!”

Powers looked fascinated, and Miles thought he heard his stomach growl through the microphone. “Mr. Powers,” he cut in before Powers could start on a steak tangent with Maya. "Is it possible for us to secure permission to enter the crime scene?”

“Huh? Oh yeah, sure! I’ll give you a letter to give to the guard. Uh…Watch out for her. She’s…feisty,” Powers said. A yellowed legal pad was lying on the table in front of Powers, and a pen was chained beside it. Powers quickly scribbled down a note, folded it, and gave it to the guard, asking him to pass it along to Miles, please . “Oh, and I left you a little something on the back!” Powers grinned. "My treat."

“Maya, get the paper,” Miles said automatically.

“I will on the way out.”

“ Now! ”

“Okay, okay! Yeesh, someone’s a grumpy pants today…” Maya went to the far door of the visitation room while Miles frantically mimed at the guard behind the glass to give his paper to her. The guard looked baffled but did as Miles pantomimed and quickly opened the door, slipping the note into Maya’s hands. Miles nearly pounced on her when she returned to him; he ripped the paper from her hands, eyes scanning it hungrily.

Powers had written a letter of request, naming Miles as his attorney, and asked that he be allowed onto the studio lot. It sounded good enough to Miles, his eyes lingering on the signature at the bottom of the paper. He then flipped over the note and nearly dropped it out of shock. On the other side of Powers’ letter was a small note that read, “To Miles Edgeworth, my attorney and biggest fan. Will Powers.”

Miles clutched the note close to his heart. “T-thank you, Mr. Powers! We won’t let you down!”

“I appreciate it,” Powers smiled. “I just want to find out what happened to Jack—I don’t want the kids to lose faith in the Steel Samurai.”

“They won’t!” Miles declared. “I promise on my life that we’ll clear your name!”

“...That’s a little dramatic, Miles,” Maya said. “Your life isn’t at stake just because you decided to defend a murder suspect. What kind of wacky legal system would that be if you lost your life because you lost a court case?”

“Just let me have this,” Miles grunted, ensuring that the mic was off. “I want him to believe in me. I want to inspire him like he’s inspired me.”

“Nerd.”

“I could say the same about you. You cried during the end of last week’s episode. I almost had to call your sister.”

“Shut up, don’t we have a crime scene to investigate?” Maya asked, heading for the exit, the tips of her ears crimson. Miles smirked and followed her—he loved it when Maya conceded quickly. 

They were both in awe after making the trek from the parking garage to the main gates of the studio. Miles couldn’t believe he was standing at the entrance where the world's most groundbreaking piece of media was filmed. He patted his left pocket, then his right, then his bag, before cursing. “Dammit! Maya—do you have a camera? I can’t believe I didn’t think to bring one!”

“Do I look like a news reporter?” Maya asked. “Why would I have a camera on me?”

“Grr, maybe we need to stop at a drug store and get a disposable one…”

“Hey, you whippersnappers!” A shrill voice called, jerking Miles out of his thoughts. A stern older woman with a perm and a frown that seemed permanently etched on her face approached them. “Yes, you two! The boy in the glasses and oversized suit jacket and the girl in the purple robes and top knot!”

“It’s a bun!” Maya huffed. “Why do people keep calling it that?”

“Maya, be nice,” Miles said. He flashed the woman what he hoped was a charming smile. “You must be the security guard, Miss…?”

“Oldbag.”

“Er, come again?”

“Oldbag, you insolent little whippersnapper! And wipe that smile off your face,” Oldbag placed her hands on her hips as she stared Miles down. “You hooligan! I won’t be blinded by your charm! Men these days…They think they can lie and sneak around me just because I’m a sweet young lady! Well, I won’t buy it, no matter how cute you are!”

“I wasn’t lying—what?” Miles blinked. “Did you just call me cute?”

“Leave!” she snapped, gnashing her teeth at him.

Maya yelped and ducked behind Miles, pushing him forward. “G-go on, Miles! You deal with her. She thinks you’re cute.”

Miles sighed and pulled the letter from Powers out of his pocket. When he attempted to hand it to Oldbag, she jumped back like he had just burned her with a hot fireplace poker. “Ma’am? Ms. Oldbag?” he cocked his head to the side. “I am the attorney representing Mr. Powers. He's asked me and my assistant to investigate the studio. Please let us in.”

“Ha! A likely story, you jackal! How do I know you didn’t fake it?”

“Well, I would reasonably assume you would be familiar with Mr. Powers’ signature and tone of voice.”

“Give that to me,” Oldbag snapped, ripping the paper from his hands. She read it agonizingly slow, darting her eyes between the words and Miles’ face as she went. After an excruciatingly long time, she conceded defeat. “Fine. It doesn’t look forged. I suppose I can let you enter.”

“You can always call the detention center to verify if you don’t believe me,” Miles offered.

“No, no. Now go along!” Oldbag waved her hand. “Before I change my mind!”

“My letter.”

“What?”

“Give me the letter back.”

“Why? It was for me, wasn’t it?”

“Give. It. Back.” Miles mustered up his best court glare. “ Now. ”

“I knew it! I knew that handsome charm was just a facade!” Oldbag yelled, throwing the letter at Miles’ face before fleeing back to her guardpost. Miles took a deep breath, collected himself, and retrieved his autographed letter, tucking it carefully into his breast pocket. 

“Come along, Maya.”

“That was a major freakout!” Maya said, following him from behind. “I’ve never seen you act like that before!”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” 

“I thought I was about to witness you beating up an old woman for a piece of paper.”

“It’s not just a piece of paper. It’s a valuable autograph.”

“I’m sure Mr. Powers would give you another one.”

Miles paused. “...You really think so?”

Maya rolled her eyes. “Oh, brother. Come on, the gate is wide open. Let’s go in before that lady changes her mind.”

Maya nearly dragged him through the studio gates, insisting that they move as quickly as possible. Miles didn’t understand the rush; after all, the security woman was out of sight (though he could see the top curls of her perm poking up from behind the booth). Once they were inside the gates, Miles consulted the giant map of the studio area, planning where to go next. “Mr. Power’s dressing room would be a good start,” he mused to Maya.

“No way, we should go to the studio where they were supposed to hold evening rehearsals!” Maya countered. “That’s where they found the Evil Magistrate!” 

Miles shuddered. “To think that someone would besmirch the Samurai Spear in that manner…Very well, I suppose it’s logical to start at the crime scene. Let’s hope the police presence is light.”

They made their way deeper into the Global Studios lot. When they reached the middle, Maya screamed, nearly causing Miles to jump out of his skin. “Oh my god! Mr. Monkey!” she pointed. A giant head lay in the middle of the crossroads, completely cutting off access to one of the studios.

“Is nothing around here sacred anymore?” Miles huffed. “Maya, is that the studio we need to go to?”

“No, that’s Studio 2. We want Studio 1.”

“Very well. I suppose that’s quite fortunate for us. Let’s go and try to put this…disturbing image out of our minds.”

Maya nodded and bolted down the other path, yelling behind her that she’d beat Miles to the studio. It was a race he knew she’d win, and he didn’t bother to fight her on it. He knew the limits of his stamina and wanted to save up his energy for exploring.

Maya was kind enough to wait for him at the entrance of Studio 1, where she did a little (in her words) “victory dance” as soon as she spotted him. He let Maya have her fun, watching her idea of dancing with a shake of his head. There was no need to spoil her mood over the inevitable outcome of the race.

His mood plummeted when he entered Studio 1 and saw Detective Gumshoe in the corner, head down, speaking to a man with a familiar set of black spikes protruding from his head. “Maya,” he said, deathly quiet. “Don’t make any sudden moves. Let’s go investigate somewhere else before they notice — ”

“Hey, what are you guys doing here?!” Maya bellowed, causing Wright and Gumshoe to snap their heads up.

“So much for that…” Miles grumbled.

“Edgeworth? How’d you get in here?” Wright asked, furrowing his eyebrows. He looked at Gumshoe with an annoyed expression. “This is a closed crime scene.” 

Gumshoe whined at him in response. “It wasn’t me! I’ve been here the whole time, I promise!”

“The old bat up front let us in,” Maya said proudly. “Seeing as how we’re defending the Steel Samurai himself!” She struck a triumphant pose, mimicking the pose the Steel Samurai did at the end of the show's intro. 

Wright rolled his eyes. “Should have known. You two seem to be haunting me—I’m cursed.”

“Excellent form, Maya,” Miles politely applauded. “And please don’t be quite so melodramatic, Wright. We help whoever asks us; it has nothing to do with you.”

“Could have fooled me.”

“Do you think I’m following you?”

“We seem to be meeting up an awful lot. This is, what? The third case in a row?”

“You haven’t taken on any other cases between Maya’s and this one?”

Wright paused and tugged on the cuff of his suit sleeve. “...No. I haven’t.”

“Don’t prosecutors get cases assigned to them?” Maya asked. “They don’t get to pick like we do, right?”

“Correct. I see you’ve been picking up information; it seems like my Uncle’s boredom-killing method of quizzing you has paid off,” Miles chuckled. “Has it been slow down at the prosecutor’s office, then?”

“No. It hasn’t.” Wright was now staring down at his shoes. 

“Then how…?”

“Hey, pal! Quit bugging Prosecutor Wright!” Gumshoe cut in. “If he doesn’t want to talk about it, then he’s not going to talk about it! It’s not his fault that his cases keep getting reassigned!”

Wright sucked in his breath. “ Gumshoe, ” he hissed.

“Huh? What? Oh…Oh! Oh shoot, I’m sorry, sir!” Gumshoe looked panicked. “I didn’t mean to say—well, I didn’t say who , right? That has to count for something!”

“Gumshoe. Stop talking,” Wright lifted his head, eyes steely. He ran his hands through his hair, shook his head, took a breath, and stared Miles straight in the eye. “I don’t see how my work has any bearing on this case, Edgeworth. It doesn’t change the fact that this is a crime scene, and you're not authorized to be here.”

“Did you miss the part where I’m Will Powers’ attorney?” Miles asked. “I have every right to be here as you do.”

Wright pursed his lips. “...A fair point. However, I don’t recall defense attorneys being allowed to investigate active crime scenes. That falls under the jurisdiction of law enforcement—which you are not .”

“Don’t be like this. We’re on the same side, aren’t we?”

“No? We literally stand on opposite sides of each other in court. That, by definition, is not being on the same side.”

Miles rolled his eyes. “Don’t be pedantic. You know what I meant. We, theoretically, should be on the same side, working together to find the truth. This isn’t a game; people’s lives are at stake. Especially when the prosecution is adamant about a death penalty. ”

Wright winced. “That was a mistake. I shouldn’t have…I shouldn’t have done that.”

“Clearly.”

“I’m sorry.”

Miles blinked in surprise—did he really just hear that? “It’s not me who you should be apologizing to,” he said, gesturing behind him to Maya, who was slowly, steadily, inching her way towards a pile of Samurai props in the corner. “You could have gotten her killed, Wright. She was innocent.”

Wright fell silent again, his gaze lingering on Maya. Miles looked at him expectantly, but Wright stayed rooted to the spot. When he finally moved again, instead of going towards Maya, he spun on his heel to face Gumshoe, hiding his face from Miles in the process. “Gumshoe.”

“Y-yes, sir!” Gumshoe saluted, knocking the pencil out from behind his ear. “I will secure the crime scene at your request!”

“Let them investigate.”

“Uh, what?”

“You heard me. Let Edgeworth and his associate investigate anywhere they want.”

“Anywhere? Even the employee area?”

“Do you need me to define the word ‘anywhere’ for you, Gumshoe?”

“R-right. Sorry sir. And if they ask me for the crime scene and autopsy report?”

“Give it to them.”

“Are you feeling alright, sir?”

“Just do as I say!” Wright huffed. “Quit wasting my time with all your questions and just do it! …Please.”

“Of course, sir! Are you going back to your office? I can drop off the reports real quick and take you back!”

“No, no. I don’t want to cut into your day,” Wright waved his hand. “I’ll take a taxi.”

“But sir — ”

A crashing noise distracted all of them. In her quest for the prop pile, Maya had gotten the edge of her robe caught on a nearby ladder. Her furious attempts at freeing herself had caused it to fall on top of her.

“Maya!” Miles called, sprinting to her side. Behind him, he heard the footsteps of Detective Gumshoe and Wright as they closely followed. “Maya! Are you okay?!”

“Owww…Yeah,” Maya quickly pushed the toppled ladder aside. “It’s small and light, but man! That ladder packed a mean punch!”

“Stepladder,” Wright said, picking it up from the floor and repositioning it upright.

“That’s what I said. The ladder was light.”

“It’s a stepladder, Miss Fey.”

“Yeah, I know . I said ladder.”

“ Step ladder.”

“You’re such a weirdo. Does it matter that much?”

“Yes, there’s a difference. A stepladder is much more complex—it’s like two ladders stuck together.”

“So it’s a mega-ladder.”

Wright groaned. “I give up. Have fun with your investigation. I need some ibuprofen.”

“Bye, Prosecutor Wright!” Gumshoe waved. “I’ll meet up with you later! Let me know if you need me to pick up some extra-strength painkillers! And keep your phone on silent!”

Wright nodded and gave what looked like a friendly wave back to Gumshoe, and then he was gone.

“I think that’s the most pleasant interaction I’ve had with Wright in quite some time,” Miles remarked, extending his hand to Maya to help her off the ground. “Though I wish he would have apologized to you before he left."

“Apologize? For what?” Maya asked, readily accepting his head. “Did he say something rude, like he always does?”

“What do you mean ‘for what?’ He tried to get you life in prison, Maya! Or a death sentence if your sister ended up dying.”

Maya waved her hand. “Oh, that. Water under the bridge.”

“You’re not upset? At all?”

“Am I supposed to be?”

“One would naturally assume—”

“Well, stop that. You know what they say about assuming,” Maya said, placing her hands on her hips and doing her best to muster up a stern expression. "I’m fine, I promise. Let’s get the report from Gumtree and start investigating!”

“It’s Gumshoe ,” Gumshoe said, opening up his coat to produce a pile of documents from within. “I don’t know where you keep getting ‘tree’ from.”

“You’re tall and green.”

“Huh, I guess I never thought of that before. Well, here you go, pals. One crime scene and autopsy report, fresh off the printing presses at the precinct. Never thought I’d see the day where a kid’s show actor turned out to be a murderer.”

“It’s an all-ages show,” Miles snapped, taking the reports from Gumshoe’s outstretched hands.

“Which means kid show.”

“Don’t you have something else to do, detective?”

“Huh? Oh! Guess I should grab forensics and dust for prints. Good call, Mr. Edgeworth!” the detective laughed. “I’ll probably see you around! Don’t go poking into things you’re not supposed to. Prosecutor Wright was real lenient with you when he gave you permission to access the employee area. He doesn’t just do that for anyone, you know.”

“Please. We have restraint,” Miles scoffed. He caught Maya’s eye momentarily, then corrected himself. “Well, I have restraint. We’ll be fine.”

Gumshoe nodded, waved, and then he was off, leaving Miles and Maya alone in the studio.

“...Do you want to race me to Mr. Powers’ dressing room?” Maya asked.

“Not a chance. I’ll take my time, thank you very much.” Miles said, tucking Gumshoe’s reports under his arm.

“Your loss! See you in thirty minutes!” Maya said, and she was off like a rocket, sprinting out the studio's main entrance, leaving Miles alone.

“It’s not going to take thirty minutes!” Miles called after her, but she was already gone. He waited about a minute before deciding to depart—he didn’t want to be within Maya’s sights; he knew she’d taunt him the moment she spotted him. 

Detective Gumshoe’s words echoed in his head as he journeyed to the employee area. He doesn’t just do that for anyone, you know. So why did Wright do it for them? Something weird was going on with Wright—ever since the conclusion of Larry’s trial, his behavior had grown more and more bizarre. The next time he caught Wright alone, Miles decided that he would have a chat with the man and try to figure out the cause of his odd behavior.

Maya was poking her head into an external air vent when Miles entered the employee area. 

“Maya, come on,” he sighed. “I know you’re just as excited as I am to be here, but the air vents are nothing special.”

“Says you. I thought I saw someone with black hair in the vent when I got over here!” Maya said.

“...Hair like Prosecutor Wright’s?” Miles asked as he tried to visualize Wright contorting himself into the tiny space. “While a bit more roomy than the average vent, I think this location is too small for him.”

“Oh, come on, give me some credit, Miles! I know that Prosecutor Wright couldn’t fit in there—his head is way too big, what with his ego and ridiculous hairstyle,” Maya shook her head. “No, I think I saw a kid in there.”

“In the air vent?” Miles’ frown deepened as he squatted next to Maya. “A child? Should we call for help?”

“I’ve been calling down there for about ten or fifteen minutes (however long it took you to get over here), but no luck!”

“It didn’t take me fifteen minutes…” Miles grumbled. He didn’t bother trying to fight the ten-minute allegation. “The detective is still around if you’re worried.”

“I think the kid is long gone,” Maya sighed. “Or scared. I could…sit out here and see if they’d come back.”

“And miss the chance to explore the Steel Samurai’s dressing room?”

“...Good point.”

“That’s what I thought. Come on, it’s cold out here,” Miles said, getting out of his squat. His back loudly cracked as he stood up, and he winced, letting out an “oof!” that was eerily reminiscent of his father. He didn’t know what disturbed him more — having his back crack like that at 24 or sounding more and more like his 50–year–old father every day.

Maya reluctantly followed him, glancing back at the vent as they entered Powers’ dressing room. Miles’ hopes were dashed as soon as they opened the door and saw two people—a man and a woman, huddled together in the middle of the room; so much for exploring the Steel Samurai’s personal dressing room to his heart’s content.

The woman’s head snapped up as soon as she heard Miles and Maya’s footsteps, and she looked at them with what appeared to be disinterest as her gaze lingered upon them. “Can I help you?” she asked, playing with an elongated pipe. “This is private property.”

“I’m aware,” Miles said. “We’ve secured permission from this case's lead prosecutor and detective to investigate. I’m the attorney who will be representing Mr. Powers in court.”

“Ah,” she said, inhaling slowly from her pipe. She shot out a puff of smoke in the direction of Miles. “Quite unfortunate.”

He didn’t know whether she was referring to the murder or the fact that he was defending Powers, but he didn’t feel like asking her to elaborate. This woman seemed like she was going to be difficult. “May I ask who you and your companion are?”

A quiet snort emanated from her. “Are you suddenly with the police?” She asked. “I am Dee Vasquez, the producer of The Steel Samurai. This…charming person next to me is the show’s writer, Sal Manella. We are in the middle of a very important conversation, so please keep your prodding to a minimum.”

“P-pardon my intrusion,” Miles said, suddenly in awe. “We’ll try to keep out of your way. My assistant and I are huge fans of your work.”

“Mhm.”

“Naturally!” Sal Manella interjected. “ The Steel Samurai is the PEAK of my creativity! It sucks that it’s going away — I had all these AMAZING stories planned out!”

“Going away?!” Miles and Maya cried in unison. 

“Naturally,” Vasquez said. Miles caught a subtle eye roll from her as she took another huff of her pipe. “Our lead star is on trial for the murder of our other lead star. We cannot possibly continue the show with the way things are. I’m in talks with the other producers about canceling it.”

“B-but what about the arc that’s currently going on?! You can’t end it now!" Maya said. "The Steel Samurai is on a quest to avenge the Iron Iceman!”

“That’s what I told her , but she won’t listen to me!” Manella huffed. 

“Did you perhaps miss the part where one of our leads murdered the other? Honestly, it’s like I’m talking to the wall.” Vasquez sighed.

“And what if Powers is innocent?” Miles asked.

“Pardon?”

“What if Will Powers didn’t do it? What if I proved him innocent in court? Would you still continue the show?”

“It would be up to my partners; however, if Mr. Powers was miraculously cleared of all charges, I’m sure the show would continue. But it doesn’t look good for him.”

“I’ll be the one determining that,” Miles said. “And I’ll show you that he’s innocent—I promise!”

“Mhm.”

“Ugh…Mr. Manella, is it?” Miles asked, turning his attention towards the writer. Maybe he’d have better luck speaking with him (and wring a few future plot points out of him in the process). “Can I ask you a few questions?”

“I guess,” Manella said, hurriedly typing rapid-fire on the laptop in front of him. “But make it quick! My creative powers have suddenly struck, and if I lose them, I’ll be pissed!”

“Right, right. I promise that I won’t waste your time. I respect your craft,” Miles nodded. “I’ll keep it brief — can you tell me what happened on the day of Mr. Hammer’s murder?”

“It’s the same thing I told that green-coat detective guy — we were in rehearsal all morning,” Manella said. “Argh — I made a typo! Anyways, then we had a steak lunch. Vasquez and I ate in the Studio 2 trailer ‘cause we were stuck in meetings from lunch ‘till four in the afternoon with a bunch of studio bigwigs!”

“Thank you,” Miles nodded, then turned his attention towards Vasquez, who emanated smoke from her mouth like a chimney. “And can you corroborate his story, Ms. Vasquez?”

“Clearly,” she said, blowing more smoke in his direction. “And if you don’t believe us, I can phone the Global Studios executives.”

“That won’t be necessary. Though, I must ask one further question.”

“Of course you do.”

“Could anyone have left your meeting during that long chunk of time?”

“Hardly. Tell me, on your way into the studio, did you happen to see a giant monkey head lying in the middle of the pathway? They’re supposed to remove it today, but it was still there when I arrived this morning.”

“Yeah, we did! The poor thing!” Maya sniffled. “It’s not fun to lose your head like that!”

“Indeed. Well, the horrid thing fell down around 2:15, trapping us at Studio 2. They didn’t attempt to move it until about 3:00, so we were stuck on the studio lot until then.”

“I see,” Miles finished jotting Vasquez and Manella’s statements in his spiral-bound notebook. “Thank you. My companion and I will get out of your hair.”

“Thank god for that.”

Miles narrowed his eyes, his voice taking on a sterner tone. “Will you be around if I have further questions for you?”

“Unfortunately, yes. I’ll be here all day.”

“Excellent. Come along, Maya.”

“But what about the dressing room! We haven’t—”

“Come along , Maya,” Miles said, tugging her by her wrist.

“Ow! Ow! Miles! Not so haaaard!” Maya whined as he dragged her to the door. “If you pull my arm out of its socket, I’ll make you buy me a new one!”

Maya stopped whining the instant they got out of Power’s dressing room. Miles was about to lecture her about having patience and decorum for a murder investigation when she nearly went flying past him, yelling, “Hey! It’s that black-haired guy! The smaller one! STOP!”

A small boy was in the middle of the dressing room courtyard, clutching a camera. Miles noticed that he seemed to be taking pictures of nearly everything in sight. He froze when he heard Maya’s voice, and when he saw her racing towards him, he yelped, spun on his heel, and rushed towards the open air vent in the wall. 

“Maya! Calm yourself—that’s a child!” Miles huffed, following after her at a much less brisk pace. “Maya!”

“Not so fast!” Maya darted her hand out and snagged the back of the boy’s jacket, halting him in place. He started to squirm in her grasp. “Got you!”

“Lemme go! Lemme go, you freaky-robed bun girl!” the boy cried. “Or I’ll kick you!”

“You’d kick a girl?! Shame on you!”

“You’re the one who grabbed me!”

“Maya, let him go!” Miles said. He looked at the boy apologetically. “I’m sorry, I don’t know what’s gotten into her. I hope she isn’t hurting you.”

“Aw, shut up, you wrinkly old guy! I’m fine, obviously!” the kid snapped.

“ Wrinkly?! ” Miles scowled. “Never mind, keep him from running off, Maya.”

“Got it!”

“Hey!”

“Don’t hey me, kid,” Maya said. “I’ve got some questions for you, and I’m not letting you go until you answer them! And let me tell you—I’ve got enough arm strength to keep you here for days! Part of my medium training involves carrying a boulder up a hill, so you’re staying put!”

“What kind of training—never mind, not important,” Miles said, dismissing the thought before he could get sidetracked. He looked down at the squirming kid in Maya’s grasp. “What’s your name, and how did you get in here? This is a closed crime scene, and I highly doubt you have permission to be here.”

“I ain’t answering!” the kid huffed. “Especially to a wrinkly guy and his insane girlfriend! You’d probably rat me out to that crazy security guard! She’s been chasing me all morning!”

“One — I’m not wrinkly. Two — Maya is seventeen and not my girlfriend. That would be most inappropriate. Three — you stating that the security guard has been chasing you tells me you snuck in here. Trespassing is a crime, young man.”

“Oh, so it’s suddenly a crime to want to see the Steel Samurai?” the boy huffed. “Well, if it’s a crime to see the best superhero in the world, then arrest me right now!”

“Oh, a fellow Steely, eh?” Maya asked. “But how big of a fan are you really?”

“Are you questioning my cred?!”

“Top three favorite episodes. Now.”

“The entire three-part Samurai vs Evil Magistrate saga, duh! What kind of fan are you if those aren’t in your top three? A fake fan, that’s who!”

“While I readily agree, I must admit that the Steel Samurai vs the Tin Toyman is an underrated classic,” Miles interjected. “Especially with the revelations regarding the Samurai’s tragic backstory.”

“Yeah, but the action scenes were better in the Magistrate saga — therefore, those episodes win!”

“Good writing outweighs action scenes.”

The kid blew Miles a raspberry. “Says you, wrinkle-man!”

“Why you — Maya, hold him tighter.”

“If you do, I’ll scream!”

“Go ahead,” Miles smirked. “I’m sure the security guard will hear you loud and clear. We have permission to be here as the attorneys for Mr. Powers or, as you know him, the Steel Samurai. You do not.”

The boy stopped squirming in Maya’s hand. “You’re…you’re helping the Steel Samurai?”

“Hmph, naturally,” Miles grunted, adjusting his glasses. “We’d be the biggest fools in the world if we didn’t.”

“...Fine, I’ll talk,” the kid said. “My name is Cody Hackins and I’m the biggest Steel Samurai fan around!”

“Debatable.”

“Can it, wrinkle man! I’m not afraid to fight over my title!”

“Very well. I get into arguments for a living; bring it on.”

“Miles now’s not the time,” Maya rolled her eyes. “We’re supposed to be proving Mr. Powers’ innocence, not getting into heated arguments with children.” 

“I’m not arguing. I was simply going to engage in a good-natured debate with the boy. It’s healthy.”

“You’re not helping our cause here,” Maya sighed. She looked down at Cody with an apologetic smile. “I’m sorry about him. Please continue.”

“I will, as long as I don’t have to talk to that guy anymore!”

“You can just talk to me; how’s that sound?”

“Great! You’re really pre—I mean, nice!” Cody chirped. “Anyways, like I was saying, I’m the biggest Steel Samurai fan around! I come here all the time!”

“Through the air vent, I presume?” Miles interjected, not able to help himself.

“Yeah, and so what?!” Cody huffed. “Have you met that security lady? She’s older than you and is super crazy!”

“A fair point. I don’t blame you for sneaking around. She seems rather… passionate about her job. But, Cody, you brought up something interesting just now. You said you always come here—would I be correct in assuming you were here yesterday?”

“...Maybe I was. What’s it to you?”

“Cody, what I’m about to ask you is very important, alright?” Miles said, doing his best to sound stern (but not scary) to convey the gravity of the situation. “Did you happen to see—or hear—anything unusual yesterday? Anything at all? Even if it was minor—I need you to tell me. Do you think you can do that?”

Cody narrowed his eyes, puffed out his cheeks, and blew Miles a raspberry. Miles sighed and looked at Maya almost pleadingly. “Help…?”

Maya nodded and flashed Cody a grin. “Did you see anything cool yesterday? The Steel Samurai told us he was practicing some amazing moves! I bet you would have loved to see those!”

“Did I ever !” Cody grinned, holding up his camera. But as soon as the camera was within his eyesight, his smile and, subsequently, the camera, dropped like a rock. “...Uh, I mean, it was just boring stuff yesterday. Total waste of time!” 

“So you saw nothing interesting? Really?” Maya prodded. “That’s a pretty expensive looking device you got around your neck…I bet you could get some awesome Samurai photos from that.”

“Yeah…sure, maybe, if I’d gotten something cool. It’s so high-quality that it doesn’t even blur when you take pictures of action scenes!”

“Oh yeah? What kind of action scenes?”

“Like when the Steel Samurai did his Samurai Slap and Samurai Kick against the Evil Magistrate! Bam!” Cody did a chopping motion with his free arm. “It looked kick-ass!”

“Can I see it?”

“Sure, I took it yesterday, so it’s still at the top of my gallery—” Cody paused, horrified at his mistake. “Crap.”

“So you did see something yesterday!” Maya looked proud of herself. “Now you have to show me.”

“Nu-uh! No way! You tricked me!”

“Is it tricking you, or just another way of getting you to tell the truth?” Maya asked. “The Steel Samurai always fights for truth and justice. If you were a real fan, you’d do the same. I don’t want to report back to him and tell him you’re lying.”

“W-what? N-No! Don’t!” Cody said frantically. “You can’t tell him that!”

“There’s only one way that I won’t, and that’s only if you show me the photo,” Maya said. “It’s for the good of the Steel Samurai that you tell us what you saw.”

“...Okay,” Cody said. He spoke so quietly that Miles would have missed it if he hadn't seen the boy’s lips move. “I’ll tell you. B-but it has to stay a secret.”

“No one will know except for us. It’s a Samurai promise,” Maya said, making the complicated hand gesture that the Steel Samurai did from the show. 

“Even him? ” Cody asked, gesturing his head towards Miles. 

“ Especially him. He’s fighting to free the Samurai!”

“...Fine. Here,” Cody raised his camera back up, and Maya let go of his arm so he could navigate to the device’s gallery more easily. He opened the image folder and turned the camera display towards Maya and Miles. On the screen was a photo of the Steel Samurai taken from the back. In front of him, Miles could see the distinctive top half of the Evil Magistrate. “The Samurai and The Magistrate battled to the death yesterday—and the Samurai won, of course!”

“To the death ?” Miles raised an eyebrow. “Did you…Did you see the Steel Samurai stab the Evil Magistrate?!” A disturbing fact if true—Miles shuddered at the thought of a young boy witnessing a brutal murder in front of his eyes. No person should ever have to go through that—especially a child. 

“I…Well, I…The Samurai won!” Cody huffed. “That’s the important part!”

“Did you happen to get a photo of the finale?”

“Uh…No, I didn’t. Just this one!” he said and quickly exited the photo gallery. 

“Why not?” Miles asked. “Wouldn’t you want to capture the moment the Samurai was victorious?”

“M-My camera malfunctioned! I didn’t get a picture no matter how hard I clicked the button!”

“I don’t believe you.”

“Yeah, I bet you wouldn’t! Old people are usually stubborn like that!”

“I’m twenty-four,” Miles rolled his eyes. “And I find it hard to believe that you, a fellow Steely, would fail to take a picture of the Steel Samurai’s triumphant battle. If I had been in your shoes, I would have taken dozens of pictures from various angles. I guess you’re not as big a fan as you claim to be.”

“Why you—!” Cody scowled, stomping his foot on the ground. “I’m a huge fan! The biggest fan! I have a Path of Glory Scrapbook with all sorts of Steel Samurai photos inside!”

“But not from yesterday, except for one singular shot of the Steel Samurai from the back.”

“I told you that my camera malfunctioned!”

“I can easily verify that by opening the camera’s diagnostic settings. My uncle has a photography hobby, and I’ve picked up a few techniques from him. May I?”

“N-No! N-No, you can’t! I won’t let you!” Cody said, guarding his camera like it was the most precious item in his life.

“Didn’t you just make a Samurai Promise with Maya? You wouldn’t want to break that, would you? I don’t want to have to tell the Steel Samurai that you lied.”

“I…I…” Cody looked down at the ground. After a few moments, his head shot up, and Miles was startled to see tears pouring down the boy’s face. “I…Deleted all the pictures that I took!”

Maya and Miles looked at each other in silence, Miles silently signaling to her with a slight nod of his head to take over. Maya turned back to Cody, her voice soft, “Why’s that, Cody?”

“Because…Because…Uh…” Cody panicked, looking around in desperation. “The shot quality sucked!”

“I don’t believe you. There’s no way you’d do that, even if the pictures ‘sucked’ as you claim,” Maya said. “I bet even if they were the most blurry pictures in the world, you would have saved them. Especially if they showed off the Steel Samurai in all his actiony glory! So try again.”

“I don’t wanna say it!” Cody gripped the camera so tightly that his knuckles turned white. Tears welled in the corner of his eyes again. “ Please don’t make me say it! It’s bad!”

“Cody, you have to tell us,” Maya said. “You can whisper it in my ear if you don’t feel comfortable saying it out loud. But we have to know!”

The tears fell faster down Cody’s cheeks as he began to violently hiccup. “I deleted all the pictures because The-The-The Steel Samurai… lost! ” he wailed.

Miles flinched, partly due to the sudden sobbing of the boy and partially due to the fact that the Samurai lost a fight. “Pardon? He lost? ”

“Yeah! The Steel Samurai and the Evil Magistrate faced off against each other—it was epic!” Cody sniffled. “I took soooo many pictures from my spot in the bushes! But I noticed the Samurai acted weird even before the fight began. He was limping, and then when the Magistrate showed up, he moved super slow, and he couldn’t avoid any of the Magistrate’s attacks like he usually does. And then—and then—he…He fell down to the ground and stopped moving! And he didn’t get back uppppp!”

Cody’s wailing somehow grew louder. Miles glanced at the dressing room door in front of him, wondering if the writer or producer would come out to investigate; however, they were not at the top of his list of people he was worried about. His biggest concern was that the security lady might be roped back into things. She was the last person any of them needed to see.

“Oh Cody, you poor boy. Come here,” Maya said, kneeling to the ground and opening her arms to the boy. Cody quickly flung himself into them, burying his face in her chest and wiping his snot all over the front of her shirt.

Miles quietly stood back and watched them for a minute. But a minute was all they got from him—he couldn't bear to wait any longer. “Erm, Cody?” he asked, trying his best to sound gentle. “May I see your camera? I’d like to look at the photograph you saved.”

“Yeah, sure, I-I don’t want it anymore!” Cody said. He wiggled around in Maya’s arms as he removed the camera from around his neck, then chucked it at Miles. Miles yelped and half-dived across the ground to catch the camera before it hit the cement underneath his feet.

“Careful!” he exclaimed in exasperation. “We don’t want this to break—it could be precious evidence!”

Miles turned the camera over in his hand and navigated to the photo gallery on the LCD screen, pulling up Cody's photo of the Steel Samurai’s back. Behind the outline of the Evil Magistrate, he saw a gate with the number “2” on it. “Wait a minute…That’s…Maya!”

Maya shrieked, accidentally tightening her hold on Cody. The boy let out a strained cry in her arms. “Miles, don’t scare me like that!” she huffed. 

“Well, now you know how it feels. Consider that a bit of payback from this morning,” Miles said. “But anyways—do you remember what Ms. Vasquez told us about the Studio Mascot head?”

“That it fell off and trapped everyone, yeah,” Maya nodded. “That must have been awful! That poor, poor monkey…”

“Don’t get distracted now,” Miles said. “Studio 1 was supposedly the crime scene, right? But right here in this photo…We see the Steel Samurai on the grounds of Studio 2!”

“And?”

“If you look at the data on this photo, it was taken right before the time of the murder indicated in Detective Gumshoe’s autopsy report! That means—”

“That Hammer was killed in Studio 2!” Maya gasped. “But wait, Miles…One problem. Cody saw the Steel Samurai fall to the ground, not the Evil Magistrate. It was the Magistrate who was ultimately killed, not the Samurai.”

Miles' smile dropped from his face. “Ngooh!” he exclaimed, furrowing his brow. “B-But I know there’s some significance behind this! It couldn’t have been Mr. Powers in these photos — remember, he said he was sleeping in his trailer. I know it’s rather easy to lie, but I believe him. Hrm…” he glanced at Cody’s snot-filled face. “The printed-out picture of the Steel Samurai in the woods; you said you took this from the security guard, right?”

“Yeah, it was on the desk of her hut!” Cody said. “Serves her right for always chasing me!”

“Maya, as soon as Cody calms himself, we need to go back up front,” Miles said, heaving a great sigh. “I think we need to have a chat with the security guard.”

“ Really? Can’t we take a rain check?”

“Much as my stomach churns at the thought of speaking with that old bat, no, we can’t,” Miles said glumly. “I’ll, erm, wait for you at one of these tables. Cody still seems quite upset.”

Miles sat at the closest table while Maya tried to convince Cody to let go of her. Each attempt seemed futile, and the boy only buried himself further and further into her chest, causing Maya’s frustration to increase. If they weren’t in the middle of an active murder investigation, Miles would have laughed. He had never seen her so annoyed before—and he hoped her attempts at calming the boy would eventually work. They didn’t have all day.

He didn’t pull his chair all the way to the table as he noted (with great disgust) that a bunch of dirty plates, silverware, and glasses were scattered all over the topside. It seemed no one had bothered to clean up, though with the murder that had just occurred, he could hardly blame them. Still, he doubted empty plates with T-bones left on them were that crucial to a crime scene. Miles raised his left elbow and gently pushed the offending plate away from him, hovering so as not to get day-old steak juice on his suit sleeve. When the plate was almost in the middle of the table, he stopped, not because the distance was satisfactory (he was actually aiming for the very end of the table), but because the plate had bumped into a white bottle of... something that Miles hadn’t noticed when he sat down. The bottle fell off the table and rolled underneath, hitting the legs of the chair he was occupying, and Miles bent down to retrieve it. He adjusted his glasses and read the label with a frown, “Sleeping pills? What in the world…?”

He pocketed the bottle in the interior pocket of his jacket. Something bizarre was happening here, and Miles wouldn’t rest until he got to the bottom of it.

As soon as Oldbag saw them approach the security hut, she shrieked and ducked behind her desk, yelling, “There’s no one here! Any nosey whippersnappers should leave immediately!” 

Miles sighed—he knew this whole ordeal was going to give him a massive migraine, but he had no choice. He had to get to the bottom of the Steel Samurai’s bizarre behavior, and unfortunately, this old batty woman was his best bet. 

He approached the front of the hut and drummed his fingers atop the front partition. “Ms. Oldbag? May I ask you some questions? Please? ”

“I told you no one’s here!” Oldbag snapped, her voice echoing from underneath her desk. “Are you sure you don’t need hearing aids instead of glasses?!”

“Look, you and I both know that you’re here, so I advise you to quit playing such childish games,” Miles said, fingers moving rapidly as his irritation grew. “I can stay here all day if need be—you’ll have to come out from your desk eventually for food or a bathroom break.”

“Argh, fine!” Oldbag suddenly reappeared in the security hut window, startling Miles. She was much too close to him. “You’re lucky that you’re cute, you hear? Otherwise, I’d have you arrested on the spot!”

Maya snickered from beside him. “Looks like you have her attention now! Why don’t you woo the information out of her with your charm?”

“Shut up,” Miles muttered, jabbing his elbow into her side. He cleared his throat. “Ahem, Ms. Oldbag, as the security guard for the studio, you must be aware of what happened here yesterday, correct?”

“Obviously! Are you calling me dumb?” Oldbag huffed. “Why wouldn’t I know? Poor Jack Hammer was viscously slain by that no-good Will Powers! I knew something was wrong with that man! I mean, look at him! The man looks like a wolverine! Speaking of wolverines, it reminds me of my school days, way back when I was a beautiful young lady. The men couldn’t keep away from me! And one day, we were out in the woods—”

“Ms. Oldbag,” Miles sternly leaned forward. She yelped and shrank back the closer he got. Good. “Were you at your booth around 2 PM yesterday?”

“How should I know?! Do you think I constantly watch the clock? I do my work, you know! I don’t just sit in here reading celebrity tabloids!”

“I never said that you did—whatever, that’s not important. Please answer my question. I’m trying to put together a crime timeline to see if my evidence fits in.”

“Evidence?” Oldbag’s eyes shined, and she leaned forward again. Her face was now inches from Miles', and he could smell her strong powdery perfume. He felt like gagging. “What kind of evidence? Tell me.”

“I will if you tell me the information that I’m requesting from you,” Miles responded. “It can be an equivalent exchange; how about that?”

“Alright—You first.”

“What? Why? Doesn’t the saying go, ‘Ladies first?’ I must insist that you start. I asked you a question, after all.”

“No way,” Oldbag crossed her arms, sticking up her chin in defiance. “How do I know you won’t run off as soon as I give you my information? You handsome men are always little devils in disguise!”

“I wouldn’t—you know what? Fine,” Miles massaged his temples. “Whatever. As long as you uphold your end of the bargain.” He dug into his satchel bag, where he’d placed the photograph that Cody had stolen from the security booth, then slid it over to Oldbag. “My assistant and I encountered a little boy earlier, and he said he took this from you. I’d like to know more about this photograph, please.”

Oldbag’s face somehow obtained more lines as she scowled deeply at the photograph. “That little—! So, he’s here, is he? Where did you see him?! I’ve been chasing him since yesterday!”

“Hm, maybe I’ll tell you if you answer my questions. How’s that?” Miles asked.

“Grr, fine! Fine! You sly, seductive snake!”

“S-Seductive?! What?! Ms. Oldbag, I assure you that — ”

“I was in the hut yesterday,” she began, “Off and on throughout the day, actually. I was invited to attend the rehearsal in the morning, but they sent me off once it was lunchtime! Global Studios said the steaks were for cast and crew only; can you believe that? I’m crew! I work here!”

“Crew generally refers to members of the film team. You would be classified as staff. I’m sure it was nothing personal — ”

“So I came back and took a nap!” Oldbag huffed, cutting Miles off. “And it was well earned, I’ll have you know! I spent most of the day prior chasing around that little brat with the camera, and then I had to come in early for my shift! So I did a little dozing, and then suddenly, I woke up after I heard a loud banging noise!”

“That must have been the sound of the giant monkey head falling to the ground,” Miles nodded. “So then, you were sleeping during the time that this photo was taken?” he asked, pointing to the security photo.

“Yes, but you can see it’s time-stamped!” Oldbag said, jabbing her finger at the polaroid. “That brute Will Powers murdered sweet, innocent Jack Hammer, and this picture proves it! Look at him, trudging off to Studio 1 to ram his ugly spear into Hammer’s beautiful, muscular chest!”

“Yes, about that…If I may draw your attention to a second photograph,” Miles said, pulling out Cody’s camera. He already had Cody’s picture pulled up on the screen for convenience. “The young boy you were chasing was here yesterday as well and witnessed the Steel Samurai and Evil Magistrate fighting a little after 2 pm on the grounds of Studio 2. ”

“Huh? What? Give me that!” Oldbag snapped, ripping the camera from Miles’ hand with surprising strength. She held the LCD screen right up in front of her eyes as she scoured the photo. “Hm, so they are, yes…I recognize the area well,” she said after a moment. “But that doesn’t change anything! It looks like he attacked Hammer outside! Then he must have dragged him to Studio 1, the monster!”

“But that wouldn’t make any sense,” Miles shook his head. “Why go to all that effort to drag a dead body off in another direction? He would have been spotted easily. And another thing—Mr. Powers told me he was asleep from lunchtime to 5 PM. This photograph obviously contradicts his statement, which is why I wanted your input on the matter.”

“Powers is obviously lying to you.”

“I don’t think so,” Miles said. “Before I left the dressing room area, I discovered this,” he reached inside his jacket and retrieved the bottle of sleeping pills. “Laying on one of the outdoor tables, next to empty plates full of T-bones. I know the cast and crew had a steak lunch yesterday…I don’t think that it would be outside the realm of possibility to say that Mr. Powers was drugged.”

“Drugged? Drugged by who?” Oldbag snorted. “Sounds like you’ve been watching one too many police dramas, sonny.”

“Would you like to know my theory? I think Mr. Hammer drugged Mr. Powers, then stole his costume while he was asleep in his trailer,” Miles said. “I think the Steel Samurai in the two photographs I've shown you is Jack Hammer, not Will Powers!”

“What? That’s crazy!” Oldbag said. “The Steel Samurai is limping in this security photo! Will Powers got injured during the morning practice yesterday—this can’t be anyone else except him!”

“Was Mr. Hammer also at the rehearsal yesterday? You said that you went to watch, correct? Did you see him?”

“Did I ever,” Oldbag said with a dreamy sigh. “Hammer was so handsome as he practiced with Powers! I paid special attention to the way his biceps flexed during the fight scenes, heh heh.”

“So you admit it. Thank you for confirming my suspicion,” Miles smirked. “Hammer was at the morning rehearsal; therefore, he witnessed Powers get injured. He had knowledge of the nature of his injury—it wouldn’t be out of the question for him to steal the costume and then fake a limp as he walked around.”

“And why on earth would he want to do that?!”

“To frame Powers for a crime.”

“Crime? Is there a brain in that pretty little head of yours?” Oldbag scoffed. “Once again, Hammer is the one who died! Are you trying to say that Hammer killed himself and made it look like murder?”

“Not at all. I think Hammer was on his way to commit another crime, but he got caught and was subsequently killed. The real killer then framed Will Powers for Hammer’s death.”

“And who do you think this so-called killer is, Mr. Brianiac Attorney?”

“Er…That, I don’t know.” Miles admitted, tugging on his collar. “I still need to figure that one out.”

“Well then, let me help you,” Oldbag looked smug. “Powers was the killer. Hammer was the poor, poor victim. That man has been plagued with bad luck ever since five years ago—Ack! Never mind that, sonny! You didn’t hear anything!”

“Five years ago?!” Miles exclaimed. “What happened to Hammer five years ago?!”

“Nothing, nothing!” Oldbag waved her hand. “Forget that I said anything, alright? I’m an old biddy—I just ramble on without thinking!”

“Ms. Oldbag, need I remind you about the sleeping pills?” Miles asked. “Hammer was clearly plotting something. If this is somehow related to an incident from his past, I implore you to tell me! This may be the break that I need!”

“B-but there’s no way…I refuse to believe, why would he…” Oldbag’s expression suddenly went grim. “Ah, I know. Yes, yes, I see it now. Oh Hammer, you foolish, foolish man…”

“What? What is it?!” Miles nearly launched himself over the desk of the hut. “Please tell me! Please! ”

“No need to beg, sonny. I promised I’d talk to you, didn’t I? Though I must say, you’re extra handsome when you’re worked up like this! You’re so beautiful when your face is flush red!” she giggled. Miles’ lips twitched, and he bit down on them hard to prevent a scowl from forming. He couldn’t chase her off—not when he was so close…

“The incident from five years ago,” Oldbag sighed, suddenly looking weary. “It was a horrible, tragic accident. Jack Hammer was on these very grounds, shooting a movie with his co-star Manuel. They were filming an action scene—a standard affair, really. But then things went horribly wrong. Part of the scene involved Hammer pushing Manuel aside. Now, they were filming on top of a deck, and when Hammer shoved Manuel…Well, no one is sure exactly how it happened. Either the angle was wrong, Hammer used too much force, or Manuel stumbled, but it all ended the same: Manuel fell over the side of the deck and onto the spike fence below. The poor man was impaled.”

Maya gasped and made a retching noise, though no vomit left her mouth. “I-Impaled?! Like a hotdog on a fork?!”

“You got it, whippersnapper,” Oldbag said solemnly. “Dee Vasquez was the movie's producer, and she covered it up. You see, there was a photographer on set at the time who managed to snap a photo of the moment Manuel’s stomach was pierced by the fence spike. But Vasquez used her connections to silence them.”

“Ah, Hollywood…” Miles shook his head. “My father has dealt with plenty of cases regarding corrupt executives.”

“Ah, no, sonny. This isn’t your standard corporate corruption,” Oldbag shook her head. Her eyes were gleaming again. “Vasquez has ties to the mob. She silenced the photographer through intimidation, then used the incident to blackmail Hammer.”

“ Blackmail? Why?”

“Because she was romantically involved with Manuel,” Oldbag licked her lips—she was grinning devilishly. “And so she decided to punish Hammer after he died. I don’t know if you knew this, but Hammer was a serious, respected actor up until five years ago. He was on his way to becoming an A-list celebrity. But then Manuel’s death happened, and he suddenly switched to exclusively doing kids’ shows. Ever wonder why that was? Because Vasquez forced him to. She’s never gotten over Manuel’s death.”

“Do you have proof of this?” Maya interjected, her brow furrowed. “Or is this just the latest gossip from your tabloid magazines? I see the tower of them on the corner of your desk.”

“Hey! Those are prime reading material!” Oldbag snapped. “And yes, everything I told you is true! Hammer hated being in these shows; it was an open secret around here! Powers always tried to cheer him up about it! And if you don’t believe me…”

Miles heard rustling noises as Oldbag yanked open the bottom drawer of her desk with too much force. She appeared a minute later, red-faced and out of breath, and triumphantly slammed a Polaroid down on the counter. “There! I have the photograph of Manuel’s death!”

Miles grabbed the photo and nearly vomited at the scene before him. There, clear as day, was a man laying on top of a fence, the post spike protruding through his stomach and a horrified Hammer and Vasquez above him. 

“T-this is…H-how did you get this?!”

“I stole it.”

“ How? ”

“Ah ah, a woman never reveals her secrets!”

“Ms. Oldbag, this is perhaps the most crucial piece of evidence I’ve obtained. May I ask if I can—”

“Say no more,” she waved her hand. “I already knew that you’d ask to keep it. That’s why I pulled it out.”

“Why the sudden agreeability?”

“I don’t like what’s been happening around here,” Oldbag said grimly. “The stench of corruption has been thick ever since Manuel’s accident. And Hammer…poor, foolish Hammer, couldn’t take it anymore.”

“You said he hated acting in children’s shows, correct?” Miles asked. “Would you say that he was…aggravated by it? Would it make him…vindictive even?”

“...Oh, oho! I see what you’re implying!” Oldbag nodded fervently. “Cute and smart? What a package you are! Yes, I think he disliked Vasquez a lot, as a matter of fact!”

“Can you confirm one last thing for me? Ms. Vasquez told me earlier that she was in Studio 2 most of the afternoon. Is that correct?”

“Yes, yes, it is. I received a call from her regarding the path blockage after I woke up,” Oldbag nodded. She told me to call someone to remove it because she was stuck on the premises of Studio 2.”

“Thank you. I think I now know exactly what happened. Maya?” Miles looked over his shoulder. “Let’s go. I think we need to speak with Ms. Vasquez again.”

“Hey! What about your end of the bargain?!” Oldbag snapped, gnashing her teeth at him.

“Ah, yes. The boy, Cody, was in the dressing room area. He’s probably long gone by now—good luck catching up with him,” Miles smiled.

“We’ll see about that! I’ll have you know that I was a marathon runner back in the day!” Oldbag sprinted out of the hut, racing past Miles. She was already winded by the time she reached the front gates; Miles and Maya followed behind her as her run slowed down into a jog, then a power walk, and finally a slow, ambling walk as they returned to the dressing room area.

Vasquez wasn’t in the area anymore, so Miles was able to (blessedly) leave Oldbag behind as she scoured the area, looking for Cody. He decided not to mention the air vent to her, even though the grate was tossed halfway across the courtyard. He hoped Cody was off having fun wherever he was.

Gumshoe was still bumbling around in Studio 1 and told them that no one else had been around, leaving Studio 2 as the only logical place to look for Vasquez. When they entered the lot of Studio 2, Miles noticed tables out in the courtyard with empty plates, an incinerator with ashes scattered around, and one lone trailer up on a deck above a flowerbed fenced with sharp, iron spikes. Miles noted, disturbingly, that one of the spikes was crooked and bent. He recalled Oldbag’s description of the event five years ago and committed the scene to memory before he entered the trailer without knocking.

Dee Vasquez sat at a desk in the right corner of the trailer, writing something into a giant, overstuffed binder. Miles was amazed to see a cloud of smoke puffing out through her lips—he didn’t have a clue how anyone could write and smoke out of a pipe at the same time. When Vasquez heard his and Maya’s footsteps, she paused, slamming her binder shut before throwing a scowl over her shoulder. “Ah, you’re back. I was hoping that you’d forget to check in with me. How unfortunate for me.”

“Well, lucky for you, this won’t take long, depending on what you choose to confess,” Miles replied, folding his arms.

Vasquez raised an eyebrow at him, turning in the chair so she could thoroughly look at him. “Oh?”

“I have some questions for you.”

“You said that when we spoke this morning.”

“Yes, well, I have more. Imagine that,” Miles said wryly. “I’ve done some investigating, and I learned quite an interesting bit of information surrounding an incident that occurred five years ago.”

Miles noticed with satisfaction that Vasquez’s grip on her pipe tightened. “I-Is that so…” she said, narrowing her eyes at him. “And what does that have to do with me?”

“Oh, I think it has plenty to do with you. Tell me, does the name Manuel ring a bell?”

The pipe in Vasquez’s hand snapped in two. 

“No. It doesn’t.” She said through gritted teeth.

“Oh really , now? Because this photograph says otherwise!” Miles said, dramatically pulling out the photo of the impaled Manuel and waving it around in front of Vasquez’s face.

“ Where did you get that?! ” Vasquez snarled, bolting out of her chair so fast that it toppled to the ground. “I—!”

“Silenced the photographer? Yes, I heard. I’ve learned quite a bit about you today. So, why don’t we have a little chat?”

“About what? The horrid murder of an innocent man? What else is there to say?!”

“Are you…Are you claiming that Manuel falling onto the fence spike was intentional? That Hammer pushed him down on purpose?”

“Does it look like an accident to you?”

“Is that why you were set on ruining Hammer’s life?” Miles asked. “Is that why you forced him to work on children's shows against his will?”

“Ruining his life…Please,” Vasquez scowled. “That’s the most charitable thing I could do for him, considering he killed a man. I could have had him arrested, I could have had him fired...I could have had a number of things happen to him. Now give me that photo!”

She lunged at Miles, and he quickly stepped back, tucking the photograph into his suit pocket. “Absolutely not,” Miles shook his head. “This is valuable evidence. You can see it tomorrow in court when I subpoena you!”

“Wrong answer,” Vasquez’s face suddenly went blank. She put her index finger and thumb together in her mouth and blew a sharp, shrill whistle. “Oh, boys !”

Four burly men in suits and sunglasses suddenly entered the trailer—two through the door and two jumping in through the window, flanking Miles and Maya. One of the men caught Maya’s arm and twisted it, causing her to cry out in pain.

Miles panicked. “What are you—?!”

“Erase them. Take the photo off his corpse,” Vasquez said, snapping her fingers and pointing at Miles. 

Miles’ thoughts started racing as the two men closest to Vasquez approached him with sickening grins. Phone, phone, your cell phone. Call the police, call your uncle, call your father—

Maya let out an ear-piercing scream. “No! No! LEAVE HIM ALONE! DON'T HURT MILES! DON’T — ”

“What’s going on here?! I heard yelling!” The door to the trailer burst open again as Phoenix Wright stumbled in, left shoulder first, Detective Gumshoe hot on his heels. As soon as he saw the group of men holding Maya and Miles hostage, he sprang into action. “Gumshoe!” He pointed, “Help them—I’ll call for backup!”

“Sir!” Gumshoe nodded, pulling a pistol from the holster on his hip. “Everybody FREEZE! Hands in the air!”

“M-Mine t-too?” Maya sniffled as the man holding her let her go.

“Absolutely not! Get over here!”

Maya obeyed and sprinted behind Gumshoe while Wright flung the door back open, cupped his hands around his mouth, and yelled, “All officers in the area—report to the trailer at Studio 2! It’s an emergency!”

He whipped around without a moment’s hesitation and scowled at the men who were still flanking Miles. “Back off, you heard the detective,” he growled. “And I’ll have you know we have no less than five officers in the immediate area and a plethora more all around the film studio lot. You’re not going to get away with anything.”

“Heh, says you. We only listen to Ms. Vasquez,” the man closest to Miles said. He balled his hand into a fist and suddenly socked Miles square in the face.

“MILES!” Maya screamed as Miles fell to the ground, the room blurring and spinning around him as his glasses skewed to the side.

“That’s it!” he heard Gumshoe roar. The man who punched him cried out as Gumshoe slammed him into the wall.

“ Enough! ” Vasquez spoke. The noises died out instantly. “No more fighting. I’ll go with you.”

“You better,” Bile dripped from Wright's words. A clattering of boots on wooden planks drew Miles’ attention to the doorway. “Ah, good, my backup is here. Men, arrest them.”

“Sir, yes, sir!” The officers cried. 

Miles closed his eyes, listening to the noises of Vasquez and her lackeys getting handcuffed and led out the door. He had an excruciating headache, but the darkness seemed to take the edge off.

“Hey, you alright?”

Wright’s voice was next to his left ear. Miles cracked open one of his eyes. In the haze of his headache and the bright, fluorescent overhead lighting, he saw Wright kneeling next to him, hand extended. 

“What are you doing here?” Miles asked, taking Wright’s hand without a second thought. Wright gently pulled him up into a sitting position. “I thought you left after we ran into you at Studio 1.”

“That didn’t answer my question,” Wright said, sounding annoyed, but his eyes sparkled playfully. “But sure, I’ll answer yours. I was going to leave, but one of our officers pulled me aside as I was heading for the studio entrance, and then I got sidetracked by forensics.”

“You spent all day with forensics? Why? You’re a lawyer.”

“Ah, there’s this kid I know,” Wright chuckled. “The chief’s little sister. Her dream is to be a forensic scientist one day. Whenever I’m with a forensics team member, I take notes and report my findings back to her.”

“That’s really…sweet. I didn’t expect that from you.”

“Yeah, well…it’s whatever,” Wright grumbled, cheeks tinged pink. “Don’t read into it, okay? You were lucky that I was outside helping them dust for prints! I heard a woman screaming and ended up busting down the door.”

“Thank you,” Miles said, adjusting his glasses so they were back in their proper place on his face. “I mean it. She would have had them kill us.”

“I know,” Wright said grimly, passing an ice pack into Miles’ hands.

“Where—”

“Gumshoe. He’s surprisingly useful more times than not.”

“Where is he?” Miles asked, looking around. He and Wright were the only ones in the trailer.

“He took your friend outside; she was nearly hyperventilating over you. Let’s hope you don’t get injured on the job again. I don’t think her heart could take it.”

“Right, I’ll try not to make it a habit,” Miles grunted. “Confronting a woman with suspected mob ties wasn’t the brightest idea I’ve ever had. Ugh, if Maya reacted this way, then I dread to think of how my father will react…”

A funny expression appeared on Wright’s face. “How is he?”

Miles paused. “My…Father?”

“Yeah. It’s been years, but he still seems as feisty as ever, from what I’ve seen.”

“Feisty? With all due respect—and I’m glad he’s not here to hear me—he’s 50. When he’s not working in the office, he spends most of his time reading the paper or talking to the succulents accumulated on the windowsill. He calls them my siblings,” Miles rolled his eyes. “Can you believe him?”

“That’s adorable,” Wright said, a distant look in his eye. “He seems to be exactly as I remember him.”

“You can speak with him, you know. He’s usually around the courthouse when I am. He won’t bite, though he may lecture you about court etiquette.” 

“No, that wouldn’t be…wise,” Wright shook his head, standing up. “And after conversing with you, I can tell you don’t have a concussion.”

“Wait, was that all that conversation was? A check on my mental state?”

“Hm, believe whatever you want,” Wright said, waving over his shoulder as he headed for the trailer exit. “I’m catching a ride with Gumshoe back to the police station to help him lock up our little friends. I’ll see you in court tomorrow, yeah? Unless you’re not feeling up to it…”

“I’ll be there,” Miles said firmly, getting to his feet. He thought of Will Powers’ somber expression behind the glass partition in the detention center and of his father, who was brimming with pride at how Miles had been handling his cases; he'd still show up even if he wasn’t feeling his best. “I’ve got too many people counting on me—I can’t skip court, not even for a day.”

“Then bring your best, like you always do. I won’t go down without a fight.”

“Trust me, Wright, I know.”

Chapter Text

Predictably, Gregory was horrified when Miles told him what had happened at the end of his investigation at the Global Studios lot.

They had a nightly ritual—Miles usually called his father (or his father called him) during dinnertime if they weren’t meeting up after work. Though Miles had moved out of his childhood home around 4 years ago, he and his father were still inseparable. Sometimes, Miles felt self-conscious about the nightly phone calls; after all, they worked in the same office together. He saw his father nearly every day, so why call? It was highly unwarranted. But it just felt right ; if he went a night without speaking to his father, he would feel a strange emptiness take residence in his heart. And he wasn’t alone—Gregory offhandedly mentioned once that he felt the same. They had been each other’s rock since Miles’ mother passed, and any sort of childish embarrassment he felt over speaking with his father was minuscule in the grand scheme of things.

“Miles Atticus Edgeworth, what were you thinking?!” Gregory exclaimed, leaving Miles’ ears ringing from the volume of his voice. “Confronting a woman like that—alone? You know better!”

“I know, I know,” Miles sighed, sinking into the couch cushions. He was currently lying on his living room sofa, cell phone in one hand, his other hand massaging the bridge of his nose. “I’ve already been read the riot act by Detective Gumshoe and Prosecutor Wright. I just…I got excited. I wasn’t thinking.”

Gregory paused. The silence on the other end of the phone filled Miles with unease; he was about to ask if his father was still on the line when he spoke, “I’m glad that they were there. If Prosecutor Wright hadn’t come in, I—” Gregory sighed heavily, “I don’t even want to think about it. Don’t scare me like that again, Miles.”

“I’m sorry for worrying you.”

“Promise me that you won’t do anything dangerous like that again. I don’t think my heart could take it.”

“I promise.”

“Thank you. I love you, Miles.”

“I love you too.”

Miles arrived at the courthouse the following day, head foggy and eyelids weighted down by grogginess. He hadn’t slept well the previous night; after he got off the phone with his father, he fell into a restless sleep, mind plagued with nightmares of Vasquez’s hitman hurting him and Maya, of him being killed, of his father discovering his body…

Miles shivered at the memory. He had to stop thinking about that, or this trial would be a complete disaster. 

“Oh, sorry, did I startle you?” Will Powers suddenly asked, causing Miles to jump. The bailiffs must have escorted him into the room while Miles was lost in his recollections. “I tend to have that effect on people, I’m sorry.”

“People are frightened of you?” Miles frowned. He couldn’t imagine why; Powers was quite easy on the eyes. “Well, rest assured, Mr. Powers, I’m not. I’m just a bit distracted today—but that won’t have any bearing on your trial. I assure you that I will give it my all out there.”

“Thanks. It’s rare for me to encounter a kind soul such as yourself. I’m glad you chose to defend me—even if I lose, I know you’d try your best. I can’t tell you how much that means to me.”

“Of course, Mr. Powers,” Miles' heart hammered into overdrive in his chest. “I would do the same for any of my clients. But please don’t go into the courtroom thinking that you’ll lose. I spent my evening pouring over my notes and building your case—I’m confident we’ll walk out of this trial victorious. Vasquez’s behavior yesterday did her no favors.”

“Just be careful,” Powers cautioned. “Dee Vasquez is a powerful woman with connections all over the world.”

“Yes, I found out about her connections when she tried to place a hit on me yesterday afternoon.”

“Yikes,” Powers gulped. “I hope you’ll be alright in there.”

“I'm flattered that you're worried about me—but I’m much more worried about you.”

“I thought you said you would fight to clear my name?”

“I am! I didn’t mean I was worried about you getting a guilty verdict!” Miles panicked, waving his hands. “I-I just meant that I was worried about your well-being, that’s all. Please believe me when I say that I have the utmost confidence regarding your innocence.”

“Oh, phew , that’s a relief,” Powers said. “Um, if you could look less…nervous when you tell me that, I think that’d help a lot with my morale.”

It was a bit ironic for Powers to say such a thing; he was the most nervous-looking man Miles had ever encountered during his time as a defense attorney. It was a wonder that the man’s fingers weren’t bruised from the amount of times he twiddled them while speaking. Miles, of course, kept such thoughts to himself. It wouldn’t do him any good to be antagonistic towards his client, and it’s not like Powers could help his nervous tic anyway. After all, if Miles was the one on trial for murder, he’d feel just as anxious, if not more.

He walked side-by-side with Powers as the bailiffs escorted them into the courtroom, asking him what it was like to film the Steel Samurai to distract him (and gain some behind-the-scenes knowledge as well). Wright was already in place behind the prosecutor’s bench, as Miles knew he'd be. He raised his hand in a friendly wave, but Wright didn’t return the gesture. Instead, he gave Miles a curt nod, a tense smile lingering on his face. It seemed like things would go as they usually did in the courtroom, which was disappointing, to say the least.

Maya sprinted into the courtroom about 3 minutes before the trial started, skidding past Powers and sliding into her spot next to Miles at the bench. “H-here! I’m here! I made it!” she panted.

“Where were you?” Miles asked, shuffling his notes around in his hands, trying to arrange them in a semblance of chronological order. “I thought I’d have to run this trial by myself.”

“Talking with Mia on the phone. She wanted to come over here to watch the trial, but Diego and I didn’t think she’d be able to get up all the stairs in the gallery. I had to give her a whole big lecture about it—y’know, sometimes I wonder who’s the big sister and who’s the little sister,” Maya shook her head. “Anyways, it’s more spacious than usual over here…Your dad isn’t here?”

“I told him I wanted to try things alone for once. I think he’s up in the gallery.”

At that bit of information, Maya looked over her shoulder to the gallery behind them, scanning the rows of people in the crowd. Gregory Edgeworth and Eddie Fender were sitting in the middle; when she caught Gregory’s eye, she used her entire arm to wave at him. Gregory chuckled and whispered something to Eddie before they used their wrists to return her gesture on a much smaller scale.

“Good luck, Milesy! You’re gonna kill it out there like you usually do!” Eddie’s voice trailed down from the stands. Wright also heard him and let out a derisive-sounding snort, causing Miles’ ears to turn red in embarrassment. Sometimes, he wished his uncle didn’t have such a loud mouth.

The judge entered the courtroom, the people in the stands falling silent as he took his spot. “Good afternoon, Mr. Edgeworth, Mr. Wright,” the judge greeted, nodding politely at them. “Did you have a good weekend?”

“Um, I was a little…busy,” Miles replied, caught off-guard by the judge’s jovial nature. “With an investigation and all.”

“Ah, right, right. Sorry about that! I hope you get a chance to relax soon! I myself spent the weekend on the golf course, and my wife, as usual, beat me! She’s got such an amazing shot! Say, does your father play golf? Perhaps we should—”

“ Ahem , your Honor, if I may interrupt,” Wright cleared his throat. He appeared agitated behind the bench; Miles noticed his right leg vibrating as he tapped his foot against the floor. “Can we get this trial started?”

“My apologies, Prosecutor Wright! Yes, we should probably start on time, shouldn’t we?” The judge nodded. “Very well, the trial of State vs. Powers is now in session! Prosecutor Wright, your opening statement, if you would.”

“Thank you, Your Honor,” Wright nodded. “Will Powers, the lead actor of the well-known children’s show The Steel Samurai, murdered his co-star, Jack Hammer, using a prop spear from the show to impale Hammer. We have a strong witness—this case will be over in about five minutes.”

“Goodness, it’s nice to see you so confident,” The judge said. He glanced down at the pile of documents on his desk, removing the top one and bringing it close to his face to read it. “And, er, the punishment, should he be found guilty, is…life in prison, with a possibility of a death sentence, to be determined at a later hearing. Is that correct?”

“It is, yes,” Wright said, avoiding eye contact with Miles.

Miles’ jaw locked in place. “Again, with the death sentence? Why? I thought you mentioned yesterday that you regretted pushing for it!”

“I had no choice.”

“ Bullshit! ”

“I’m serious. I really didn’t—”

“Mr. Edgeworth, please!” The judge cut them off with a swift bang of his gavel. “Prosecutor Wright is still speaking. You’ll get your chance for rebuttal during your cross-examination. And please mind your language.”

“Apologies, Your Honor,” Miles said, a bitterness welling inside him the longer he stared at Wright. Was everything that occurred between them yesterday a lie? Was Wright playing the part of a remorseful person to lull him into a false sense of security? Miles clenched his fists. “I’ll wait my turn.”

He wasn’t going to hold back. If Wright thought he was a pushover, he had another thing coming.

It was good that he steeled himself because the witness that Wright decided to call to the stand was none other than Dee Vasquez. A million thoughts ran through Miles’ head about what he wanted to say to Wright—most of them swears— but he remained silent. The audacity of this man before him, summoning the very woman who tried to kill him yesterday, was too much. And Wright, once again, avoided all eye contact with Miles. 

Vasquez had a new pipe with her, and she stood behind the witness stand, smoking away as Wright questioned her. She looked as bored as ever, as if testifying in court was as minor of an inconvenience to her as sitting in traffic.

“Ms. Vasquez,” Wright began, “can you tell me what you were doing on the day of the murder?”

“My usual tasks. I told you my occupation when you asked me. I’m an executive producer on the Steel Samurai. We had rehearsal all day yesterday.”

“The specifics, please?” 

“Ugh, very well…” Vasquez rolled her eyes. She began to explain to the court her actions on the day of the murder. Miles kept waiting for Wright to interject and bring up yesterday's incident at Studio 2, but he just sat behind his desk, watching her speak in silence. The only sounds were his fingers tapping against the solid wood of his desk.

Coward. Miles thought. What happened to the man that I saw yesterday?

When it was Miles’ turn for the cross-examination, he didn’t hold back. He slammed his hand loudly upon his desk, stared Vasquez straight in the eye, and fired off the questions he wrote into his spiral-bound notebook, giving her no leeway. 

“Ms. Vasquez, you claim that at 2:30 pm, you and Mr. Manella took a break from one of your many meetings with the Global Studios executives,” Miles began, clearing his throat. “You said you ate a steak during that time, and then Mr. Manella drove you in the Global Studios van to Studio 1 after your numerous meetings with the studio executives. However, when I was investigating the Studio 2 area yesterday, before our… delightful meeting, I noticed that all the plates in the courtyard were empty.”

“Your point?” Vasquez asked, taking a drag from her pipe. Miles wondered about the legality of her actions but decided not to push it. “All that I gathered from your lengthy explanation is that you like to poke around in the garbage like a common canine.”

“It’s an interesting contrast, that’s all,” Miles said. “Especially when comparing your plates with those of the cast from the dressing room area—they still had the remnants of their steak left behind. I imagine there was no time to clean up after the murder occurred. But your plates were suspiciously clean.”

“You certainly love to nitpick, don’t you? That’s a rather annoying habit. One that could end…badly for you if you keep it up.”

“Is that a threat?”

“More of a…suggestion, really.”

“Hm, yes. Well then, might I suggest that if you’re going to clean up a crime scene, that you not be so sloppy as to leave behind the ashes of the steak bones right next to the incinerator?”

“How do you know those were the steak bones? They could have been the remnants of leaves. It wouldn't be unusual, it’s October.”

“It was steak. I heard from the Global Studios security guard that it was provided to all cast and crew. But then the question begs to be asked—why go to the trouble of burning the bones? No, I'll answer for you," Miles said, cutting off Vasquez before she had the chance to speak. "Because it wasn’t just the bones you burned, no, you burnt the whole steak. You never ate it. During that 15-minute break, you met Jack Hammer in his Steel Samurai costume and killed him.”

Vasquez tightly gripped her pipe, a scowl slowly appearing across her face. “That’s a bold claim for you to make without any evidence!”

Miles crossed his arms. “Oh, I have plenty of evidence. I’ve submitted two photographs to the court record that were given to me by a Steel Samurai superfan who managed to sneak into the lot on the day of the murder. If we examine the photos, we’ll see quite the interesting scene of Hammer facing off against someone in an Evil Magistrate costume!”

“Did you get your wires crossed? Hammer played the Magistrate, not the Samurai.”

“I am well aware of who the actors on this show are, believe me,” Miles scowled. “And that was Hammer in the Steel Samurai costume that afternoon. While I was obtaining the photos from the superfan, I happened to come across a bottle of sleeping pills next to the plate that Will Powers had eaten off of. After Detective Gumshoe escorted you off the premises yesterday, I spoke with several members of law enforcement who helpfully collected my statement about what happened between us. While talking with them, I remembered that I had the bottle of pills on my person, and I asked them to dust it for prints. And do you know whose fingerprints were on the bottle? Jack Hammer’s.”

“And? That might have been his personal bottle. Who knows? Maybe he had trouble falling asleep at night.”

“Unlikely. I submitted a written statement on behalf of my client. He retired to his dressing room after lunch on the day of the murder and fell into a deep sleep until 5 pm. Hammer drugged his steak, stole his costume, and then made his way to Studio 2, where you encountered him and stabbed him!”

Vasquez’s scowl deepened, and she glared over in Wright’s direction. “Well? Aren’t you going to come to my defense?”

“I’m the prosecution,” Wright replied. “I don’t defend anyone.”

“I’m your witness, and he’s accusing me of murder!”

Wright shrugged at her in response. “Rebuke him then.”

“That’s your job!”

Miles watched their exchange, utterly baffled. Much as he loathed the woman, Vasquez brought up a good point. Usually, by this point, Wright was jumping on him left and right, poking holes into every single one of his statements and acting smug when Miles panicked. But today was different; Wright just stood behind his desk, apathetic, as if he didn’t want to be there. 

Vasquez quickly got fed up with the arguing, angrily puffing her smoke at Wright like she was a fire-breathing dragon. “Fine, you useless prosecutor, I’ll defend myself!” she snapped, returning her attention to Miles. “You claim I stabbed Hammer with the spear? A ridiculous notion. I’m a woman of petite stature. There’s no way on Earth I could wield such an enormous spear on my own!”

“Hmm, that's a valid point,” Miles smiled and tapped his temple. I agree with you.”

“ What. ”

“I said I agree with you,” he replied, speaking louder, his smile widening. “I don’t think you killed him with the spear. I examined it while I was at Studio 1—it was broken and pieced back together with duct tape. There’s no way a prop like that was strong or sharp enough to pierce someone, especially if they were wearing a thick costume like Hammer was.”

“Didn’t you just claim that I met Hammer on the grounds of Studio 2 and stabbed him? And now you’re walking it back?"

“No, I'm merely making my point. I never stated that you stabbed him with the spear, Ms. Vasquez.”

“Utter lunacy. Amazing,” Vasquez said dryly. “I don’t think I’ve ever encountered a more baffling attorney in my life. What sort of backwater school did you earn your law degree from? Now you’re refuting the very basics of this case.”

“Are you done?” Miles asked. “If you would like to continue spewing hot air, by all means, continue. I’ll wait.”

Vasquez glared daggers at him, falling silent on the stand.

“Thank you. As I was saying, I never stated that Hammer was murdered with the spear. If I may draw the court’s attention to this photograph?” Miles opened up one of the several manilla folders on his desk and retrieved the photograph of Manuel’s accident from five years ago, displaying it outwards for the courtroom to see. Vasquez paled at the sight of it. “This is the deck area outside of the trailer on the grounds of Studio 2, and subsequently, the site of a tragic accident five years ago. As you can see, the actor in this picture, Manuel, fell on top of a fencepost spike, which pierced through his body and killed him. I would like to raise the suggestion that Jack Hammer was killed in the same manner. During my investigation yesterday, I noticed one of the spikes on the same fence as the one in this picture was crooked. Vasquez could have easily shoved Hammer onto it.”

Miles allowed silence to fill the courtroom, hoping it would add to the weight of his words and increase the pressure on Vasquez.

To his astonishment, Vasquez began to laugh.

“Bravo, well done,” she applauded, her pipe dangling from her lips. “Very creative, Mr. Edgeworth. I could use a man like you on my scriptwriting staff. Are you interested in a career change?”

Miles snorted. “So you’re denying it, then.”

“As any normal innocent person would, after being accused of murder,” Vasquez replied. “But let me humor you for a moment. For the sake of your argument, let's say that Hammer died on top of the fencepost in Studio 2. Right away, you should see the flaw in your argument. His body was found at Studio 1 in the Evil Magistrate’s costume.”

“You—”

“Let me stop you right there,” Vasquez held up her hand. “I bet the next words out of your mouth would have been, ‘You moved the body.’ A ridiculous notion. I only had a 15-minute break from my meeting with the Global Studios executives; they can verify that I attended all of the meetings if you don’t believe me. It wouldn’t have been possible for me to kill Hammer, carry his body to Studio 1, change his costume, and return to the trailer in 15 minutes.”

“Ah, yes. A valid point,” Wright said, looking none too pleased with Vasquez’s explanation. “The time frame is too tight. A reasonable effort, Mr. Edgeworth, but the reality of the situation doesn’t align with your theory.”

“What if she had another way of moving the body?” Miles interjected after a moment of quiet contemplation. “Other than her own two hands?”

“Oh?” Wright looked intrigued. “Go on, Edgeworth.”

“Ms. Vasquez, earlier, you stated that you and Mr. Manella took the studio van to Studio 1 for the evening rehearsal, correct?” Miles asked.

“Yes. Your point? It had been a long day, and I was fatigued. I didn’t want to make the journey over there by foot.”

“Heh, thank you for re-stating that fact,” Miles smirked. “I propose you used that very same van to transport Hammer’s body to Studio 1. Then, before everyone else arrived, you changed him into his Evil Magistrate costume!”

“That’s even more asinine then—”

“Objection!” Wright’s voice boomed, pelting Miles like a deluge of arrows. Wright had been so subdued the entire trial that Miles forgot how loud he could be. “Hold on, Edgeworth. Vasquez said that Sal Manella drove her to the studio. Are you suggesting that he’s a conspirator in this crime?”

“Yes, I am,” Miles nodded. “Much as it pains me to make that accusation towards the lead writer of the Steel Samurai, it’s the only logical conclusion I can draw from this. Hammer’s body had to be moved off the fencepost, stuffed into the van, and changed into the Magistrate costume. Dee Vasquez can't have done that on her own. They also had to dispose of the bloody samurai costume…Recall my earlier argument about the ashes from the T-bone steak; I have an inkling that they removed the Steel Samurai outfit similarly—They threw it in the incinerator!” Miles locked eyes with Vasquez. “Well? Shall I continue?”

“No need,” Vasquez had returned to her usual apathetic look, smoking from her pipe like she was unwinding in her living room for the evening. “It appears you’re as much as a brainiac as you look. Congratulations, I lose, you win.”

“I—What?” Miles asked.

“Huh? Huh?” Wright exclaimed from behind the prosecutor’s bench. “Ms. Vasquez, are you admitting to the crime?”

“The crime of what, exactly?”

“Of killing Jack Hammer! That’s what this whole trial is about!”

“Hm, who can say?” Vasquez asked, her lips curling into a smirk.

Wright’s jaw dropped. “ What? Wait, so you just...admitted to a crime, and now you’re walking it back?!”

“I didn’t admit to anything.”

“You literally just told Edgeworth that he won!”

“In a battle of wits against me, yes. But I never stated that I killed Hammer. I was simply applauding Mr. Edgeworth’s reasoning skills.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Clearly,” Vasquez remarked. “I’m glad I spoke with Edgeworth instead of you. I can’t imagine what a battle of wits would look like with you. Let me break it down for you in a way that will penetrate those layers of obnoxious spikes upon your head: Mr. Edgeworth brought up the possibility that I could have murdered Hammer. But that’s it. A possibility. The proof is another matter entirely, and Mr. Edgeworth lacks decisive proof.”

“I–what– huh?! ” Miles exclaimed, feeling the familiar jolt of panic in his stomach. He would like to get through a trial just once without the witness shooting all of his hopes down. “But—”

“Hm...She appears to be right,” the judge murmured. “Prosecutor Wright? Your thoughts on the matter?”

“Uh, ummmm…Uh…” Wright stammered, tugging on his collar and twisting his index finger in the fabric of his expensive-looking shirt as he began to visibly sweat. “Well, Mr. Edgeworth brought up several e xtraordinarily valid points. But uh, Ms. Vasquez is also right, there’s no proof…” he finished weakly, shooting an odd grimace-smile at Miles.

“Miles!” Maya hissed from beside him. “Wright isn’t convinced! It actually sounds like he agrees with you—we’ve got to keep her on the stand!”

“How?!” Miles whispered back. “I’ve tried everything that I could think of!”

“You want me to jump in? I could do a dramatic faint in front of everyone. That'll buy us time!”

“Absolutely not. We’ll…uh, we’ll think of something. We always do.”

“You want me to flag down your dad? I think I’m pretty good at blinking in Morse Code. I could blink SOS for help!”

“ No .”

“But—!”

“Is that all?” Vasquez interrupted. She was smiling now—it was the first time Miles had ever seen a smile from her. He didn’t much care for it. “I came here as a witness. If you have no other questions, I’ll leave.”

“Objection!”

All eyes fell on Wright, who, after his loud outburst, now stood silently at his desk, bunching up his shirt fabric further. It was going to be a wrinkly mess by the end of this trial.

“...Yes, Mr. Wright? Would you like to elaborate?” The judge asked. “Usually, when there’s an objection declared, there’s a follow-up.”

“I, uh, was hoping that I’d come up with a question for Ms. Vasquez while I was objecting, Your Honor,” Wright flashed the judge a nervous smile. “I…didn’t.”

“Erm, alright then…” The judge said. “Then Ms. Vasquez, you are free to leave the—”

“Objection!”

“ Yes , Mr. Wright? Do you have a follow-up this time? Or are you objecting to me?”

“No, Your Honor,” Wright shook his head. “I have a request for Ms. Vasquez. I would like her to testify again.”

“Why are you badgering me?” Vasquez huffed. “Need I remind you again that I’m your witness? Are you a prosecutor or a defense attorney?!”

“I’m a prosecutor, clearly,” Wright said, digging around in his front pocket. He opened his palm and flashed his prosecutor’s badge to the court. “See? I just wanted to…hear your testimony again. Get it straight for the court record.”

Vasquez narrowed her eyes. “That makes little sense to me. It would be a complete waste of all our time to repeat everything that was said over the last several minutes.”

“I agree,” the judge nodded. “Mr. Wright? What exactly did you want her to testify about? And be specific .”

“I…er, I…sure! I’ll be…specific,” Wright floundered, opening and closing his palms as if that would somehow aid him. “Specific, specific, specific… Think Phoenix …Uh, yes! I want to…I want to hear about what happened after they found the body! Ms. Vasquez didn’t tell us that!”

“Oh! A good point,” The judge said. “Very well. The witness will testify to the court about finding the body.”

“ Tsk , congratulations. You somehow managed to buy yourself more time,” Vasquez clicked her tongue. “But it won’t matter. You’ll still end up in the same situation regardless.”

“Psst! Psst! Hey! Miles!” Maya whispered, tugging on his suit sleeve. “Why did Wright do that? He could have let her go! Powers would have been found guilty!”

“Mind the tugging, please. My father bought this suit for me as a gift,” Miles grunted. “And I…I think that Wright realized that she committed the crime as well. Perhaps our conversations yesterday weren’t as fruitless as I had initially assumed.”

“Hmph, you want to know what I was doing when we found the body?” Vasquez began. “Very well. I was with Sal and the security guard when we found the body. I immediately called the police. As I was calling, Powers showed up, and the security guard accused him of killing Hammer. I asked the guard and Sal to stay with Powers, as I did not want to be involved in the proceedings. I then returned to Studio 2 to get my script and direction notes.”

Miles saw his opening and pounced. “Objection!” he pointed his finger straight at Vasquez’s face. If he let up now, the case would be lost. “You had Mr. Manella drive you to Studio 1 for the rehearsal—why wouldn’t you bring your script and notes with you?”

Vasquez rolled her pipe around in her hand. “I was under the impression that we wouldn’t rehearse anything, what with the murder and all.”

“O-oh, yes. I suppose that makes sense.”

“Objection!” This time, Wright was the one to jab his finger in the air. Instead of directing it towards Miles, like he usually did, he pointed right at Vasquez on the witness stand. “Ms. Vasquez, you claim that you didn’t bring your script because there wouldn’t be a rehearsal due to the murder. But how would you know that? You claimed to have not discovered the body until you entered Studio 1!"

"I, hm, well, there's a reasonable explanation for that. You see—"

"No. I don't care what you have to say right now," Wright shook his head. "You knew people would discover Hammer’s body in the Studio, so you didn’t bring your script!”

Vasquez’s mouth hung open in shock, the smoke trailing and tapering out from the end of her pipe. “Are you in…cahoots with the defense? What sort of courtroom is this?!”

“The same kind of courtroom that’s all over this country,” Wright replied. “The one where we seek to find the truth. I stand by my objection.”

“I will be sending a strongly worded letter to the prosecutor’s office after this,” Vasquez said. “It seems that you have misunderstood me, Mr. Wright. I had a perfectly good reason to believe there’d be no rehearsal—Hammer was injured, and he couldn’t do any action scenes. That’s why I left my notes behind.”

Suddenly, Miles slammed his hand on the desk—Vasquez had slipped up big time. Wright caught his eye, giving him a slight smile and a nod of approval, signaling him to proceed. Miles silently mouthed “Thank you” at him before launching his final attack.

“Ms. Vasquez!”

“ What? And quit slamming on your desk, it irritates me.”

“I will slam my desk whenever I want,” Miles huffed. “Anyways, what you just said was rather interesting. You claimed that you knew Hammer was injured. That’s a little funny because the one injured in the morning rehearsal was the Steel Samurai, Will Powers, not Jack Hammer!”

Vasquez’s pipe snapped in two in her hands once again. “E-Explain yourself this instant!”

“Gladly. If I may draw the court’s attention to the other photo I submitted?” Miles asked, holding up the security booth photo of the Steel Samurai trudging down the path. “The person in this costume is Jack Hammer, pretending to be Will Powers! He’s dragging his leg because he saw Powers get injured in the morning rehearsal. Tell me, Ms. Vasquez, why did you assume that it was Hammer who got injured?”

“S-Sal told me what happened at rehearsal during our meeting!” Vasquez stammered. “He must have been mistaken.”

“I think not! ” Miles slammed his hand down on the desk again, this time louder, hoping to unnerve Vasquez. “Mr. Manella was there! He would have seen the injury happen, so why would he tell you the wrong person? Ms. Vasquez! You saw Hammer limping with your own eyes! You saw the Steel Samurai limping around Studio 2 when you met up with him, and that’s why you assumed it was Hammer who had been hurt that morning!”

“Grr…You…You! I so desperately wish we hadn’t gotten interrupted yesterday afternoon,” Vasquez grit her teeth. “I…Have a question for you, Mr. Edgeworth.”

“Oh, do you, now?” Miles asked. “Very well, go ahead and ask. I’m curious to see how you’ll try and worm your way out of this one.”

“Silence! It’s an important question,” Vasquez snapped. “What could my motive possibly be? Why would I want Hammer dead? He was a major star! I had nothing to gain from his death!”

“Why, Ms. Vasquez, I’m surprised. We already had this conversation yesterday, before, as you stated, we were interrupted by your hitmen. Allow me to display the photo from Manuel’s accident once more,” Miles said, pulling the disturbing photograph out from his folder. “There’s the motive—right there! Manuel, dead on the fencepost, a horrified Hammer and Vasquez above him! Vasquez was a witness to this terrible accident and covered it up! She then made Hammer work for pennies, much to his eternal frustration!”

“Wait, wait, slow down, Mr. Edgeworth,” The judge said. “What you’ve just stated and presented to us is incredible. However, this sounds like a motive for Mr. Hammer, not Ms. Vasquez. It makes Hammer sound like the killer!”

“Y-yes! Y-yes! He’s right! Everything he said is true. What a wonderful observation, Your Honor!” Vasquez said. 

“Mr. Edgeworth? Could you kindly explain her motive?”

“Hm,” Miles scratched his chin. “No, Your Honor. I cannot. She had no motive.”

“P-pardon?”

“Mr. Hammer was the one planning to commit a murder. Ms. Vasquez killed him in self-defense…By pushing him off the stairs!”

Vasquez went pale, her nails burrowing into the wooden railings of the witness stand. Miles took her silence as a sign to continue. “You Honor, Prosecutor Wright, if I may explain myself further? Jack Hammer drugged my client with sleeping pills. He snuck into the dressing room, stole Powers’ costume, and then walked to Studio 2, pretending to be Powers! His mission? To kill Dee Vasquez, who had taken advantage of him for the past five years, and to frame Powers for the crime! Ms. Vasquez! I’m right, aren’t I?”

“...Yes,” Vasquez said, wood shavings stuck underneath her fingernails from where she had been clawing the stand. “Yes, you’re correct. I did it. I killed Jack Hammer by pushing him down the stairs. And I don’t…I don’t feel remorseful about it one bit!” 

“I’m sure you don’t,” Wright interjected. “I bet you’ve placed hits on numerous people over the years! And don’t think I’ve forgotten what occurred yesterday with Mr. Edgeworth and Ms. Fey—you tried to silence them! Permanently! That trial will happen at a later date, and I can’t wait to prosecute you myself!”

“Congratulations,” Vasquez said flatly. “I can’t believe I was tag-teamed by two defense attorneys.”

“I’m not a defense attorney!” Wright huffed, waving his badge around again.

“Could have fooled me.”

“Grr…Bailiff!” Wright snapped his fingers toward the bailiffs near the courtroom exit. “Take Vasquez into the prosecution’s lobby!”

“You took the words right out of my mouth, Prosecutor Wright,” The judge said. “And, Mr. Edgeworth?”

Miles stood up, alert. “Yes, Your Honor?”

“It seems you’ve brought about yet another miracle. If you’re ready, I will declare my verdict.”

“Of course. Though it wasn’t a miracle, Your Honor. Will Powers was innocent all along. That he should be found so is only natural.”

“Well said,” The judge nodded, then raised his gavel, ready to strike. “This court finds the defendant, Mr. Will Powers…Not guilty! Court is now adjourned!”

“M-Mr. Edgeworth, I can’t thank you enough!” Will Powers was nearly sobbing as they walked into the defense lobby. Miles was about to open his mouth to speak when Powers pulled him into a bone-crushing hug; Miles was so close to him that he could smell the heavy scent of Powers’ cheap cologne, filling his nostrils and making him nearly succumb to a sneezing fit.

“O-of course! M-my pleasure!” Miles managed to squeak out, feeling sudden warmth fill his cheeks. “I-I would d-do it for anyone!”

“Course, but it..It means something to me, you know? No one else wanted to take my case, but you believed in me! I’ll never forget you for as long as I live! Say, do you want another autograph? Or two? Or three? I’ll give you all the autographs in the world!”

“R-Really?!” Miles lit up. “I’d love that! I’ll take five.”

“You got it. Let me find a pen…”

As Powers looked around, the lobby doors suddenly swung open. Miles expected to see his father and his uncle strolling through to congratulate him on a job well done, but, much to his surprise, it was Prosecutor Wright who entered the room. “Hey, Edgeworth,” he nodded.

“Wright, h-hello. That was…quite the interesting trial, wasn’t it?” Miles said, shifting around awkwardly. 

“It was, but you exposed the truth in the end. A job well done.”

“Um…thank…you?”

Wright chuckled. “It’s a compliment, Edgeworth. No need to look so baffled.”

“Pardon my behavior, but you’re usually gloating when I see you. Or reeling from shock. This is the first time I’ve faced you in a trial and you’ve seemed so…so…er…”

“Nice? Friendly? Non-assholish?” Wright offered.

“Well, I was going to word it more kindly, but…yes. What changed?”

“I’ve just been doing some thinking, that’s all,” Wright said. “About our conversations yesterday, and about Vasquez and the trial, and I…I’m conflicted.”

“About Vasquez? You seemed pretty certain regarding her guilt. I half expected you to slide in next to Maya at my bench.”

“What? No, forget about Vasquez. I’m talking about you,” Wright said, locking eyes with Miles. He suddenly felt small under Wright’s intense gaze. “Edgeworth, I never expected to meet you again after all these years. It was a…surprise. A bit pleasant, a bit anxiety-inducing, but overall a positive experience. However…in retrospect, it probably would have been better if we hadn’t met.”

Miles’ throat dried up. “And why is that?”

“Because thanks to you, I have been up all night pondering. Analyzing. Reflecting. Thanks to you, I’ve been saddled with…unnecessary feelings.”

“Respectfully, Wright, what the hell does that mean?”

“It means exactly what I said. Unnecessary feelings—mainly unease and uncertainty.”

“Aren’t those sorts of feelings necessary? ”

“No,” Wright suddenly gripped his elbow, his friendly demeanor rapidly fading. “You listen to me, Miles Edgeworth. Don’t you…Don’t you ever show your face in front of me again. I…Don’t want to face you in court anymore. That is what I came here to say. Goodbye.”

And with that, Wright fled the lobby, leaving Miles at a loss for words.

What just happened?

“Well, now, that was rather bizarre. Wouldn’t you agree, Eddie?” Gregory Edgeworth spoke, his gentle voice breaking Miles out of his stupor.

“F-Father! When did you get here?!” Miles squeaked. “D-Don’t sneak up on me like that!”

“I’ve been here for a while, Miles. Eddie, Maya, and I arrived shortly after Wright did.”

“A-And the three of you just stood there in the corner?!”

“Well, we didn’t wanna interrupt, kiddo. It seemed like you were having an important conversation with your old pal,” Eddie said. “Though, uh, it kinda detoured there at the end. It’s a shame, really. I was kind of hoping for a tearful reunion.”

“I’m sorry if I scared your friend off, Mr. Edgeworth,” Powers said, returning to Miles with a pen and a stack of papers. “People tend to run when they see me.”

“No way, Mr. Powers!” Maya declared with a rapid shake of her head. “Wright was scared off by Miles’ awesome courtroom smackdown skills! They’re bitter rivals through and through! Right, Miles?”

“Hrm, ‘bitter’ wouldn’t be the right word for it,” Miles murmured, his thoughts wandering back to Wright. “Rivals? Perhaps…for now.”

“Huh? What do you mean for now? What’s the deal with you and Prosecutor Wright?” Maya whined. “Tell me! Tell me!”

“Later, Maya.”

“That’s what you said the last time! Why are you so secretive?”

“Because I have to reflect on the matter. I…Don’t know what Wright is to me at the moment. I assure you that you’ll be the second to know once I've figured it out.”

“Why not the first?!”

“Because my father is my first confident in everything and always will be.”

“That’s sweet, Miles,” Gregory beamed. “And you’re not just saying that to butter me up, right? I was going to treat you to dinner regardless—that was a stellar trial you ran. You made your old man proud.”

“Yeah, he was hard-core sobbing! I almost left to grab tissues, but I didn’t want to miss anything!” Eddie said. "You're brutal when you want to lay the pressure on someone! You give them the ol' patented Edgeworth glare! A classic!"

“Hyperbolic as usual, Edward,” Gregory remarked, but Miles noticed that his father’s protests were weaker than usual, meaning there might be some truth behind his uncle’s words. “Miles? Would you care to pick the restaurant?”

“You already know what I want.”

“I do, but I figured I’d ask. I always like to give you the courtesy.”

“I appreciate that about you,” Miles smiled, glad to be surrounded by his family and friends.

Wright, however, was an entirely different story. As they wrapped things up in the defense lobby, Miles found his thoughts wandering yet again toward the spiky-haired prosecutor. He wondered where Wright went after his trials—did he have anyone to celebrate with when he won? Did he have anyone to vent to when he lost? There had to be someone out there for him—after all, he always seemed glued to his cell phone at the end of every trial. Maybe that was the person who comforted him. If they were, Miles hoped they would be proud of how Wright conducted himself in court that afternoon. He deserved that much, even if he, in his own words, was full of unease and uncertainty.

And as much as Wright pushed him away, Miles secretly hoped they would cross paths again. They had some catching up to do—fifteen years of it, to be exact.

Chapter Text

Cases slowed to a crawl in the aftermath of Will Powers' trial—when Edgeworth and Co. did get a case, his father or Eddie were the ones to take it. Miles was relegated to an assistant role, working alongside Maya to aid them. But Maya’s presence around the firm faded as October stretched into November after Mia Fey fully recovered from being bludgeoned with the Thinker clock. Fey had been filled in about all of Maya’s extraordinary work by Gregory, and she wanted her sister to start assisting her with her own cases. Miles’ days soon slowed into a docile, steady routine as he was shut up inside his father’s firm, bogged down with administrative paperwork, online chess matches, and stacks of sudoku puzzles.

Larry started reaching out to him again, which somewhat helped with the boredom. After his trial, he dropped off the face of the earth. That wasn’t unusual behavior, especially when he had a new girlfriend. Miles was used to going months without seeing him (though they still texted quite frequently). But then, two days before Christmas, Larry showed up out of the blue, strolling into Edgeworth and Co. like he owned the place.

“Hey, Edgey!” Larry greeted boisterously, waltzing through the door to the office without knocking. He noticed Gregory and Eddie huddled around a desk, analyzing an important case file. “Mr. E, Eddie,” he nodded. “What’s good?”

“It’s Uncle Eddie, L-man,” Eddie replied, glancing over his shoulder. “C’mon, 15 years of knowing me, and you still won’t call me that! What gives?”

Larry blew a raspberry at him. “Dude, you’re like, 9 years older than me. You’re not my uncle.”

“You wound me, L-man! You’re going to make me keel over from a heart attack!”

“Edward, please, the case,” Gregory said sternly. His expression softened as he waved hello to Larry. “Good to see you, Lawrence; it’s been far too long. Don’t be a stranger, alright?”

“Heh, sorry, Mr. E.” Larry grinned, his demeanor changing instantaneously when Gregory spoke to him. Gregory chuckled and pulled a nervous-looking Eddie back over to his desk as Larry detoured around Miles’ desk to the worn-out-looking armchair in the corner that had been there for as long as Miles had been alive.

Before Miles was hired into his father’s firm, he and Larry spent many afternoons in the office, doing their homework and hanging out when they had nowhere else to go. Miles worried they were annoying his father and uncle; when he brought up his concerns to his father, Gregory laughed and waved his hand, stating, “It’s never a problem, Miles. You and Larry keep me young.” And that was the end of it.

“Nice to see you in the land of the living again. Are you going through another breakup?” Miles remarked as Larry dragged his favorite armchair over to his desk.

“Rude! Why is that always your first assumption when you see me?” Larry huffed

“Because that’s usually when you come to seek me out,” Miles replied, clicking pause on his online chess match with xxnumber1chesschampxx—a laughable moniker, considering that Miles was winning by a landslide. “Although you’re not bawling your eyes out, so that’s a good sign.” 

“Well, I'm not. For your information, I have a new babe, and she’s amazing!” Larry sprawled out across the chair, his legs dangling over the arms. “I even started a new job selling hotdogs to support her!”

“A girlfriend and a dependable source of income? Wow, I’m impressed,” Miles said. “Congratulations. Don’t screw it up.”

“Why do you always assume that too?! Have a little faith in me!”

“Larry, there are two things consistent in your life: one, you always have a new girlfriend, and two, you always lose her. I have faith that this pattern will continue for a long, long time.”

“Man, shut up! Why do I even come here?” Larry pouted. He spotted a memo pad on the corner of Miles’ desk, ripped off the top sheet, balled it up in his hands, and threw it straight at Miles’ face. 

“What the hell , Larry?!” Miles snapped. He yanked the memo pad away from Larry and mimicked Larry’s actions, tossing an identical crumpled-up wad of paper at him. 

“Serves you right!” Larry expertly dodged Miles’ projectile. It wound up hitting the floor with a pathetic thud. “What about your lovelife, Edgey? Still as single as ever, I bet.”

“Shut up.”

“Ha! Knew it! You don’t get to mock me while you’re locked up in this stuffy law office, withering away behind your desk!”

“I’m not withering . I thrive in this environment,” Miles huffed. “And if it’s so stuffy in here, then you’re free to leave. No one makes you come over here.”

“Aw, don’t get your underwear in a knot just because you’re single, Edgey. I like it here! It smells like a library, and sometimes your dad plays jazz music—it’s a great sleeping aid. How about I cheer you up, huh? Make it up to you?”

“And how, pray tell, are you going to do that?”

“I’ll help you look for a partner!” Larry said, sitting up straight in the chair, pounding his open palm with his fist. “Maybe we can get a date for you in time for Christmas!”

“Don’t be asinine; that’s the day after tomorrow.”

“Okay, New Year’s, then!”

“ No. ”

“Valentine’s Day?”

“Larry, knock it off,” Miles grunted. “You’re distracting me from my work.”

“Oh yeah, you’re real busy doing your dumb little number puzzles or whatever.”

“Sudoku,” Miles scowled, “is not dumb. It’s been around for over a century and is a fantastic logic puzzle that involves pattern recognition. It’s a crucial aid to any lawyer, and it keeps my mind sharp.”

“Booooring!” Larry yelled. “I don’t think any of your dorky number boxes will help you get a girlfriend…Well, actually, scratch that. I bet I could find you a nerdy girl.”

“Will you drop this idiotic topic? I’m not looking for a girlfriend.”

“Right, right, sorry. Hm…” Larry scratched his chin. “Boyfriend, then? I could get you a nerdy guy; all I gotta do is venture into the local game store. Easy.”

“T-that’s not — t-that is highly unnecessary!” Miles spluttered.

“Hah! I hit the nail right on the head. Sweet!” Larry rubbed his hands together with a grin. “So a nerdy guy. You got any other preferences? Hair color, eye color, height, voice, style…?”

“I refuse to take part in this conversation.”

“I think you should humor him,” Gregory interjected. “Lawerence has brought up several good points.”

“D-Don’t you dare start!” Miles whined, sliding down in his chair. “I don’t want to hear it from you!”

“Make sure he brings home a nice boy,” Gregory said to Larry.

“You got it! I won’t let you down!” Larry said, responding to Gregory with a salute.

“I-I can’t work in this environment. Perhaps I should go for a walk,” Miles muttered.

“Ooh, great idea, Edgey! I can scope some guys out for you while we walk!”

“You will do no such thing!”

“Man, why are you so against this? I’m just trying to help!”

“I’m not in the mood to date.”

“Why not?”

“Because I said so.”

“That’s a shitty excuse.”

“That’s my final answer. Deal with it.”

“Hm…I wonder…” Larry murmured to himself. “Are you grumpy ‘cause you already have your sights set on someone?”

“I’m not answering that.”

“Ooh, your eyes darted to the side when you said that! I’m right, aren't I?”

“The only thing you are,” Miles began, “Is an obtuse, obnoxious, obstinate — ”

“Is it Nick?”

“Ha…” Miles croaked out, his words dying in his throat. The sudden ringing of his office phone saved him. He dove for the receiver, clinging to it like a lifeline. “Hello?! Who is it? What do you want?!”

“Uh, everything alright there, Miles?” Maya asked him, her voice crackling over the phone. “You sound like you’re being threatened.”

“I may as well be. There’s a hostile adversary in my office,” Miles said with a pointed look at Larry. 

“What? Do I need to call the police?!”

“No. It’s Larry.”

“Ah.”

“Yes, now you see.”

“Sure do. Glad I called, then,” Maya laughed. “It’s been a while since we’ve talked. Sorry about that, Sis has gotten some crazy cases! I just helped her defend a janitor accused of killing a waiter by drowning him in a mop bucket!”

“Did you win?”

“Of course—Mia is an ace attorney, after all! The culprit was the building owner, and he drowned the waiter in the industrial sink and then dragged the body over to the janitor’s closet. He killed him because the waiter just got a huge inheritance from his dead grandma and was going to quit!”

“That’s incredible,” Miles blinked. “Good job to you two—I only wish I could have seen it. Let me know the next time your sister runs a trial, alright? I don’t have much going on at the moment; I’d love to see how other defense attorneys run their cases.”

“Sure! That’s why I called you, actually. Mia was wondering if you and your dad were free tomorrow. She wants to have you over for Christmas.”

“O-oh, that’s sweet…” Miles said. “Tell her that I said thank you. Unfortunately, my father is working tomorrow and most of Christmas—he’s taken on a crucial case—and then I’m meeting up with him on Christmas evening. Perhaps we could get together after Christmas if she’s not too busy.”

“Okay! I’ll let her know. We’re traveling back to our village for New Year’s, but we’ll be around before then. She’s taking the whole week off after today.”

“I’ll check in with my father and give you a call, alright?”

“Great! I’m super stoked to see you again! I need to talk about the latest Steel Samurai episode with you; doing it over text just isn’t the same!”

“And I feel the same way, of course,” Miles smiled warmly into the receiver. “Take care, Maya. I’ll see you in a few days, alright?”

“Okay! Bye, Miles! Have a Merry Christmas!”

“Bye, Maya. You as well.”

Wright, Wright, Wright.

That’s all that had been on Miles’ brain since Larry brought him up the previous day. It was Christmas Eve, and Miles was sprawled out on his couch with a jumbo bag of cheese snackoos, watching corny Christmas cartoons from his childhood. He tuned out from them about an hour ago because, for some ludicrous reason, all he could think of was Phoenix Wright.

He hadn’t heard anything about Wright in the two months since State vs. Powers. None of the defense attorneys he knew took cases against him, and his name had stopped appearing in the newspapers. Miles wondered what was going on—there was plenty of crime out in the world (the criminal report section of the newspaper showed as much), so surely Wright had to have some cases to prosecute. But it was like the man had vanished entirely.

Miles glanced at his cell phone lying on the coffee table. What is Wright doing for Christmas? He wondered. Does he even celebrate Christmas? Will he be with family? Will he be working? Will he be alone?

His hand slowly reached for his phone.

Maybe I should call him.

The phone suddenly rang, the screen lighting up with the word, “Father.”

Miles picked up. “Is everything alright?” he asked without saying hello. “Do you need me to come into the office?”

“Hi, Miles,” Gregory said, sounding amused. Miles instantly relaxed. “I’m fine, don’t worry. How has your day been?”

“Good. Just watching Christmas shows. I wish I had ordered some Christmas cookies before it was too late, but such is life.”

“Next year, we’ll mark it on the wall calendar; how’s about that?”

“Sure. If we remember.”

At that, Gregory laughed. Miles smiled at the sound, warmth filling his chest. “Right you are! …Listen, I’m calling now because I’ll be working all throughout the night tonight, and I didn’t want you to worry.”

“I wouldn’t. I know you and Uncle Eddie are working on that crazy case around the clock.”

“Yes, I’m giving him the rest of the afternoon off, then throwing myself into work until I see you tomorrow night.”

“Can you at least try to get some sleep?” Miles sighed. “I’d hate for you to be crotchety on Christmas.”

“Crotchety? That’s an interesting word to use. I don’t think I’ve ever been crotchety in my life.”

“I beg to differ. You’re a menace if the paper is late in the morning, if you run out of coffee, or if the grocery store is out of sweet pickles.”

“I object to that.”

“Overruled,” Miles hummed, resting his head against the couch arm. “I’m serious, though—please rest.”

“I’ll try, but I won’t make any promises.”

“Well, that’s slightly reassuring, I suppose.”

A natural silence fell between them. Miles thought about hanging up, but something nagged him in the back of his mind. Wright, Wright, ask him about Wright. Ask—

“Father?”

“Yes, Miles?”

“W-would you be…opposed to me inviting Prosecutor Wright over for Christmas tomorrow?”

“I — oh, I wasn’t expecting you to say that.”

“I’m sorry if I’m overstepping,” Miles said, slightly panicked. “I-I know we have our traditions, and I know how much you love Christmas. You can say no. I just-I just thought…You know, if he’s not celebrating somewhere else, that he might like it if…”

“It’s fine, Miles, relax. I’m not going to bite your head off.” Gregory said. “I think it’s a wonderful idea. He doesn’t have any family in the country. I’m sure he’s lonely.”

“He…doesn’t?” Miles asked. “Alright then, if you’re sure…”

“I am. And whether he shows up or not, rest assured, it will be a wonderful Christmas.”

“Of course it will be. I never had any doubts!”

“I just didn’t want you to be disappointed if he said no.”

“I’ll be alright.”

“I know. You’re a strong man, Miles.” Gregory said. “I have to go—Eddie just showed up with my afternoon tea. I’ll see you tomorrow, alright? I love you. Have a good Christmas Eve.”

“Thank you, father,” Miles smiled. “I love you too. Don’t work too hard.”

“Yes, sir,” Gregory joked, then hung up the phone. Miles pressed it close to his chest, watching the credits roll on the TV screen as jovial jingling bells chimed from the speakers. 

Miles had enough courage to look up the number for the prosecutor’s office by the time the next Christmas cartoon started to play. The number went straight to the front desk, and Miles asked the receptionist to transfer him to Prosecutor Wright. She kindly informed him that Wright was out, but he could leave a voice message on the line after it rang five times. Miles thanked her and waited as she transferred him to Wright’s extension, his stomach dropping with each ring.

“This is Prosecutor Phoenix Wright,” Miles listened to Wright’s voicemail play in his ear. “I’m sorry that I can't take your call at the moment. Please leave your name, number, and reason for calling in your message, and I’ll call you back as soon as I’m able to. If this is an emergency, please hang up and call the police department.”

Beep.

“Wright,” Miles started, then internally cursed himself for sounding harsh. “Erm, sorry. How are you? I haven’t seen you in a while; I hope you’re not too bogged down with work.

“I know we left off on an…awkward note during State vs. Powers. I just wanted to…I wanted to reach back out to you. It’s Christmas tomorrow, and I was wondering if you…if you would like to spend the evening with me and my father. If you don’t have any plans, that is!

“Uh, here, I’ll give you the address to my father’s house—it’s the house I grew up in. I don’t know if you remember it; I think we had you over a couple times when we were in grade school together. Sorry, I’m rambling. I’ll give you my cell number if you’d like to call me back. If you don’t, that’s fine too. Um…So, hopefully, I’ll see you tomorrow! And if not, then…Then I hope you have a Merry Christmas, and…take care. Bye.”

Miles hung up the phone, feeling like an utter fool. Could he have sounded any more awkward? God, it was like he was trying to ask out his crush to prom. It was just inviting an acquaintance to Christmas; why was it so hard? 

Groaning to himself, Miles rolled off his couch and walked over to the wine cupboard in his kitchen. He wasn’t going anywhere anytime soon. Why not have a little drink or two? It might calm his nerves should Wright call him back.

He really hoped that Wright would call him back.

Wright didn’t call him back.

Miles woke up on Christmas morning curled up in a ball on his couch, still in his turtleneck and jeans from the previous day, with a nearly empty wine bottle and glass on the living room carpet. He grasped for his phone, missing it a few times before finally taking it into his hand. He turned on the display; it was 10 am, and he had several missed calls. His heart skipped a beat—were those from Wright?

Unlocking his phone brought him the swift answer of “no.” Eddie Fender had apparently called him at least 40 times from 1 am to 6 am and left him a slew of voice messages.

Miles sat up straight, ignoring the messages as he immediately called his uncle back. Something was wrong.

Eddie didn’t even let the first ring sound before he picked up. “Where are you?!” he shouted into the phone, sounding haggard.

“A-at my apartment,” Miles stammered. “Why?”

“Stay there. I’m coming over. Do. Not. Move.” Eddie said. Miles heard items being knocked over in the background. “And don’t turn on the news! Just…Just sit tight, okay?!”

“Uncle Eddie, what’s going on—”

“Just stay there!” Eddie shouted. Miles winced and drew away from the phone. He’d never heard his uncle yell at him before.

“O-Okay…” he stammered quietly. Eddie hung up without saying goodbye.

Miles felt sick. He sat in the center of his couch, staring at the wall, the dread inside of him growing with each passing second. Why wasn’t he allowed to turn on the news? Why was Eddie so upset? He knew he’d have the answers shortly, but the secrecy made things ten times worse.

Eddie Fender barreled into his apartment nearly 10 minutes later. It was much too fast—if he was coming from the office or his apartment, it should have taken him 25 minutes. He must have sped over like a maniac. “Oh good, the tv’s off.”

Eddie looked terrible. His hair was frazzled, his voice was raspy, and his eyes had deep, dark rings underneath them and were bloodshot.

“You’re scaring me,” Miles whispered. “What’s going on?”

“I…Miles,” Eddie took off his hat as he approached the couch, holding it to his chest. He was crying. “ Shit , I’m sorry. There’s no easy way for me to tell you this.”

“Please,” Miles said hoarsely. “Please just say it. I can’t take this.”

Eddie took Miles’ hands into his own, holding them in a vice grip. 

“It’s your father—he’s dead. Phoenix Wright has been charged with his murder.”

Chapter Text

Miles was dimly aware that he was on his living room floor.

Have my overhead lights always been so dim and dingy? He thought as his eyes roamed the ceiling, a shrill ringing noise filling his ears. Underneath the cacophony, he heard the faint sounds of his uncle’s voice. It sounded like he was chanting, “Miles, Miles!” 

But Miles didn’t move.

It was nice there, down on the floor. The carpet plush and soft underneath his head. Miles was thankful that he vacuumed recently—he wouldn’t know what he’d do if lint wound up in his hair or, god forbid, dirt .

Yes, he could stay down here forever, he decided. Lay peacefully on the floor, have his uncle bring him food and water, and stare up at the ceiling of his apartment, dissociating for all of eternity so he didn’t have to deal with the fact that his father was dead.

Damn it.

He thought about it again. The ringing in his ears grew louder. 

“MILES!”

He felt a sharp sting across his cheeks. Eddie had smacked him. Miles’ vision came into focus—he dragged his gaze away from the ceiling and moved it toward his right. His uncle was kneeling next to his head, face full of worry.

“Please talk to me,” Eddie begged. “I need to know that you’re not having a medical emergency. I can’t…I can’t lose you too.”

“I’m…” Miles trailed off, trying to think of a word to describe his current state of being. “Here,” he finished, his voice soft and dull. 

“I’m sorry I hit you,” Eddie said. This time, Miles felt his hand press softly against his cheek. “You scared me when you fell off your couch.”

“I don’t blame you. I’d hit me, too.”

“Miles, I-I don’t know what to say. I keep wanting to ask if you’re alright, but you and I know that you’re not. I’m not. We’re not. Sorry, I’m babbling. I’ll shut up. This is way worse for you than it is for me.”

“You can talk all you want. Just leave me here. I’m good at tuning things out.”

“How long are you planning on staying down there?”

For the rest of my life , Miles thought. He took a moment, reconsidered, and responded instead, “Dunno. A while.”

“Can I sit with you?”

“Sure.”

Miles slipped back into the comfort of dissociation as his eyes roamed the ceiling once again. He never realized that dust could accumulate within the grooves of the popcorn texture. That was aggravating—the ceilings were nine feet tall, and he didn’t have a ladder tall enough to reach up there. He wondered if he could call maintenance about it. He wondered if he could buy a duster with an extendable handle. He wondered if it even mattered in the grand scheme of things because who was he going to invite over to his apartment? His father was dead. Dead, dead, dead . Murdered, by Phoenix Wright—

His thoughts screeched to a halt as his vision became focused again. While he was dissociating, Eddie placed a pillow underneath his head. He was now sitting cross-legged on the floor next to him, one hand atop Miles' and his other hand furiously ripping pages out of the notebook he always carried with him, crumpling them into misshapen lumps.

“Wright,” Miles' voice was louder than the last time he spoke.

Eddie paused mid-paper crumple. “What?”

“Wright. Prosecutor Wright. You said he was charged with my father’s murder.”

“Oh, yeah. That.” Eddie frowned. “They found him at the scene of the crime holding a gun and arrested him on the spot.”

“So he’s at the detention center?”

“I would assume so.”

“Great,” Miles suddenly sat up. Stars dotted his vision as all the blood rushed into his head from the sudden motion. He took a minute to collect his bearings before he got up from the living room floor, grabbing his coat that he had thrown under the coffee table the previous night. “Thank you.”

“Woah, woah, woah, where are you going?” Eddie sprang up immediately, grabbing Miles’ elbow before he could reach the front door. “I thought you said you were staying on the floor.”

“I’m going out, obviously. I grabbed my coat.”

“Where? It’s Christmas; everything's closed.”

“The detention center isn’t.”

“Miles,” Eddie sucked in his breath. “Don’t. It won’t be good for you.”

“There’s nothing wrong with asking questions.”

“You can’t get revenge on him. It wouldn’t be right, there’s guards, and—”

“Uncle, with all due respect, shut up,” Miles replied, yanking his arm out of Eddie’s grasp. “I’m going to the detention center. I’m speaking with Wright. End of story.”

Eddie sighed in exasperation. “Fine. I…Kind of want to talk with him myself, actually.”

“You’re coming with?”

“You’re in no state to drive.”

“Neither are you.”

“I’m a bit better—I only ran a couple red lights on my way over. I’m afraid that if you got behind the wheel, your mind would wander, and you’d crash. Come on, we’ll take my car.”

“Can you get me over there in 15 minutes or less?”

“Sure, the cops are relaxed today. It’s Christmas.”

“Thank you.”

“It’s the least I can do.”

Eddie’s hand moved back to Miles’ elbow. His grip was firm but not hard like the last time he grabbed Miles. It was more…parental. More…fatherly.

A lump formed in Miles’ throat. He rushed out the door and quickly made his way to the apartment's elevator. 

He didn’t look back.

They drove in silence. Eddie nearly ran every light on the way to the detention center. He hadn’t even turned the car off before Miles opened the passenger door and marched inside, demanding he be allowed to visit Phoenix Wright. The guards ushered him into the visitation room, and as Miles waited for Wright to be brought in, he finally got a good look at himself in the reflection of the glass. 

He looked horrible. He knew he would. His hair was frazzled and sticking out in different directions, and his eyes were hollow and dull. Miles hadn’t cried once since the news of his father’s death. He wondered if he’d ever cry; he didn’t feel like crying. He wondered if there was something wrong with him. He wondered if he was broken. He wondered if—

The door on the other side of the glass divider opened, and Wright stepped into the room, looking just as hollow as Miles did. He felt a bit of camaraderie in that.

Wright froze when he noticed Miles. “O-oh my god, Edgeworth?! Shit , I-I don’t, I—”

“Wright,” Miles said calmly, folding his hands in his lap. “Have a seat.”

“Okay.” Wright made his way over to the table that faced Miles. The shaking of his arms sent tremors throughout his entire body. “I should have known you’d be here. I just didn’t think it’d be so soon. Word gets around fast, huh? Damn it, that was stupid of me to say. Of course, you’d know what happened; they probably told you first. God, I’m stupid. I—”

Wright stopped talking when he noticed Miles boring holes through him, hands still politely folded in his lap, knuckles white as he clenched them. “Are you finished?” Miles asked.

“Yes. I’m sorry, I’ll let you talk. I just—”

“Good,” Miles said curtly, cutting him off. “I have one question for you: Did you kill my father?”

Wright’s eyes widened in shock. “W-well, that’s why I’m here, isn’t it? They arrested me this morning at Gourd Lake.”

“Let me repeat myself,” Miles said, dangerously calm. “Did. You. Kill. My. Father?”

Wright swallowed hard.

“ No. ”

Miles nodded. “Thank you, that’s all I needed to hear. Do you have a lawyer?”

“Wait, what?” Wright’s jaw dropped. “Wait, wait, wait. You just…believe me? Like that?”

Miles raised an eyebrow. “Do you want me to think that you murdered him?”

“Well, no, because I didn’t! But you accepted that immediately! You believed me right away!”

“And?”

“Why? Everything points to me having murdered him!”

“Did you?”

“I already told you that I didn’t!”

“Then shut up and stop harping on it,” Miles said. “And answer my other question. You’re terrible at this.”

Wright stared back, jaw still hanging open. “Edgeworth, are you okay?”

“Obviously not—answer the question! Why is this so difficult for you?!”

“Because you’re clearly going through something.”

“A stunning observation. Is that why they call you cunning?” Venom dripped from Miles’ words. “My father was murdered ; of course I’m going through something! And if you didn’t do it, I’m finding out who did and proving your innocence along the way.”

“I-I’m sorry, I keep putting my foot in my mouth—wait, what?” Wright’s eyes widened. “You’re going to defend me? Why?”

“Did I not make myself clear?” Miles tapped his foot on the ground. Wright was usually more intelligent than this. “You didn’t do it; ergo, you are being falsely accused of a crime; ergo, you need defending. I am a defense attorney. Hopefully, you can follow the logic here.”

“Look, I appreciate the offer, I really do. But I’m going to have to decline.”

“ What. ”

Wright hunched his shoulders, dropping his gaze to the ground. “I said no.”

“That’s fine, that’s fine,” Miles took a deep breath, smoothing his hair back. “I assume you have other representation, then?”

“I don’t.”

Miles’ eye twitched. “Then why—?”

“You don’t need to get involved. Please.”

“‘Please,’ he says…” Miles muttered to himself before leaping out of his chair and slamming both hands down on the table in front of him. “My father was the victim, Wright! Don’t you dare tell me I don’t need to get involved!”

“Woah, what’s with all the yelling in here?” Eddie Fender asked, entering the room. “Miles, there’s a glass wall there; you can’t get to him. And I thought you told me you wouldn’t seek revenge.”

“I’m not,” Miles said, calm anger simmering beneath his words. “Uncle, Wright somehow has the funny idea that I don’t need to get involved with my own father’s murder investigation. He’s refusing my representation.”

“Well, as much as you don’t like to hear it, he’s right,” Eddie said. He approached Miles, placed a hand on his shoulder, and peered at Wright behind the glass. “He doesn’t have to accept your services.”

“But he doesn’t have anyone else!” Miles protested. 

“Is that so?” Eddie asked, directing his attention toward Wright. “Hm, interesting. Is it because you’ve made a lot of enemies with defense attorneys?”

“No,” Wright was deathly quiet. Miles noticed his lips quivering. “It’s because of the prosecutor in charge of the case.”

Eddie dug his fingers into Miles’ shoulder. “Don’t tell me it’s—”

“Yes, my mentor, Manfred von Karma.”

Eddie laughed darkly. “Of course he is; of course he took this case. He was probably frothing at the mouth when he heard who the victim was. That no good piece of—”

“Mr. von Karma is a brilliant man,” Wright interjected. “S-so you see, that’s why no one wants to defend me…”

“I want to,” Miles huffed. “But you won’t let me!”

“Von Karma has an undefeated win streak of 40 years,” Wright smiled sadly. “You won’t win against him. It’ll be a quick trial; he’ll wrap it up in about 5 minutes, and then I’ll be hauled off to prison.”

“My father went up against him several times. I’m not scared of him.”

“You don’t know what he’s like. It’s different when you’re on the receiving end.”

“Wright. You’re innocent, for god’s sake! Let me defend you! You can’t just give up like this!”

“And why not?”

“Because that isn’t just, nor right!”

“My answer remains the same: No.”

Miles threw his hands up in exasperation. Eddie scratched his chin in thought, “Hm, alright, so you won’t let Miles take on your case,” he said. “What about me? Would you let me defend you?”

“W-weren’t you Mr. Edgeworth’s associate?” Wright asked. “Why do you want to defend me?”

“If Miles thinks you’re innocent, then you’re innocent. I trust his judgment, especially when it comes to this,” Eddie said, a dark glint shimmering in his eyes. “And I want to find the son-of-a-bitch who did this. Getting you off the hook will make it easier.”

“No.”

Eddie laughed. “Well, alright then. That settles that!”

“Uncle!” Miles scowled at him. “You’re giving up? Just like that?!”

“The man said no, Miles. We can’t force him—he has the right to decide his own representation.”

“But-But-But—!”

“No buts. Come one, let’s leave him alone,” Eddie’s tone softened as he steered Miles toward the exit.

“I’m sorry,” Wright said, sounding small. “It’s for the best.”

Miles was about to protest when the guard in the room moved towards Wright with a pair of handcuffs. “I’m sorry for cutting your visit short, Mr. Wright, but I’m going to have to cuff you again and bring you into one of the side rooms. Mr. von Karma called and said he’s on his way over to conduct an interrogation.”

“I understand,” Wright said softly. “Thank you, Robert.”

“Do you want one of us to stay in the room with you?”

“I’ll be fine, thanks.”

Wright fell silent as the guard clicked the cuffs around his wrist, and then he was gone, leaving Miles and Eddie alone in the visitation room.

“Sounds like he’s in for a fun time,” Eddie remarked. “Come on, Miles, I’ll drive you to Gourd Lake.”

“What? That’s in the complete opposite direction of my apartment.”

“Yeah, and? I know you; if I didn’t take you over there, you’d go yourself, and I don’t want you being alone right now.”

“Sometimes your level of care borders on irritating, you know?”

“That’s what uncles are for.”

“...Thank you.”

“'Course.” Eddie tipped his hat. “You and I, kiddo—we’re all each other has left.”

Just inside the entrance to Gourd Lake, they saw Detective Gumshoe with his torso stuck in a trash can, muttering to himself and scattering trash everywhere.

“Detective?” Miles asked. “What are you doing?”

Gumshoe yelped and stumbled backward out of the trash. There were bits of wrappers stuck to his coat that said, “S…Dogs.” Miles couldn’t read the full name. It looked like the kind of paper found at the bottom of a hotdog basket. “W-what is it? Who’s there?!” he cried, frantically patting the side where his pistol was holstered. He stopped when he saw Miles and Eddie. “Oh, the Edgeworth ki—” Gumshoe’s eyes suddenly widened; he appeared on the verge of tears. “I’m sorry for your loss.”

“I, uh, thank you,” Miles sighed. He would have to get used to people bringing that up, especially since he was now walking into the crime scene. His eyes drifted to a nearby oak tree, where a mourning dove cooed softly from the lowest branch. The tip of the dove’s wing was damaged, yet it still tilted its head from side to side, repeating its somber tune in an endless loop.

“Mr. Edgeworth? Sir?” Gumshoe asked, interrupting his spontaneous bird-watching.

Miles violently flinched. “Miles.”

“What?”

“Call me Miles. Please .”

“Right, Mr…Miles,” Gumshoe scratched the top of his head. “You were staring off into space for a bit. I’d ask if you were alright, but…”

“Why don’t you speak with me?” Eddie suggested. “And leave Miles alone with his thoughts.” 

Miles shook his head. “I can handle it.”

“No offense, Miles, but every time someone brings up your dad—”

“ I can handle it! ”

Eddie fell silent. Gumshoe looked between them awkwardly before loudly coughing into his hand to break the silence. “Um, Mr. Miles, I don’t think it’s a good idea for you to go any further.”

“Why not? Aren’t I allowed to investigate? You’ve let me into crime scenes in the past.”

“That’s because you were representing a client associated with the crime and—” Gumshoe suddenly grabbed Miles by the shoulders, causing him to yelp. “Wait! Are you defending Prosecutor Wright?!”

“Well, I’m trying to, but he won’t let me,” Miles grumbled. “He won’t let anyone ."

“You can’t give up on him, pal!” Gumshoe said. “Mr. Wright is super stubborn when he wants to be, but trust me, you can eventually wear him down! I do it all the time!”

“It’s amazing that he hasn’t fired you,” Eddie quipped.

“Right? That’s what other members of the police department have said! But…well, I’m glad I never put too much stock in their words. Prosecutor Wright has kept me with him, and now I’m the only one who believes his innocence!”

“The police think he did it?” Miles asked, shocked.

“Well…there was a lot less…uncertainty surrounding his guilt until Prosecutor von Karma came in,” Gumshoe mumbled. “Now that he’s in charge, people think Mr. Wright has to be guilty. Why else would his mentor step in to prosecute him?”

Eddie scowled. “Because he’s a jerk with a vicious win streak. Von Karma doesn’t care; he just wants an easy victory."

“That’s what I said!” Gumshoe nodded. “He’s been badgering Mr. Wright the entire year! Calling him at all hours of the night, re-assigning his cases…Poor Mr. Wright has been sleeping terribly. I told him to ignore von Karma, but he wouldn’t listen! And now, look where his loyalty got him—he’s in prison, and von Karma is trying to keep him there. It’s crazy! So now, more than ever, Mr. Wright needs people in his corner.” Gumshoe, somehow, tightened his hold on Miles. Miles wondered if his shoulders would pop like a balloon under his grip. “So please, don’t give up on him, Mr. Ed—Mr. Miles. Please.”

“I won’t,” Miles replied. “I never intended on it, despite Wright’s bone-headedness. If he says he didn’t do it, then he didn’t do it. The real culprit is still out there, and I won’t rest until I bring them to justice. So, detective,” Miles took a deep breath and steadied himself, “please let me into the crime scene. I’ll be okay.”

“If you’re sure,” Gumshoe frowned, biting his lower lip. 

“I’ll be with him. It’s okay,” Eddie said. “If you don’t let him, he’ll find his own way in. Trust me, Miles has always been headstrong. When he’s made up his mind about something, he won’t be swayed.”

“Alright. Go on in, then. The whole park’s been closed off. The scene of the crime,” Gumshoe looked at Miles nervously, “is the shore by the boathouse.”

“Thank you, detective,” Miles nodded, making a mental note of the nearby park map. “Do you have the autopsy report?”

“...I really don’t think it's a good idea to give it to you, pal.”

“The autopsy report,” Miles motioned his palm inward. “Give it to me. I’ll need to see it to build Wright’s case.”

“...”

“ Detective. ” 

“I’ll take it,” Eddie said, stone-faced. “Please, Detective Gumshoe. I’ll give it to Miles if I think he can handle it, but allow me to do the initial read-through.”

“Thank you,” Gumshoe said, breathing a sigh of relief as he opened his coat. Miles tried to grab the report, but Gumshoe was taller. Eddie, likely anticipating his move, maneuvered between them and seized it from Gumshoe's hands before Miles could extend his arm.

 “I’m a grown man, uncle," Miles scowled. "I can read my own father’s autopsy report.”

“No way in hell. I agree with Gumshoe—you’re not reading it right now.”

Several swear words lingered on the tip of Miles' tongue, but he thought better of it and swallowed them back down. Instead, all that escaped him was a hissing noise, making him sound like an angry cat. In the oak tree, the dove cooed again. Miles felt a strong urge to throw his shoe at it because every little noise—from the wind rustling the grass to the heavy panting from Gumshoe—threatened to push him over the edge.

“Let’s go, Miles. Might as well rip the bandage off since you’re so keen on traumatizing yourself,” Eddie said after carefully putting the autopsy report into his briefcase, making sure that Miles could see him lock it. “To the lakeshore, come on.”

“Fine,” Miles grunted, the swears now lingering in the area of his trachea.

“Hey,” Gumshoe said quietly. “I just wanted to thank you for helping Prosecutor Wright. He really needs support, and I’m glad there are others willing to help him. One last thing about your dad...I didn’t know him well, but my mentor, Detective Badd, always spoke highly of him. He was well-respected by the senior detectives at the precinct.”

“Thank you,” Miles said quietly, focusing on a dead leaf in the midst of floating to the ground after a noticeable gust of wind. “There’s no other man like him out there.”

They left Gumshoe at the park entrance, as he was convinced there would be some clue to clear Wright’s name. Miles didn’t have the energy to argue with him; he was focused solely on solving his father’s murder. So, off they went—Miles marching through the park in the direction of the boathouse, with Eddie silently following behind. Under different circumstances, Miles might have found the park lovely. The air was cold, the trees were mostly barren, and the sky a dull grey, but the beauty of the park was lost on him. He had never spent much time here, and he certainly wouldn’t be enjoying it now.

They walked along the lakeshore, where several food stalls had been set up. Initially, Miles paid them no attention, assuming that they would be closed since it was Christmas. However, the familiar sounds of voices coming from the middle stall made him stop in his tracks. On the side of the stall was a painting of the Steel Samurai holding a hotdog. Maya stood at the front counter, and from his vantage point, Miles could see the arm of one Larry Butz visible from within.

He momentarily froze, looking around for anything that could conceal his presence. Unfortunately, he was out of luck. The shore was barren; there wasn’t a bush in sight, and the nearest grove of trees was on the hillside. He would have to sneak past them, hoping that Maya would be too engrossed in her conversation to notice him. Placing his index finger against his lips, Miles signaled to Eddie to be quiet before he hurriedly began shuffling along the lakeshore.

He didn’t get very far. As soon as he was within sight of the stall entrance, he heard Larry yell, “EDGEY!”

Maya’s head snapped around instantly, her eyes wide with shock. Miles stood frozen like a deer in headlights. He would run straight into the lake if it weren't so cold.

Larry vaulted over the hotdog stall with surprising grace. Miles couldn’t move, couldn’t think, couldn’t speak. He could only stare as his childhood friend barreled towards him like a runaway train.

Larry collided with him a moment later, his momentum nearly knocking Miles into Gourd Lake as he wrapped his arms around him and pulled him into a bone-crushing hug. “Edgey! Oh my god! Why are you here?!”

“Ack, Larry…” Miles grumbled, feeling his stomach squeeze underneath Larry’s grip. “I could ask you the same thing. It’s Christmas; shouldn’t you be at home?”

“You’re not deflecting your way out of this one,” Larry said. “I know what happened, and you shouldn’t be here.” He loosened his grip on Miles, glancing over his shoulder at Eddie. “Why did you let him come?”

“I don’t know if you noticed, but Miles is a little stubborn,” Eddie replied. “And when his mind is made up about something, there’s no stopping him. I couldn’t keep him away from here, and I’m not letting him go off on his own. He wanted to explore the crime scene, so here we are.”

“What?” Larry said. “That’s not healthy, man. You should go home and let the police handle this.”

“Don’t you dare tell me what is and isn’t healthy for me,” Miles scowled, pushing Larry away. “Do me a favor and mind your own business.”

“Come on, don’t be like that! I’m only looking out for — ”

“Miles,” Maya sniffled, her face wet with tears as she approached. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I can’t believe…Your dad…I’m — I’m…”

She started to bawl, and Miles’ anger dissipated.

“There, there. It’s alright,” Miles said, approaching her. “There’s no need to cry.”

“W-why are you saying that to me?” Maya hiccuped. “I should be the one comforting you!”

“I’m fine.”

“How could you possibly be fine at a moment like this?!”

“There are more pressing issues on my mind,” Miles explained. “I’m trying to prove Phoenix Wright’s innocence.”

“Nicky? You’re defending him?” Larry spoke up. “I knew it! I knew there was no way he’d murder someone, let alone your dad! That’s not like him at all.”

“Do me a favor, Larry,” Miles said. Larry cautiously took a step back, anxious about Miles' wrath. “Go down to the dentition center and tell that to Wright. If more people believe in him, he might be open to letting me defend him.”

“W-wait, Prosecutor Wright is refusing your help?” Maya asked, wiping her eyes with her elbow. “Why?”

“I don’t know,” Miles grumbled. “He’s refusing all legal representation, and it's absolutely infuriating! He’ll be falsely imprisoned, and he doesn’t seem to care!”

“So you don’t think he did it?”

“No. I wouldn’t defend my father’s murderer. He said he didn’t do it, and I believe him.”

“Oh, Miles,” Maya started to bawl again. "You're so kind-hearted! You're a real stand-up guy!"

Miles sighed. This was why he wanted to avoid Larry and Maya. Both of them looked like a mess, and Maya couldn’t go five seconds without crying. It was a strange situation for him—his father was the one who had died, yet he found himself comforting his friends while he hadn’t yet shed a single tear. Miles wondered if he would ever cry. Perhaps he would spend the rest of his days shuffling around as the dullness within him radiated around his heart, suppressing all other emotions under its heavy weight.

“Sorry if I seem rude, but I have to go,” Miles said. “I need to search for clues. If I can return to Wright with evidence and a strong case, I might be able to convince him to accept my offer.”

“I can help! I have a great clue!” Maya said, suddenly pulling a photograph out of her pocket and shoving it into Miles’ hands.

Miles looked down and saw that the photograph depicted a boat on the lake, with two figures standing on it, shrouded in fog and darkness, impossible to make out.“What is this? And where did you get it?” Miles asked.

“There’s a college student taking photos in the park's campground area!” Maya explained. “She was trying to get pictures of the stars last night and got this instead! She says she witnessed the moment of last night’s murder.”

Miles held the photograph close to his eyes, knocking it against his glasses. Logically, it should have been Wright and his father in the boat. A feeling nagged at the back of Miles’ mind—something wasn’t right, but he couldn’t quite place it.

“May I—?”

“Of course!” Maya cut him off. “Especially if it helps you save Prosecutor Wright! I’ll let Sis know that I gave it to you.”

“Your sister? Why her?”

“She and Diego are here with me. How do you think I got here, silly? We came over to investigate because…Well, Mia and I really liked your dad, you know? And we didn’t think you’d be involved because of what happened. So we wanted to come out here and see what we could find. And Diego is here because he’s eternally glued to Mia’s side.”

“And because I also respected Mr. Edgeworth, hon. Don’t forget that part—it’s important,” Diego Armando said, walking out from behind the hotdog stall, his arm linked with Mia Fey’s. Both of them looked solemn. Fey attempted to smile at Miles when she saw him, but it was strained and didn’t quite reach her eyes.

“I'm sorry for your loss,” Fey said when Miles accidentally made eye contact with her.

Miles didn’t know how to respond. Why did people always feel the need to apologize when someone died? He wasn’t the one responsible. Logically, he understood it was a form of sympathy, but the gesture only left him feeling lost about how to reply. So, he defaulted to his usual response and said, “Thanks,” even though he wasn’t quite sure what he was thanking her for.

“Sis!” Maya waved excitedly. “Miles said he's going to defend Prosecutor Wright in court!”

“Really, now? That's quite the turnabout,” Armando commented. “I thought you hated his guts, Edgeworth.”

“Edgey? Hate Nick? Why would he?” Larry scoffed. 

“Because they're bitter court rivals. Don't tell me you were asleep during your trial—you must have noticed their behavior. Every trial afterward had them acting the same, from what Maya has told me.”

“Nah, I don't pay attention to stuff like that,” Larry waved his hand. “Nick, Edgey, and I have been pals since the fourth grade! There's no way they hate each other.”

“Okay? And how was I supposed to know that? I just met you guys a few months ago; give me a break.”

“Well, then, I can fill you in! I remember everything from the fourth grade—hit me!”

“Wait, Miles !” Maya gasped, throwing an accusatory look at him. “You never said you've known Prosecutor Wright for that long!”

“It never came up,” Miles replied.

“Yes it did! I've been begging you to tell me about your relationship with him, and every time I asked, you'd change the subject! Why didn't you just say you were childhood friends?!”

“It wasn't relevant, and besides, we weren't friends for very long,” Miles said, his patience growing thin. He wanted out of this conversation as quickly as possible so he didn't end up snapping at Maya. “I met him in the fourth grade, but then he suddenly stopped coming to school after Christmas break. Larry and I hadn't heard from him since. When I encountered him in the courtroom during Larry's trial, that was my first time seeing him in 15 years.”

“He stopped coming after Christmas, eh? Makes sense,” Armando said.

Miles looked at him, confused, his curiosity overpowering his urge to get to the boathouse. “What makes sense? Did you know him too, Mr. Armando?”

“Not personally, but I know about the case that involved his folks—everyone does. It was all over the news, and our firm defended the culprit, who ultimately got acquitted.”

“The FQ-9 Incident,” Fey’s mouth stretched into a firm, hardened line. “I didn't realize until recently that he was the child of the victims. In hindsight, that explains some of his behavior.”

“FQ-9…” Miles murmured. “Mr. Grossberg mentioned that to me and my father during Maya's case. My father refused to elaborate on the details to me. Wright was involved?”

“Yes. The consequences of that crime changed many lives,” Fey said.

Another memory from that day in Grossberg’s office occurred to Miles. “Your mother was involved.”

“Correct. She channeled one of the victims to try and help the police find the killer, but the man that the victim named ended up pleading insanity and getting acquitted. After that, she became a laughing stock, and I haven't seen her since.”

Miles almost said, “I'm sorry,” but he bit his tongue. “How unfortunate. May I ask you about the FQ-9 Incident? Or is it too personal to you?”

“I'll take it over, kitten,” Armando said, squeezing Fey's arm as her stern expression morphed into a grimace. “She doesn't like to talk about it much,” he explained to Miles, “not that I blame her. But hey, if I fill you in, maybe it'll get Trite to talk to you. Sounds like he's being his usual stubborn self."

“Yes, he's more aggravating than usual to talk to.”

Armando chuckled. “Then let me give you some leverage. FQ-9, Let's see…

“It was arson. Jay and Phoebe Wright were found dead in the ruins of their home three days after Christmas. Their next-door neighbor was charged with the crime—the Wrights had been feuding with him for years. It was standard petty neighbor arguments: loud animals, property disputes, their son sending baseballs and frisbees over the fence. He kept threatening to take them to civil court, but I guess he had enough and just went off the deep end one day.

“Er, I mean, allegedly . He was tried for the murder of the Wrights and was defended by Robert Hammond, one of the lawyers at Grossberg's firm. Hammond got his client acquitted by convincing him to plead insanity. After that, the leads dried up, and the case went cold. The police never found another suspect. The statute of limitations will run out in a few days, and it'll be closed for good.”

Miles felt the all too familiar feelings of a dissociative episode creeping up on him. “Wright's parents were…murdered?” He asked, trying to keep his mind focused to fight off the edges of darkness that were creeping over his vision. He couldn't afford to waste any more time drifting off into space. “But where was Wright? Erm, Phoenix, I mean. He wasn't there with his parents?”

“Lucky for him, no. He was at a friend's house—”

“Oh my god,” Larry's hand was suddenly around Miles' forearm, his fingers pressing into the skin so firmly that Miles knew a bruise would be left behind. “Edgey, do you remember? Nick…I think Nick was with us that day!”

“I'm stunned by your powers of recollection,” Miles said, and he meant it. His brain felt like it was full of cotton balls—he couldn't even remember what he had for breakfast yesterday, let alone what had happened on one specific day 15 years ago. “But how do you know for sure? We were inseparable after the day we all met.”

“Because Nick stayed with me and my mom for the rest of the week before he was picked up,” Larry said, “and then we didn't see him again. I remember our house was full of police officers, and my mom told me I had to be super nice to Nick! And I knew it was right after Christmas ‘cause I was trying to distract him with my new video game system. 

“And Edgey, I think that was the same day you broke your arm in my backyard. Right after your dad took you to urgent care, the police showed up. I was worried they were going to arrest me because they thought I had broken your arm, but instead, they wanted to talk to Nick and my mom. Yep! There’s no doubt about it—that had to have been the same day!”

Miles felt a twinge in his left arm at the mention, a phantom pain from 15 years ago radiating from his elbow as memories surfaced in his mind. They were hazy at first but gradually sharpened, playing out like a movie before his eyes. He saw the Butz's backyard, complete with their expensive jungle gym. He could hear Phoenix Wright declaring that he was going to beat him and Larry to the top and become the king of the jungle gym. He saw himself as a small, frail boy, eyes burning with determination as he pushed past his friends, climbing the wooden structure as if his life depended on it. He hoisted himself up to the top platform, only to stumble as vertigo took hold, the world spinning and the grass rushing closer and closer until—

He saw himself crying as Larry and Phoenix looked down at him with concern. He heard Phoenix tell Larry that they should go get Mrs. Butz, heard Larry brush him off and say that Edgey is faking, Edgey is good at being dramatic, he just wants us to feel sorry for him…

He saw Phoenix fly down the slide and race back inside. After that, he stopped paying attention to his friends and focused on himself lying in the dirt, sniffling and clutching his arm. The sliding back patio door opened, and Gregory came racing out, taking the back deck steps two at a time.

As he watched his father approach, Miles was plagued by the creeping darkness from earlier, clouding his vision. His father's features began to fade, details vanishing until all that remained was a tall man in a trench coat, his face obscured by scribbled-out lines of black.

“...Didn't mean to cause this, I'm sorry…” He heard Armando's voice floating in the distance.

“It's fine; that's why I'm with him,” Eddie's voice pulled Miles back into reality. He was on the ground again, a bunched-up coat (Eddie's) placed underneath his head. Maya was off to his right, her hand atop his, fresh tears falling down her face.

The grip around his hand tightened as Maya realized he was back in reality. “Miles,” she croaked, “You got this distant look in your eye after Larry said something about you and Prosecutor Wright, and then you collapsed to the ground! Your uncle caught you before you hit your head!”

“Ah. Suppose I should thank him for that one,” Miles said, slowly sitting up. “That would have been a nastier fall than the one I took in my apartment.”

“I think you should go home.”

“Not happening.”

“But—!”

“I've already wasted enough time as is,” Miles attempted to stand back up, stumbling as he righted himself. “Forgive me for my curtness. I really must be getting to the boathouse.”

“Not happening,” Eddie Fender said, placing a firm hand on his shoulder. “I think the best course of action would be to go back and speak with Wright. I'm sure his interrogation is over by now.”

“But what about the crime scene?!”

“It's not going anywhere. Besides, the Feys and Armando offered to go scope it out for us, and I've made the executive decision to take them up on their offer. You're not in the right headspace to see it.”

“I'll be the one who determines that!”

“No, you won't. That's the second time you've ended up on the ground today. You're not going to the crime scene, and that's final,” Eddie's grip tightened on his shoulder. Miles might have mistaken the gesture as a threat if he didn't know any better. “We're going back to the detention center.”

“We'll keep you posted on what we find, Mr. Fender,” Mia Fey said, her eyes filled with a worried sadness as she looked at Miles. He’d wished she'd stop. “And Mr. Edgeworth…Please don't push yourself. There are a lot of people out there who care about you.”

“Miles,” he said softly. “Please.”

“Of course. My apologies.”

Miles gave her a quick grateful nod before Eddie steered him back towards the park entrance—Maya and Larry's voices calling out to him as he left, promising they'd be in touch later that night. He should be grateful, really. Mia Fey was right, but he wished she wasn't. All he wanted was to be alone, but the universe seemed to have other plans for him.

What he wouldn't give to be in Wright's position at the detention center right now.

Wright appeared even more lifeless than during Miles and Eddie's previous visit, and he had made slight changes to his outfit.

“What happened to your earrings and jabot?” Was the first thing Miles asked when he turned on the microphone to speak with Wright.

Wright grimaced. “They were taken away from me. They were…unsuitable for me to wear.”

Unsuitable? The jabot (a ridiculous piece of neckwear, in Miles’ opinion), sure, but the earrings…

“That's a shame. You looked nice with those earrings on,” Miles said.

Wright’s eyes were downcast. “Thanks. They were a gift from my sister; she'd be happy to hear that.”

“Would you like me to speak with the guards about returning them to you?”

“No. I don't want to talk about it.”

“Are you certain? It's really not a bother to me.”

“Talk about something else. Please. ”

“Very well. Let's talk about FQ-9.”

Wright flinched. “That's off-limits. Choose another subject.”

“You told me to talk about something else. This is something else.”

“There's nothing to say. How do you even know about that anyway?”

“I happen to know a lot of defense attorneys. Said attorneys are very familiar with this incident. Diego Armando told me the whole story while I was investigating at Gourd Lake.”

“Damn that caffeine-addicted nuisance…!” Wright muttered. He looked at Miles warily. “So you know the whole story, do you?”

Miles nodded. “I won't recount it for you; it sounds incredibly traumatic. I only wish to offer my condolences regarding your parents—”

Wright held up his hand. “That's enough.”

“...I understand,” Miles said after a moment. “I now know how tiresome that sort of talk gets. My apologies, Wright.”

“Edgeworth…”

“Have you reconsidered my earlier offer?” Miles asked, cutting him off. 

“Yes.”

“And?”

"And I... I would like you to defend me," Wright said. "Even if it's impossible... perhaps a miracle will happen. Who knows? Every time I've seen you in a trial, it never goes the way I expect. I believe my mentor should experience that firsthand."

“Thank you,” Miles managed, feeling grateful for something for the first time that day. “I won’t let you down.”

“I know you won’t,” was it his imagination, or did Wright’s lips curl upwards into a smile? “I swear on my life that we will find the person who murdered your father.”

Chapter Text

Trial day.

They certainly didn’t waste any time , Miles mused to himself as he poured a bit of an energy drink into his 5th cup of coffee that morning. He wondered if that was von Karma’s doing or if the courts were jam-packed with cases. Ah, well, it didn’t matter. The breakneck pace of the case prevented him from having more dissociative episodes on his living room sofa, and he knew that his uncle was thankful for that. 

Eddie was on his 20th loop of the defense lobby. Miles had been watching him pace back and forth between sips of his coffee-energy drink hybrid. Eddie would be assisting him during the trial; he refused to let Miles do anything alone. He even spent the night at Miles’ apartment last night. While Miles loved his uncle, but it was getting to be a bit too much. He felt fine; he didn’t understand why his uncle couldn’t see that. But no matter what he said, Eddie refused to leave.

The bailiffs led Wright into the lobby at that moment. Miles stared at him over the steam in his styrofoam cup. “You look like shit.”

“Thanks,” Wright grunted, sitting on the couch across from Miles. “So do you.”

He couldn’t fault Wright for that observation. “I bet neither of us slept last night.”

“How could I? I’m going to be hauled off to a maximum security prison by the end of the day.”

“Have a little faith in me.”

“Normally, I would. But not when it’s Sir von Karma in there.”

“Ooh, ‘sir,’” Eddie paused mid-pace. “How regal .”

“H-he’s my mentor,” Wright mumbled. “It’s only fair that I show him the respect he deserves.”

“ Respect? He’s prosecuting you for murder! What kind of mentor does that?”

“It’s the right thing to do.” 

“You’re innocent!”

Wright's lip quivered as he spoke in a softer tone. “It’s the right thing to do.”

Eddie shook his head. “He’s got you brainwashed. Don’t worry, Miles and I will break you out of that kind of thinking.”

“Look, I appreciate you two defending me, but Sir von Karma took me in when I had no one else. He let me live with him, funded my schooling, and gave me everything . I would have been sent to an orphanage if it weren't for him. I’m not brainwashed, just grateful.”

“He wouldn’t prosecute you if he was as generous as you claimed.”

“Please,” Wright looked at Eddie with tired eyes. “I don’t want to talk about it anymore. The past 36 hours have been hellish for me.”

“For you? What about Miles!?” Eddie snapped. Wright winced at his tone. “Don’t you dare forget about him!”

“I’m sorry.”

“Uncle, stop,” Miles cut in. He locked eyes with Eddie as he downed the rest of his coffee. “Don’t yell at our client. We’re supposed to fight for him, not against him.”

“Sorry. It’s been a hellish 36 hours,” Eddie replied, resuming his pacing.

Miles sighed. “Sorry about him, Wright. As you can see, the crime has severely affected him. He’s here to help you, just like I am.”

“You’ve been affected too,” Wright said. “I’m worried about you, Edgeworth. I know how close you were to your father.”

Miles forced a smile that felt completely insincere. “I’m fine.”

“Cut the bullshit. Look, you’re not alone, y’know. I can help you if you’d like. I’ve gone through the same experience.”

Miles stilled. “Wright, you don’t have to do that for me. I don’t want to trouble you.”

“I offered.”

“I’m fine.”

“Funny, you keep saying that. I don’t believe you.” 

Their endless conversation was mercifully interrupted when the defense lobby's doors swung open. Maya burst in, carrying an organizer under her arm that looked almost identical to Miles'—except it was purple. When she spotted Miles on the couch, her face visibly relaxed. "Oh good! I made it on time!"

“What are you doing here?” Miles asked. 

Maya approached him and nearly threw herself onto the couch next to Wright. He let out a surprised yelp as she flopped down on the cushion beside him, and he turned to look at Miles with a confused expression. Miles could only shrug in response; Maya followed her own rules.

She placed the organizer on her lap and folded her hands on top, doing her best to appear serious. "I’m here to help you, of course! I’m your assistant, aren’t I?"

“My uncle is stepping in on this case.”

“Oh, awesome! I always wanted to work with him!” Maya said. “There’s plenty of room at the bench!”

“I thought you were going out of town with your sister.”

“That's not until New Year's. Hey,” Maya frowned. “Do you…not want me here?”

“Maya, this case is going to be very intense. It’s not going to be like the last two times.”

“When I was accused of attempting to murder my sister? That was pretty intense, Miles. The guy sitting next to me tried to sentence me to death, remember?”

“...My apologies, that was a poor choice of words,” Miles said, speaking in unison with Wright, who also said, “My apologies,” to Maya.

Maya cracked a smile. “It’s alright. You’re going through a lot. Both of you.”

“Maya, I can’t, in good faith, ask you to assist me on the bench for my father’s murder trial.”

“You were on the bench for my sister’s. It’s only fair.”

“I was the defense attorney.”

“And I'm the defense attorney’s assistant.”

“Maya, please.”

“Miles, please,” Maya mimicked, puffing up her cheeks. “Stop being stubborn, and let me help you!”

“Sold! Welcome aboard, Maya-Papaya,” Eddie interjected before Miles could tell her ‘no’ for the umpteenth time. “Glad to have you with us.”

“I’m the attorney in charge, uncle, and I think—”

“Overruled,” Eddie said, crossing his arms. “I’m the senior attorney of the office. I call the shots.”

“Since when have you pulled rank?” Miles grumbled.

“Since now, when you’re not in the correct headspace to make decisions,” Eddie replied. “We’re going to need all the help we can get. Von Karma is ruthless.”

“I appreciate it, though I still don’t know why you’re all willing to help me,” Wright said. “I’ve been so nasty to all of you, and my mentor is ten times worse. Are you sure you want to do this?”

“We don’t have a choice,” Eddie said. “We’re not going to send you out there alone. That would be cruel.”

“Besides, I can always annoy him with facts from Samuraipedia if he gets bad enough,” Maya said. “Or throw a paper airplane at him. Or a pencil, or a cup of coffee, or—”

Wright’s lips twitched, despite the seriousness of the situation. “If I weren’t so terrified of being instantly removed from court for that kind of behavior, I would pay to see you do that.”

“Well, I could—”

“No, Maya,” Miles held up his hand. “We don’t need you arrested for contempt of court. That wouldn’t help anyone.”

“C'mon, I wouldn’t actually do it; this case is too important. It’s about your dad, and I want to make sure we get him justice.”

Miles felt a tightness in his throat. It took every fiber of his being to keep from breaking down in front of Maya.

"Thank you, Maya. I know he appreciates it as well."

The atmosphere in the courtroom was unusually charged. While a certain buzz of energy was common during criminal proceedings, Miles had never experienced so much tension, unease, and uncertainty before. The gallery was louder than usual, and he could hear the low murmur of voices echoing down the hall.

As they entered, the gallery fell utterly silent. Miles felt the weight of all the stares as every eye in the courtroom focused on him before shifting to the man beside him. The looks directed at Miles were filled with pity, while the glances aimed at Wright were filled with contempt, judgment, and scorn.

“Ignore them,” Miles said quietly. “This usually happens when they spot my client. You’re just a…”

“Celebrity? Nuisance? Burden?” Wright offered quietly. He hadn’t looked up once since they arrived in the courtroom.

“An innocent man. Like the rest of my clients,” Miles said gently. Wright still didn’t look up, and it didn’t take long for Miles to see the reason why.

Manfred von Karma stood behind the prosecution bench, his glossy leather organizer neatly positioned in the top left corner. His notes were meticulously arranged in front of him, organized by color, and every inch of his desk was utilized to its fullest. As Wright shuffled to his chair, von Karma looked disdainfully at his student, who hung his head low like a man walking to his execution.

When von Karma noticed Miles staring at him, he smiled.

“Ah, you must be the Edgeworth child. My deepest condolences to you,” he said. Though his tone was sympathetic, the warmth of his words clashed with the coldness of his smile. “I cannot believe you came to participate in this trial, but I admire your work ethic regardless.”

Miles chose his next words very carefully. He didn’t like the way von Karma was sizing him up. “Of course I did. Who wouldn’t want justice for the murder of their own father?”

“Indeed, that is a commendable reason. But,” the corners of von Karma’s mouth curled upwards, “you’re standing on the wrong side. Justice is on this side of the courtroom.”

“I must respectfully disagree, sir. I hope we can work together to uncover the truth behind this horrific crime.”

“Pah! That sounds just like an Edgeworth.” Von Karma’s smile vanished, replaced by a glower as he snapped his fingers. “No matter—this trial will be over in three minutes.”

“Speeding through a trial won’t help us find the truth.”

“The truth? Don’t make me laugh! The truth, boy, is that pitiful excuse for a man sitting next to you shot your father! If you read the details of the crime, you would understand, but I suppose they want to shield you from that, don’t they?”

“Yeah, unfortunately, some of us around here still have consciences!” Eddie snapped.

“Tsk, tsk, tsk. Well, my opinion is that if you’re going to defend a murderer, you should at least be familiar with the basic details of the case,” von Karma shook his head. “But I guess my understanding of the basics is backward. Why else would someone I spent years tutoring bring such shame upon me?”

“S-Sir,” Wright swallowed three times in rapid succession. “I told you I was sorry—”

“ Sorry doesn’t excuse the fact that you killed a man, Wright. Not only did you do that, but you also convinced the victim’s son to buy into your piteous act. You’ve truly sunk to a new low. I suppose I couldn’t take the Wright out of you after all.”

Tears pricked the corners of Wright’s eyes. Miles slammed his fist down on the defendant’s bench. “That’s enough!”

“Poor, poor Edgeworth,” von Karma shook his head. “Don’t worry, I’ll give you the answers that you so desperately seek.” He glanced down at his wristwatch. “Three minutes. Remember that.”

“Who does he think he is?!” Miles asked, flinging open his organizer so he didn’t have to spend another second looking at von Karma’s dumb, sneering face.

“Welcome to facing von Karma in court,” Eddie said. “You’re a real lawyer now.”

“This isn’t the time to joke around, uncle.”

“Just trying to lighten the mood.”

“My father is—”

“Yeah, I’m aware , Miles.”

“Sorry.”

“You’re the last person on the planet who should apologize.”

Maya bit her lip, glancing between them with a deep frown. “Come on, you two, don’t fight! We need to be a team—Mr. Wright is counting on us!”

“I just want to go back to my cell,” Wright said forlornly.

“Not happening. Miles and I are about to fight like hell for you,” Eddie said, gripping the edge of the defendant’s bench. “Hope you’re ready.”

Gumshoe was the first witness to be called. This wasn’t a surprise to anyone, as he typically served as the lead detective in most of the cases Miles handled. Usually, he would enter confidently, declaring that Prosecutor Wright was the greatest of all time and urging everyone to give up, as they had no hopes of winning. However, today he appeared jittery. Whenever he made eye contact with von Karma, he flinched like a frightened cat.

“Witness!” von Karma said before the judge could even bang his gavel. “Begin!”

“Uh…Uh…” Gumshoe panicked, looking to Wright for help. 

Wright stared at the floor, listless.

Sweat was visible on Gumshoe’s brow as he mouthed “Help” to Miles before spinning around to look up at the judge.

“Go on, Mr. Gumshoe,” the judge nodded. “Mr. von Karma is in a hurry.”

Miles wondered who was in charge here—the judge or von Karma. He quickly got his answer.

“Witness! Now! ” von Karma snapped his fingers, shooting daggers at Gumshoe.

Gumshoe shrieked. “O-Okay! Okay! My name is Dick Gumshoe, and I’m the lead detective on the case and—”

“Get to the point , witness!”

“And I was called to Gourd Lake during the early hours of Christmas morning!” Gumshoe cried, mashing his words together as he tried to give his testimony as quickly as possible. “Someone heard a gunshot and phoned the police—they also reported what looked to be a body lying on the lakeshore.”

Miles’ breath hitched. Gumshoe looked back at him, his big, brown eyes quivering. The noise he made must have been louder than he thought.

“And?” Miles could hear the click-clack of von Karma’s expensive loafers on the tiled courtroom floor. “Why did you stop, witness? Continue!”

“And-And…” Gumshoe hid his face behind his hands. “And when I arrived on the scene, I f-found the body of G-Gregory Edgeworth with a bullet hole in his h-heart and P-Prosecutor Wright by the boat launch, holding a pistol. And I…arrested him immediately! I’m sorry! I’m sorry, Prosecutor Wright! I don’t think you did it! We’re gonna get your name cleared—!”

“Enough!” von Karma snapped. “That testimony was terrible, but it included all of the relevant points. Edgeworth, dead on the lakeshore, Wright, a pistol in his hands. It’s an open-and-shut case.”

“N-No, it’s not! Prosecutor Wright could have been framed!”

“Do not add your subjective opinion to your testimony—it’s utterly useless and unnecessarily prolongs things!”

Miles tuned out the rest of von Karma and Gumshoe's argument. His attention began to drift around the time Gumshoe mentioned a bullet in his father’s heart. He was pretty sure he had a splinter in his left index finger from gripping the bench, but if he didn’t have something to hold on to, then he was liable to faint, and that was the last thing he needed. Like his father before him, he had to be strong in the face of von Karma.

Father.

Now he was certain there was a splinter in his right finger.

A hand clamped down over his, steady and calm. Miles must have been shaking again.“Sorry,” his uncle whispered. “I should have told you the details before the case started. But I didn’t want to upset you further.”

“Are there any other details I should know about?”

“That was the worst one.”

“I’d like to read the report during our recess.”

“Miles—”

“I need to be prepared, uncle. Look at what von Karma is doing to Gumshoe,” Miles said, gesturing towards the witness stand. Poor Detective Gumshoe was shaking like a leaf in a strong wind. “Father was always prepared against him. Please give me that same courtesy.”

“Don’t bring him into this, Miles, please.”

“It’s his murder trial. I have no choice.”

“Will the defense stop whispering to themselves?!” von Karma now directed his ire towards them as Gumshoe hung his head low like a remorseful dog. “I’m trying to run a trial here!”

“That’s the judge’s role, not yours. Stuff it, grandpa,” Eddie retorted.

“Why, you insolent little worm! How dare you! I could have you thrown out of here for contempt of court!”

“Yeah? Try me.”

“Gladly. Your Honor?” von Karma looked up at the judge. “Remove this man from the courtroom.”

“Wait, wait, wait! He was joking!” Maya said, waving her arms.

“The courtroom is not a place for humor, young lady,” von Karma folded his arms against his chest, looking like a stern schoolmaster. “You would do well to learn that. Why, my little Franziska knew that at the age of five when I let her assist on the bench—”

“Ahem, if I may get a word in?” the judge asked politely. “I always enjoy hearing your family stories, Mr. von Karma, and I would love to swap them with you later. However, I will be letting Mr. Fender off with a warning for now. The defense will refrain from making defamatory accusations against the prosecution. Repeated occurrences will result in a removal from the courtroom, understood?”

“And what about the prosecution towards the defense?” Eddie asked. “I’d say they need an attitude check.”

“Pah! I’m merely stating the facts, that’s all,” von Karma replied. “This entire courtroom could do with a refresher on etiquette.”

“Both sides shall proceed with courtesy,” the judge said. “How about that?”

“Fine.”

“...”

“Mr. von Karma?”

“Very well,” von Karma said, the downturned corners of his mouth twitching. “Although this whole farce has severely affected my time estimate. We’ve surpassed the three-minute mark thanks to this buffoonery. No matter—the verdict will be coming shortly.”

“We haven’t even gotten to the cross-examination yet. Hold your horses!”

“My equines have been stabled, Fender. But what about yours, hm? What could you possibly cross-examine at this point?”

“Loads of things! The murder weapon, the crime scene, the—”

Von Karma held up his hand. “The murder weapon was a pistol covered in Wright’s fingerprints. The ballistic markings of the bullet retrieved from Edgeworth’s corpse matched that of the pistol. The body was waterlogged, so he was obviously thrown overboard once Wright shot him. You would have learned all of this if you had been paying attention to the trial's details rather than childishly name-calling.”

Corpse. Waterlogged. Overboard.

Miles, despite everything he did to compose himself, began to hyperventilate.

“Mr. Edgeworth!” the judge exclaimed, looking at Maya and Eddie for help. “Is he alright? Do I need to summon a medic?”

“And that right there is another reason you don’t need to conduct a cross-examination,” von Karma said, clicking his tongue. “Tsk, tsk, tsk. The poor boy has a weak constitution.”

“The victim was his father,” Eddie had an arm around Miles as he glared daggers at von Karma. “You could use kinder wording, you know. You didn't have to say corpse .”

“And what would you have me say instead? Deceased? Departed? Body? It does not matter; no word would soften the blow. The boy knew what he was signing up for—if he cannot handle the standard language of a criminal trial, then he shouldn’t be standing at the bench.”

Maya took a deep breath, her hands trembling at her sides in silent anger. “Get be—”

Miles suddenly swayed on the bench, and Eddie instinctively placed his hands behind his back to catch him. “Your Honor, I request a 15-minute recess,” he said.

“Granted,” the judge banged his gavel. The court will reconvene following a brief recess. I do hope that Mr. Edgeworth feels better. However, if he is unable to stand, I trust that you will take his place as the lead attorney. Is that correct, Mr. Fender?”

“Yeah. But Miles will be okay after some water and a nice rest on the couch. I promise,” Eddie said. He cast a pointed look in von Karma’s direction. “This case is too important to him to miss out on."

“Make sure he reads the autopsy report and prepares accordingly,” von Karma said, brushing off Eddie’s gaze. “This trial has already gone on long enough. I don’t need someone collapsing in the courtroom.”

“Good thing you’re not a judge,” Eddie said. He pat Miles on the back and lowered his voice, whispering, “C’mon kiddo, let’s get you situated.”

Eddie propped Miles’ head up on the couch as Maya pressed a styrofoam cup full of water to his lips. Once again, Wright sat on the sofa opposite them, eyes listlessly drifting from Miles to the ceiling to the floor. Miles watched him from over the rim of the cup, the styrofoam rubbing uncomfortably against his lips. He understood precisely how Wright felt.

As much as he hated to admit it, the water did help. As the cool liquid slid down his throat, he felt his vision sharpening and the fog in his mind lifting like sunlight dispersing morning mist. He had to maintain his focus; these episodes of weakness were unacceptable. How could he ever uncover the truth about his father’s murder if he fainted every time the case was mentioned? Von Karma was right; he needed to behave like the lawyer he claimed to be. Otherwise, the shiny badge that currently lay in his pocket would be nothing more than a crumpled, dull piece of cardboard.

“So your fingerprints were on the pistol,” Miles began. Wright’s head snapped up from the floor as he addressed him, and he nearly jumped off the couch at the sound of Miles’ voice. “Interesting. Care to explain why you didn’t mention that fact to us before?”

“I didn’t wish to upset you further. Especially with the freshness of your father’s passing.”

Freshness. Miles scowled at the phrasing. It was like his father was a piece of produce. Or, more accurately, meat . Lying lifeless on the ground and spoiling after being shot in a boat on Christmas morning.

“I can handle it,” his tone was calm, the scowl still twisting his features. “So why don’t you tell me exactly what happened? We can’t argue for your innocence if we don’t know the details.”

“...Yes, I was in the boat on the lake. And yes, I held the pistol in my hands,” Wright said after a moment, carefully watching Miles' face. “But you must believe me when I say I didn’t shoot it.”

Miles nodded, working to control the anger bubbling just below the surface. “Alright. If you didn’t fire the gun, then who did? And why did you pick it up?”

"It was a foolish, impulsive decision I made in the heat of the moment," Wright sighed. "I was in shock. The man and I were talking when he suddenly shot, and I heard a splash as a body hit the water. After that, I didn't see him again. I bent down and picked up the pistol, my mind racing in disbelief."

“By that logic, the only other person who could have fired that gun was the other occupant in the boat.”

“Yes, that’s the conclusion I came to as well.” 

“So he shot at you?”

“No.”

“Then what—?”

“I believe it was a suicide.”

The heaviness of Wright’s words hung in the air. Miles clenched his fists, which rattled against his thighs as he shook in rage. “My father,” he began, “would not commit suicide. And if he did , he wouldn’t do it in such a gruesome manner, not right in front of my childhood friend. The fact that you would even suggest that—”

“The man in the boat with me wasn’t your father.”

“What?”

“I’m sorry for the misunderstanding,” Wright wrung out his hands. “But the man I met in the boat was not your father. He claimed to be, but I know— ahem —knew, your father, Edgeworth. That wasn’t him, even if he was wearing his coat. I quickly realized what was happening and confronted the imposter directly. Then the pistol went off and he was gone.”

“Someone was pretending to be Mr. Edgeworth? And they took his coat?” Eddie’s mouth hung open, and his fists clenched like Miles' as rage began to build. “Why?”

“I don’t know,” Wright replied. “I wasn’t even supposed to be meeting with Mr. Edgeworth. I had received a letter from someone else requesting that I meet with them at Gourd Lake. When we got into the boat and began to talk, he said his name was Gregory Edgeworth, and he needed to speak with me."

“This is insane,” Eddie groaned. “Somehow, this situation keeps getting worse than I could ever imagine.”

“Why was my father at Gourd Lake?” Miles asked, turning to his uncle. He was surprised at himself for not asking this question sooner. But the question had slipped his mind with everything that had happened yesterday. “When he called me on Christmas Eve, he said he was going to be working on his case for the rest of the night. And to my knowledge, that case had nothing to do with Gourd Lake.”

“I don’t know the answer to that, Miles,” Eddie said quietly. “He sent me home around 6 PM and told me to enjoy my Christmas. I feel like such an idiot! If I had stayed with him or insisted on staying through the night, then none of this would have ever happened!”

“Mr. Fender, it wasn’t your fault. You couldn’t have known,” Maya said. Her hand hesitantly hovered in the air before she set it on his shoulder. “The only person who is to blame is the one who shot him. And that wasn’t Mr. Wright, right?”

“Right,” said Wright.

“Then let’s get back in there and show von Karma that we’re not afraid of him!”

With that, Maya was off, marching towards the exit of the defendant’s lobby, her head held high like she was marching off to war.

“She doesn’t give us much wiggle room, eh, Miles?” Eddie asked, a hint of a smile appearing on his face. “Come on, the recess is almost over. How are you feeling?”

“Better. But you will let me read the full autopsy report today, right, uncle?”

“...”

“Uncle.”

“I’ll think about it. Come on, we’ve got a prosecutor to defend.”

Von Karma stood at the prosecutor’s bench, drumming his fingers impatiently on the surface. The sound of his fingers echoed in the courtroom like cannon shots, or perhaps it was just Miles' heightened sensitivity to noise after almost fainting. He couldn't help but wonder if von Karma had even left the courtroom during the recess or if he had remained there like a stern, scowling gargoyle.

“Are you alright, Mr. Edgeworth?” the judge asked as Miles took his spot. “You worried us when you started swaying.”

“Can we get on with this horrid affair?” von Karma grumbled. “We’re behind schedule.”

“In a moment, Mr. von Karma. I have to make sure the opposing counsel is alright.”

Von Karma muttered a string of words under his breath, half in English and half in…German, Miles presumed by the few bits he heard. Of the English that he picked up on, he thought he heard “weak,” “coddling,” “my own daughter wasn’t—,” and “children these days.” Miles thought that he sounded right at home in a retirement community. Maybe he’d complain about kids being on his lawn next.

“I’m fine, Your Honor. Thank you for your concern," Miles said. "However, I do not want to delay the proceedings any further.”

“Oh, don’t mind Mr. von Karma. We’re not in a rush.”

Von Karma let out an indignant huff.

“No matter what he says,” the judge said pointedly. 

“I’ve recovered sufficiently, Your Honor. Now, please continue on with the trial.”

“Very well. I do hope you get some rest after this is all said and done. Now then,” the judge smacked his gavel. “Court is back in session. Mr. von Karma, please call up your second witness.”

“Hmph. Finally,” von Karma said. Miles noticed him clutching his right shoulder—a nervous tick, perhaps, or something he did when sufficiently irritated. It was hard to tell with him; he always appeared irritated. “Ms. Lotta Hart, take the stand. Now!”

“Alright, alright! Sheesh, gramps, you don’t hafta yell!” A young woman with red fluffy hair grumbled, trudging her way up to the stand. “Would it kill ya to be a little nicer?”

“Name and occupation. Now,” von Karma said, blatantly ignoring her. 

“Lotta Hart. I’m a research student in the astronomy program at a local university.”

“Very good. Now, tell us what you saw on the night of the incident, and do not add any fluff, needless conjecture, or subjectivity to the testimony. Understood?”

“Hmph. You need to learn some manners.”

Von Karma slammed his hand down. “Understand?!”

Hart yelped and jumped an impressive height off the ground. “I understand! I understand! Sorry!” Turning away from von Karma, she muttered, “Damn gramps.”

“Um, the testimony, please, Ms. Hart?” the judge asked. “Before Mr. von Karma bursts a blood vessel.”

“I wish he would. It’d make it a hell of a lot easier for us,” Eddie muttered. Maya lightly nudged him in the side, though she didn’t appear too upset with him.

“Right, right,” Hart scratched behind her ear. “I was camping over by the lake. I reckon it was Christmas Eve, just after midnight, and I was in my car. Then, all of a sudden, I heard this 'BANG!' come from the lake. I looked out the window of my car and saw two gents in a boat out in the middle of the water. Then there was another 'BANG!' before it all went quiet. The boat was the only thing out there. So that's—”

“Enough,” von Karma held up his hand.

“Huh?! I wasn’t finished yet, gramps!”

“Judge!” von Karma was back to ignoring his witness again. “She has a photo of the incident. I have already taken the diligence to submit it to you. You will accept it.”

“Huh? Oh, so you have!” the judge said, picking up a photograph from his desk. His eyes widened as he analyzed it. “Why…This looks like it’s the very moment of the murder!”

“Precisely,” von Karma said. “And now you see the truth of the matter at hand. The witness stated that she heard gunshots and looked out at the lake. The witness stated she saw a boat. The witness stated there was nothing else on the water. Therefore—” he pointed a bony finger at Wright’s face across the room. “The man in the boat with the victim was the one who shot him. It was that man, right there, Phoenix Wright!”

“Yes, you make an excellent point,” the judge said. He had to speak louder than usual over the noise of the gallery. “The evidence is rather decisive, and I must admit, I have very little doubt in this case. Very well, this court finds the defendant—”

“Hold it!” Miles yelled, finding his voice for the first time that day. 

“Oh, Mr. Edgeworth! You startled me; you’ve been so quiet today.”

“Apologies, Your Honor. But I must request that you hold off on your verdict. I haven’t done my cross-examination yet.”

“Cross-examination? Pah! You’re delusional!” von Karma said. “Did you fall and hit your head during the recess? We have photographic proof of the murder! What questions could you possibly have?”

“Hmph. You’ll find out shortly,” Miles said. “It’s within my right to cross-examine a witness, whether you like it or not.”

“Fine, go ahead, cross-examine her. You’ll only flounder around and put yourself through more trauma. You won’t discover anything new, and you’ll end up nearly falling to the floor yet again. So go ahead! And when you don’t find anything, I will have you held in contempt of court!”

“Contempt of court? For a cross-examination?! That’s absurd!” Eddie snapped. “Where do you get off?!”

“He is blatantly disrespecting me and my witness by conducting a cross-examination over such decisive evidence. But,” von Karma smiled a nasty smile, “by all means. The poor boy is clearly out of his mind with grief. I’ll entertain his delusions.”

“I’m not delusional, and I’m not afraid of you,” Miles grunted. “I’m cross-examining Ms. Hart.”

“Fool. I already gave you my permission.”

“I don’t need it.”

“Alright, alright—order!” the judge cut in. “That’s enough. Mr. Edgeworth, please stop arguing with the prosecution and proceed with your questioning.”

“Very well. Ahem, Ms. Hart?” Miles asked. “In your testimony, you stated that you saw two men in a boat. Could you clearly see those two men?”

“Oh, brother. Are you sure those glasses are working for you, buddy?” Hart asked, rolling her eyes. “Look at the picture! Is it clear enough for you?”

“I wasn’t asking you about the photo, Ms. Hart. I was asking if you saw the two men clearly. With your own eyes.”

Hart paused. “Uh…Y-yeah, ‘course I d-did. Um…”

“Objection!”

Von Karma's voice sent shivers down Miles' spine; he sounded a hundred times more menacing when he shouted. Beside him, Maya shrieked and dug her nails into his hand.

“The witness testified she saw the two men,” von Karma said. “And there’s also photographic proof, which you just saw presented to the court moments ago. You best look elsewhere for your contradictions, Edgeworth.”

Miles narrowed his eyes. Von Karma jumped in much too quickly for his liking. He was hiding something. “Fine. Then I’ll move on to my next question. Ms. Hart, you claimed nothing else was on the lake besides the boat. Why are you so sure of that?"

“Pshaw! Cause I scanned the whole heckin’ lake!” Lotta waved her hand. “And I’m tellin’ you there was nothing, which really bummed me out, y’know?”

“Hm, Ms. Hart, I thought you were out taking pictures of the stars—”

“Objection!” von Karma interrupted again, his voice so loud that it drowned out any point Miles was trying to make. “Edgeworth, the witness has answered your question in full. Do not badger her.”

“I’m trying to ask a follow-up question,” Miles scowled. “So, if you could tone it down a few notches, I’d appreciate it.”

“Such disrespect! Pah, no matter! There’s no need for further questions—objection sustained!”

“You’re not the judge!” Eddie snapped. “Miles is right—tone it down a few notches!”

“Sustained!” von Karma repeated with a pointed glare at the judge.

“O-oh um, yes, of course. He’s correct. Objection sustained!” The judge declared.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Miles groaned. “What am I supposed to do now?”

“I told you,” Wright murmured. “I told you it’s different when you’re on the receiving end. You’re not going to win against him. Just let them declare me guilty, and you can go home and rest and never have to deal with Sir von Karma ever again.”

“I refuse to let you get imprisoned for a crime you didn’t commit!” Miles said. “Let alone the murder of my father. There’s one more contradiction that I think I’ve found, so please, don’t give up hope.”

“My hope died a long time ago.”

“I’m ignoring that,” Miles said, turning his attention back to Lotta Hart. “Ms. Hart, you said there was ‘another bang’ out on the lake. Were you watching the very moment that the shot rang out?”

“Uh, yeah, of course!” Hart said, not looking very sure at all. “Why do you—”

“Objection!”

Von Karma's objections felt like a knife twisting in his stomach, painfully interweaving through his organs and piercing Miles in the places that hurt the most. He knew he would be haunted by those words in his nightmares. Tired, he glanced at the man across the room and wondered how Wright had endured years of tutoring under someone like him. He doubted he could last a single day as one of Von Karma's students. "What is it now?" he asked wearily.

“You ask the most meaningless questions I’ve ever heard in a courtroom!” von Karma snapped. “Hmph, I can tell you’re a junior attorney. At least your father could come up with a concrete argument.”

Miles felt like he’d been slapped.

“Don’t you dare bring Mr. Edgeworth into this!” Eddie yelled, nearly vaulting over the desk. “What the hell is your problem?!"

“Manners, Fender. Do I need to remind you of the very real danger of your entire team being held in contempt?” von Karma’s nasty smile was back. “This entire cross-examination was meaningless. Just as I thought it’d be.”

“Yes. And I believe we’ve covered the evidence sufficiently enough to make a decision,” the judge said. “Mr. Wright, if you would please take the stand?”

“Objection!”

Maya's voice sliced through the courtroom's uproar. It was loud, fierce, and passionate, resembling that of her elder sister.

“O-Oh Miss Fey!” the judge looked down at Maya. “Is everything alright?”

“No, everything's not alright!” Maya scowled, jabbing her finger at Hart. “Lotta Hart! Your testimony sucks! I don’t think you were actually looking at the lake, and I doubt you ever saw Mr. Wright out there! Tell us the truth—this is a matter of life or death!”

Hart’s jaw dropped. All she could do was stare at Maya in shocked silence.

“Lotta! Tell me! Did you see Mr. Wright that night?! Did you see him shoot that gun?!”

“Someone silence that girl!” Von Karma snapped. “I have never seen such blatant insolence in all my 40 years in court!”

Maya was screaming now. “Answer me, Lotta!”

“W-what’s the big idea?! Why are you yelling at me and acting like I’m some kinda criminal?!” Lotta finally spoke. “I saw him! I swear I saw Wright—”

“Objection! Judge!” Von Karma gripped his shoulder like it was a lifeline, and spit flew from his mouth. “Declare the defense in contempt of court! This sort of behavior is completely out of line! I demand they be removed at once!”

“O-of course. My apologies, Mr. Edgeworth, but you were warned,” the judge said apologetically. "Bailiff, please escort Mr. Edgeworth, Mr. Fender, and Ms. Fey out of the courtroom.”

“Wait!” Maya waved her hands frantically at the judge. “Your Honor, please! Miles and Mr. Fender didn't do anything—I'm the one who yelled at the witness. Remove me, but let them stay!”

“What does it matter if one of you goes or not?” Von Karma asked. “All that's left is for the guilty verdict to be declared. Isn't that right, Edgeworth?”

“Wrong!” Miles glared directly into von Karma's old, dreadful face. “Did you hear Ms. Hart? She stated that she saw Wright out in the boat! That was not in her original testimony, and I have the right to cross-examine her again, as it's now changed!”

“Pah, just like an Edgeworth! You always have to pick and pick…You are in contempt of court! Judge, I demand that you sustain my objection!”

“I'm sorry, Mr. von Karma, I cannot." The judge said. “Mr. Edgeworth has brought up a valid point. Ms. Hart technically has a new testimony, and the defense has every right to cross-examine her.”

“B-B-But he's in contempt of court!” Von Karma shrieked, losing his calm and composed demeanor for the first time. “You said it yourself!”

“No, he's not in contempt—I am!” Maya huffed. “Arrest me and leave them alone!”

“Um, very well,” the judge said, looking bewildered. “Miss Fey, you are to leave the courtroom immediately. Bailiff, if you would?”

Maya nodded and stepped out from behind the bench. As she walked past Miles, she took his hand in hers and gave it a gentle squeeze. “I did what I could, Miles. Now it’s up to you to do the rest. Good luck! I know you can do it.”

“Maya, no! I need you!” Miles cried out. One of the bailiffs approached Maya and held out a pair of handcuffs. She displayed her pale, thin wrists, allowing them to snap the cuffs around them. “Maya, please!”

“This is ridiculous! Cease the melodramatics, Edgeworth. It’s not like she’s going off to the gallows!” Von Karma rolled his eyes. “And you best listen well—I don’t tolerate the badgering of my witnesses. Keep it up, and I will ensure that you are removed from this courtroom!”

“Watch it, von Karma. Wouldn’t want another penalty for poor behavior, would we?” Eddie said sweetly. “Why don’t you sit back and let Miles run the cross-examination, hm?”

Von Karma’s face darkened with rage and…fear? Odd. He was clutching his shoulder again, nails digging into the expensive blue fabric of his suit, the tips of his fingers turning bright white from the pressure he was exerting. “Don’t you dare— ”

“Ahem, Mr. Edgeworth,” the judge cut von Karma off. “Please begin your cross-examination.”

“Ah…Yes. That part,” Miles felt the familiar pang of anxiety in his stomach, which often took root during crucial moments in court. “The uh…Statement. Right. Ahem , Ms. Hart. You said the man on the boat was Mr. Wright.”

“Yup, sure as cornbread goes with greens."

“Got you.”

“Huh? Got me? Got what? Why are you actin’ like I’m a mouse who just tried to snag cheese out of a mousetrap?”

“I want to examine the photograph that was submitted earlier,” Miles said. “There’s something important I’d like you and the rest of the court to see. It’s clearly visible: the fog.”

“So what? It’s normal for fog to roll out on the lake!”

“Yes, it is. Tell me—this picture was taken with a professional camera on high-quality film, correct? But it couldn’t capture the faces of the men on the boat. You claimed you saw Mr. Wright out on the lake—how?”

“Because I…I…” Hart looked between Miles’ stern expression and von Karma’s much more deadly one. She swallowed hard. “I had a pair of binoculars with me! I used my binoculars to look out my car window when I heard the noise. See? It makes perfect sense!”

“Hm, no, no, it doesn’t,” Miles said.

“What? C’mon! Yes, it does. I think you’re doing this on purpose!”

"I'm not. To be honest with you, Ms. Hart, I don't want to be here. But I must uncover the truth. And the truth is that you’re lying. Yesterday, the Fey sisters spoke with you, and you claimed you were at the lake to take pictures of the sky. So wouldn’t you be using a telescope and not binoculars? And speaking of the pictures, I also have doubts about your camera!”

“Why?! It’s a professional camera! You said so yourself!” Hart huffed, waving her camera around. “It ain’t a cheap one—it’s got all the fixin’s!”

“It’s not the make that I’m concerned about; it’s the purpose of the camera itself. You’re lying about looking at the stars!”

“Says who? You? I bet you don’t know a darned thing about the stars, four-eyes!”

“Again, I would like to direct the court’s attention back to the photo on the lake. This photo was taken with the camera’s automatic setting, correct? So then, why was it pointed at the lake? Shouldn’t it be pointed up at the night sky?”

“O-oof!” Hart flinched. “W-well, that’s a mighty fine point you brought up, Mr. Lawyer! Yeah, okay. You got me. I wasn’t out there to get photos of the stars.”

“Ms. Hart!” Von Karma snapped. “Keep your mouth shut!”

“Aw, can it, gramps! The jig is up!” Hart said. “Yeah, I went out there to get photos of the lake.”

“At night?” Miles asked. “Why? What good would that do?”

“Heh, well, it wasn’t the scenery I was looking for. It was,” Hart’s eyes shifted back and forth, and she hunched over the witness stand. “Gourdy!”

“What?” Miles asked.

“Pardon?” the judge asked.

Von Karma let out an exasperated sigh.

“Oh! The lake monster!” Eddie snapped his fingers as a thought came to him. “The one with the long neck, right?”

“Yup! That’s him! I was camping out, hoping to get him on film!” Hart grinned. “But…So what?”

“What do you mean?”

“It don’t change the fact that I saw what I saw!”

“Ah, exactly,” von Karma nodded. “Fender, what you and your associate just did was waste several minutes of our valuable time to demonstrate that the witness is a fool who believes monsters exist! But as she so eloquently stated, so what? It changes nothing!”

“Thanks, gramps. Even if you rag on me, I'm glad to see you on my side,” Hart said. “I was out taking photos when I heard a loud bang. I looked straight out at the lake and could easily see the boat. I watched it the whole time, and that’s when I witnessed the murder!”

“Mhm, thank you,” Miles said. “And may I just say—objection!”

“What could you possibly be objecting to, Edgeworth?” von Karma scoffed. “Do you derive joy from wasting everyone’s time? Did you secure all your victories by boring the court to death?”

“Details count, no matter how minute,” Miles retorted. “And that’s enough out of you. I have a witness to question.”

“This cross-examination has gone on long enough!”

“I have a right to ask her questions!”

“You pitiful little upstart amateur of a lawyer! How dare you!”

“Ms. Hart!” Miles said, ignoring von Karma’s jabs at him. “Were you really looking at the boat out on the lake?”

“Huh? You got cotton in your ears, lawyer-man?” Hart asked. “Course I was! It was the only thing out there. Any normal person would be looking at it!”

“Well, yes, I agree that any normal person would. But you are far from normal!”

“What?! You wanna come over here and say that? Lemme tell you, I ain’t got no qualms about hitting a guy with glasses! Square up!”

Miles ignored her. “You said you were down at the lake to take a picture of the lake monster. So logically, what would you do if you heard a loud noise? You’d be scanning the lake for Gourdy. You wouldn’t focus on a boat—that would be too normal! In your earlier testimony, you stated you watched the boat through your binoculars, but I think you were really using them to search the lake for Gourdy!”

“Alright, alright, fine! Fine! You got me! I was looking at the lake the whole time!” Hart huffed, crossing her arms. “I wasn’t really looking anywhere else.”

Silence engulfed the courtroom. Miles turned to von Karma, who appeared as if he had just swallowed a lemon. “So,” he started slowly, “you’re saying that you weren't watching the boat at all? Are you claiming that your entire testimony was a lie?”

“Well, not like…an intentional lie.”

“Ms. Hart.”

“It wasn’t! No need to take that scary tone of voice with me. I know I messed up, okay?” Hart said. “I just got excited to be a big, important witness to a murder! I was sure I was watchin’ the boat, but now…Well, now I know the truth.”

“This is unbelievable. Your entire testimony is worthless,” the judge said. “Prosecutor von Karma! I expected more from you. I would have never thought you’d bring an unreliable witness into the courtroom.”

“Y-yes, well, I didn’t know…” von Karma fidgeted, “How brazenly idiotic this woman would be. Forgive me.”

“Hey! Shut it!” Hart snapped. “You still got a photo of the murder cause of me, right? So you should be happy! I even got it enlarged at yer request!”

“Wait, enlarged?” Eddie asked. “When? We haven’t seen it at all during this trial.”

Von Karma waved his hand. “I deemed it wholly unnecessary.”

“Yeah? Well, I’ve found that I don’t care much for what you have to say. I want to see it. Your Honor? May we?”

“I suppose I can allow it. It won’t do any harm,” the judge said.

“The prosecution objects! Your Honor, this is pointless!” von Karma declared. “We are just going around in endless circles at this point! Hart caught the murder on film. If you enlarge the photograph, it will just show the same thing!”

“Don’t care; your opinion doesn’t matter at this point. I want to see it, and the judge agrees. You lose.”

“My opinion doesn’t matter?!” Von Karma spluttered. “Jude! Remove Fender from the courtroom for contempt this instant!”

“Boy, that's your favorite tactic, huh? You’re like a little yappy dog at this point,” Eddie snorted. “I’m not afraid of you. Go bark up a tree somewhere.”

“Order, order!” the judge banged his gavel rapidly. “The defense and prosecution will abstain from name-calling! Otherwise, both of you will receive a penalty!”

Von Karma let out a shuddering gasp and then fell silent. Lotta Hart’s enlarged photograph of the shooting on the boat was then displayed on the monitors near the judge’s stand.

“Well?” Von Karma said after taking a moment to compose himself. “It is exactly as I said it would be. There is nothing new here—it’s two men in a boat, one firing a pistol at the other. This changes nothing.”

“No,” Miles said after a moment of consideration. “No, there is something strange going on with this enlargement! Look at the hand holding the pistol; the man is holding it in his left hand!”

“Yes, I see that, Mr. Edgeworth,” the judge said. “What is your point?”

“Earlier in the trial, Detective Gumshoe stated that the fingerprints on the pistol were from Wright’s, erm, right hand! So by that logic, the man shooting the gun in this photograph is not Mr. Wright!”

“Bah! Preposterous!” Von Karma exclaimed. “Your deluded line of reasoning leads us to a rather large problem, Edgeworth. If Wright didn’t shoot the victim, then who did? It could have only been him!”

Miles took a moment to reflect on his discussion with Wright in the lobby. “I propose,” he said, struggling to speak, “that it was the victim—my father—who shot himself.”

“Edgeworth, are you crazy?!” Wright hissed. “Didn’t you just tell me that he would never do such a thing?!”

“I had to buy us time,” Miles said. He spoke so quietly that it was hard to see his lips moving.

“Mr. Edgeworth,” the judge said, his tone unusually grave. “I understand that you are going through a difficult time, and I offer my sincerest condolences. However, do you truly believe your father committed suicide at the lake?”

“I can think of no other explanation, much as I hate to admit it.”

“Objection,” Von Karma stated calmly, which somehow felt more jarring than when he yelled. “I am truly sorry, Mr. Edgeworth. I also share the judge’s sympathies regarding your unfortunate situation. Your poor father must have been going through a lot for you to consider such a thing. However, I regret to inform you that suicide is not an option. Your father was shot by someone other than himself.”

Miles didn’t believe von Karma sounded pained at all. In fact, he almost seemed delighted, relishing the opportunity to knock Miles down a peg. “Please explain your reasoning, sir,” he said, “as there’s a glaring contradiction otherwise.”

“Of course. If you looked at the autopsy report—and based on your words, you still have not—an examination of the victim’s wound reveals the distance at which he was shot. The senior Edgeworth was shot from three feet away. There is no possibility that it was suicide. I naturally considered that a possibility during my investigation and had them look into it immediately.”

“F-Fine,” Miles said, the haze filtering into the edges of his mind once more. “F-Fine. So someone shot him from three feet away. But the contradiction between the prints and the person in the photograph remains.”

“I agree,” the judge said. “And based on that, I would like to suspend the trial proceedings for today. I order that the defense and prosecution further investigate this matter. Understood?”

“Yes, your honor,” Eddie and Miles said in unison.

Von Karma didn’t speak. He glowered at Eddie and Miles, his lips trembling in silent fury.

“Good. That is all. Court is adjourned for the day.”

“Phew! That was a close one. We managed to get through by the skin of our teeth!” Eddie took off his hat and fanned himself with it. They were back in the lobby. Miles was focused on seeing how far he could sink into the couch cushions until he disappeared, while Wright hunched over the coffee table with a stormy, pensive expression.

“Hey, Wright! Don’t you have anything to say?” Eddie asked.

“No,” Wright said. He looked at Miles when he spoke, though Eddie was the one currently talking to him. “I haven’t been declared innocent. What is there to say?”

“Thanks?” Eddie offered. “We bought you another day, which never happens with a von Karma trial. I thought he was going to keel over at the stand. Shame he didn’t.”

“Fair point. Thanks,” Wright said, still keeping his focus on Miles.

“I was kidding. Oh, never mind. You two kids are going through it. I’ll leave you be,” Eddie said, putting his hat back on. “I’m gonna go check on Maya. They probably sent her off to the detention center.”

“Will you tell her something for me?”

“Yeah, sure, if it’s nice. What is it?”

“Tell her…To watch what she says in court,” Wright coughed. “And then tell her…thanks.”

Eddie chuckled. “Of course. Miles? You coming with me?”

“What other choice do I have?” Miles finally spoke, his voice muffled by the scratchy, cheap leather of the couch. “You won’t leave me alone.”

“I figured it’d be nice to offer. I didn’t know if you wanted to hang back and chat with your pal.”

“They’ll be returning him to his holding cell soon, and you know it.”

“Got me again, Miles. Geez, you’re good at this.”

Miles sighed and got up from the couch. He usually appreciated his uncle’s jokes and sense of humor, but at that moment, everything felt dull and disconnected. Eddie’s words seemed to linger in the air, drifting aimlessly before eventually fading away.

Before he left the room, he glanced back at Wright. “I’ll relay your message to Maya. And you just…stay safe, alright?” he said, internally cursing himself for his awkwardness. “It’s not over yet. My uncle and I are heading back to Gourd Lake, and we won’t return until we get some solid answers about what happened to my father.”

Chapter Text

Miles found himself back on the grounds of Gourd Lake once again. A sour taste crept into his mouth as he walked through the gates, and he wondered if he would ever be able to react normally to this place. It was a park; it was supposed to be peaceful. He shouldn’t be feeling like this.

Yet the bitterness in his chest persisted, taking hold of his heart and embedding itself like a weed's thick, gnarled roots.

He and Eddie didn't get far before they ran into Gumshoe again. This time, he was walking in circles around a cluster of oak trees, holding a bright red dog leash. Above him, mourning doves cooed, and Miles heard a dog's bark, soon followed by Gumshoe’s distinctive yell. Suddenly, a blur of tan fur burst out from behind one of the trees as a Shiba Inu raced forward, barking at the doves.

“Woah, Missile, c’mon!” Gumshoe whined as the doves took off. Missile continued to bark and pull as he attempted to jump into the air. “You’re supposed to be sniffing for clues! What kind of police dog are you?”

“Need some help there?” Eddie called out. “You look like you’re in a bit of a pickle.”

“Please! He’s going to drag me into the sky at this point!”

Miles watched as Missile nearly made Gumshoe crash into a tree trunk, having to bite down on his lower lip to withhold a chuckle. “Missile, Missile!” Miles clicked his tongue. The dog paused and cocked its head at him. Miles reached into his pocket and pulled out a baggy of jerky links that Maya had pressed into his hands before the trial had begun. He was supposed to eat them—she insisted on it—but Miles hadn’t had any appetite since Christmas Eve, and he wasn’t going to eat them now. He opened the bag and threw the links on the ground. At least someone was going to enjoy them. “Here, boy!”

Missile let out a friendly yip and bolted towards the jerky, dragging Gumshoe in his wake. He eagerly began to devour them, and when he finished, he looked up at Miles with big, pleading eyes.

Miles' heart melted. “I’m sorry, but that was all of them,” he said, conversing with Missile like he was a human and not a tiny little dog. “At least that was more exciting than chasing doves, hm?”

Missile approached him and sniffed the hem of his pants. Miles hesitantly reached down to pet him, but when his hand got close, Missile playfully attacked it with a flurry of licks. This time, Miles couldn't contain his laughter.

“Whew, thank you. Mr. Edge-Uh, I mean, Mr. Miles,” Gumshoe said, looking relieved. “He would have ripped my arm out of its socket if you hadn’t intervened.”

“Lucky for you, Miles is a dog lover. He knew what to do,” Eddie said, watching Missile and Miles with a smile. “And it’s good for him too. Look at that grin he’s got on his face.”

Miles was aware that Gumshoe and Eddie were watching him and tried to conceal the smile on his face. It felt odd to smile at a moment like this, especially since there was nothing to feel happy about in his life. However, no matter how hard he tried, the smile wouldn't fade. Not while Missile was around.

“I wanted to say thanks for helping Prosecutor Wright,” Gumshoe said to Eddie. “Sounds like you bought him another day. I was sure he would get thrown into jail during my testimony. I wasn’t any help to him, so I’m glad you guys knew what to do.”

“Nah, you were fine. Don’t listen to von Karma,” Eddie waved his hand. “He was just trying to intimidate you. We’re gonna get to the bottom of this, so don’t you worry.”

“If I can help in any way, let me know!” Gumshoe hit his fist into his palm. “I won’t let Prosecutor Wright go to jail! I won’t!”

“Hm, actually…” Eddie scratched his chin in thought. “Could we borrow the dog? He might be able to help us look for clues.”

“Sure! Missile is one of our best police dogs. But uh, as you could probably tell, he’s…eager when it comes to small animals.”

“I’m not worried. Like I said—Miles is a dog lover. He's grown up with dogs his whole life and knows how to handle them. I’ll have him take the lead.”

“Great, then take him!” Gumshoe nodded. “I also have other items, like a fishing pole and a metal detector, if you need them.”

“Not for nothing, detective, but we’re not exactly here to spend a day at the beach.”

“You never know.”

“I’ll keep that in mind. Miles? Did you hear all that?”

“I did,” Miles replied, looking up from scratching Missile’s ears. “We’re taking the dog, right?”

“Yeah, I figured we could explore the boathouse area.”

“Oh? Are you letting me over there now?” Miles asked. “What changed? You were pretty adamant about keeping me away.”

“You saw how von Karma was. And I…I feel bad about sending you into a panic attack on the bench today. It’s not doing you any favors to keep you in the dark.”

“I appreciate it.”

“Anything for you, Miles. C’mon, let’s roll.”

“Hey, pals, before you go,” Gumshoe said. “I wanted to mention something about your friend, Maya.”

Miles skidded to a halt. Missile, upset by the disruption, let out a whine and tugged at the edge of the leash, urging Miles to move. His tugs were gentler than they had been with Gumshoe. “What about her?” He asked. “Uncle Eddie and I stopped by the detention center before we came here, and she wasn’t there. Did something happen to her? Is she alright?”

“Yeah, yeah, relax,” Gumshoe waved his hands. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to upset you. She’s fine. She’s more than fine, actually. Prosecutor Wright called me a little bit ago and said he was paying her bail. That’s probably why you couldn’t find her.”

“He’s what?!” Eddie gaped. “Not that I’m upset or anything, but...Why?”

“All he said was that he was real grateful for what she did for him in court today.”

Eddie tipped his hat. “Huh. Well, that’s unexpected. That kid has been surprising me more and more each day. He appears to have a conscience after all—seems like von Karma hasn’t influenced him as much as I thought.”

“So, is Maya getting released today, then?” Miles asked, ignoring Missile’s repeated whines. Much as it tugged at his heartstrings, unfortunately, Maya was more important to him than the dog, even if he was rather adorable. “Should we go back and pick her up?”

“Nah, I think her sister is going to get her. She’s been worried sick—she was up in the gallery today. I had to, um, threaten her with arrest because she was making some colorful threats towards Prosecutor von Karma. I can’t say I blame her, though. Just to be clear, you didn’t hear that from me!" Gumshoe added quickly, looking anxious.

“Like we’re gonna disagree with you,” Eddie snorted. “I nearly jumped him three times. Mia Fey is in good company.”

“And so is Maya,” Miles nodded, grateful that she wouldn’t be alone anymore. He felt a twinge of guilt inside—of course, her sister would be there to help her; he wasn’t the only person in her life. He hoped that Maya’s sister was treating her to the biggest burger of her life. “Thank you for updating us, Detective. That makes things a little better. Come along, uncle. Let’s go to the boathouse.”

“Just a minute,” Eddie held up a finger. “I’ve been doing some thinking. We’ll take the metal detector too.”

“Sure thing!” Gumshoe opened his coat and pulled out the metal detector. Miles silently wondered where the hell he was keeping that—under his arm? Ouch . “You want the fishing rod too?”

“Nah. I never catch anything when I try,” Eddie said, retrieving the metal detector from Gumshoe. “With the metal detector and the dog, I think we’ll be all set for clue-hunting.”

“Glad to be of service, pals!” Gumshoe gave them a salute. “I hope you find what you’re looking for. We can’t let Prosecutor Wright down!”

To reach the boathouse, they had to walk past the main lakeshore area where the food stalls were located. Eddie and Miles made quite a sight as they walked—Miles with Missile, whose nose was glued to the ground, and Eddie with the metal detector that beeped wildly whenever he detected a piece of loose change. As they approached the stalls, Miles caught the distinct smell of hot dogs.

Missile did, too. As soon as the dog caught the scent, his head snapped up. With a growl, he lunged forward, pulling Miles toward the stall that had a painted Steel Samurai on the side. “Whoa, whoa! Missile! Heel!” Miles shouted, but Missile ignored him. “Bad boy! Bad! ”

Miles’ scolding only seemed to encourage the dog further. There was no stopping his trajectory at this point. At this rate, he was going to go over the front of the stall, and Miles refused to go with him. He reluctantly let go of the leash as Missile jumped into the stall's interior, crying, “Watch out!” to whoever was inside. 

“What the— ah! ” Larry Butz’s panicked voice rang out. “Who’s crazy dog is this?! No, no! Not my Samurai doooogs!”

Missile growled as Larry shrieked. The next thing Miles knew, the dog leaped back over the front of the stall with a string of hot dogs hanging from his mouth. He ran up to Miles and sat beside his feet, tail wagging excitedly, proudly displaying his catch.

“I’m sorry, Larry,” Miles apologized as Larry came out from the booth, looking harrowed. “I didn’t know he would be like this.”

“What the hell, Edgey!” Larry whined. “Your dog almost killed me in there! I was guarding those hot dogs with my life before I finally had to give up and run for cover! Man, usually the dogs you have are well-behaved—what gives?”

“It’s not my dog. That’s the problem,” Miles said. “Although Missile has been good about listening to me. But when it comes to food, he has a one-track mind.”

“Oh, great, so you adopted a psychotic dog off the street?”

“No, he’s a police dog. Take it up with Detective Gumshoe. You can send the bill for the lost hot dogs to him.”

“Man, I ain’t gonna do that. Don’t be so stingy about it. It’s not that serious.”

“Larry, you’re acting like you just lost something precious. That’s the only reason I’m suggesting it—I am an attorney, after all.”

“Yeah, and you’re also my friend. So I’m allowed to tell you to shut up and get away with it,” Larry smirked, puffing out his chest. “And I’m also allowed to tell you to go home. This is the second time you’ve been to Gourd Lake; knock it off!”

Miles sighed in exasperation. “I’m not getting into this fight with you. I’m trying to defend Wright. It’s normal for me to visit the crime scene.”

“Not when it’s your—”

“Father?” Miles finished for Larry. Larry shut his mouth, eyes widening. “What’s that look for? I’m allowed to mention him, aren’t I?”

“Well, yeah, but usually when that happens, you…collapse.”

“I do not ,” Miles said, lying through his teeth. He didn’t know why that was his default reaction; Eddie and Larry had witnessed it happening several times. “You’re not the boss of me, Larry. I need to go to the crime scene. If I don’t, there’s a high chance Wright will end up in jail.”

“You’re not going to win this argument, L-man. I gave up long ago,” Eddie said, waving the metal detector around in his hand. “Besides, we’re decked out to do some heavy sleuthing. It's too late to turn back now.”

“Looks more like you’re going to the beach to me.”

“Ah, a man after my own heart. I don’t know if I should be flattered or concerned.”

“Whatever. Just take your crazy hot dog-devouring dog out of here. I gotta brainstorm something else to sell to hungry customers!”

“What customers?” Miles asked, looking around at the empty lake. “The only people here are Gumshoe and us!”

“And you’ve got to eat, right?” Larry countered. “What am I supposed to sell you, air? I’d be a horrible food stall vendor if I did!” 

“I'm not in the mood for hot dogs,” Miles said. “You needn't worry about me.”

“Not even if they were branded with the Steel Samurai?”

“...I might reconsider.”

“Knew it.”

“Shut up, Larry,” Miles grumbled, hating that Larry knew all his weaknesses. “Quit distracting me. I have a job to do.”

“You're the one who distracted me with the dog.”

“Well then, allow me to un-distract you. Come along, uncle.”

“Heh, you heard the man. Sorry, L-man,” Eddie tipped his hat. “Another time.”

“Yeah, yeah. Come back if you get hungry. I’ll whip you something up,” Larry said, returning to his booth. “But do me a favor—tie that dog at the other end of the area when you come back.”

“I will do no such thing,” Miles said. He clicked his tongue and gently jostled the leash. “Come, Missile. Let’s get you away from the loud, scary man.”

Miles let Missile lead the way down the path, following the signs that pointed toward the boathouse. He didn't know how he would react when he reached the shore where his father's body had been discovered. With Missile by his side, he felt a sense of protection, and as long as he held the leash tightly, it might keep him from collapsing to the ground.

He noticed the caution tape first—bright yellow with large block letters. The words blurred together, even with his glasses on. He doubted there would be a chalk outline in the dirt, but he didn't have the stomach to look. Just seeing the crime scene cordoned off was enough for him.

“How are you doing?” He jumped when he felt Eddie’s hand on his back. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you; I just wanted to prepare. I don’t want you getting any concussions on my watch.”

“I haven’t seen anything yet, so it’s hard to say.”

“C’mon Miles. You look like you’re about to lose your lunch.”

“Can you blame me?”

“No.”

“Let’s just get this over with,” Miles sighed, clicking his tongue to signal Missile to continue. Missile sniffed the ground and then darted under the crime tape, forcing Miles to dig his heels into the dirt to avoid getting tangled in the yellow ribbons.

But he wished he had.

As soon as he ducked underneath to follow Missile, he noticed the markers: little plastic double-sided signs standing on the ground with large, black numbers. Instead of chalk, there was a crude outline made out of masking tape, frayed and tattered from exposure to the elements. A multitude of footprints surrounded the body outline, some of which included a small oval next to them. Miles recognized it as the end of a cane, and his stomach lurched. Von Karma carried a cane. Von Karma was at the crime scene. Logically, this made sense, but it still didn’t stop the sensation of bile in his throat as he imagined that horrible man inspecting his father’s body.

Missile approached the tape, and Miles jerked back the leash. Hard. The poor dog let out a frightened whine, and guilt replaced the nausea in his stomach.

“Alright, get out of there, or at least give me the dog,” Eddie said. “I won’t have you hurting the poor thing.”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it. I would never hurt a dog!” Miles bit down on his lip until he could taste blood. He felt like the worst person in the world. “I don’t even know where to begin. Perhaps you should handle this, and I’ll check the surrounding area.”

“Sure. Let’s trade,” Eddie ducked under the tape, metal detector in tow. “Maybe you should have the dog sniff around the bushes.”

“For what?” Miles asked as he left the cordoned-off area. “Wouldn’t he need a scent?”

“We’re not tracking anything, Miles. We already know where the body is. Was.”

“I suppose you’re right.”

“Sorry. Look, why don’t you try the boathouse? The caretaker might be in; maybe he saw something. Wright had to get the boat from somewhere.”

“Alright,” Miles grunted. He suddenly wasn’t in the mood to talk with his uncle. “Come, Missile. Let’s hope he likes dogs.”

Miles left Eddie at the crime scene without bothering to wave goodbye. As he approached the semi-rotted door of the cabin (which was more like a shack), he hoped that no one would answer when he knocked. The more he had to discuss his father's murder, the less eager he became to be on the crime scene. Maybe Eddie was right; perhaps he should sit this one out.

But he found himself knocking on the door anyway. It immediately swung open, giving Miles a horrible jolt.

A sleepy-looking, scruffy man in a pink beanie stood in the doorway with a dazed smile. “Woah there, sonny! Watch your step. Otherwise, you’ll end up in the lake!”

“I-I’m sorry!” Miles said. “I wasn’t expecting the door to open right away. I apologize if I startled you.”

“I think you’ve got that backward. I nearly knocked you off your feet! Do you need to come in and take a breather?”

“Thank you,” Miles said as he followed the caretaker inside. His eyes quickly scanned the room and noticed the unusual number of fish illustrations hanging on the far wall. Beneath them sat a parrot and a giant safe. He had never seen such a strange layout for living quarters in his life.

“Feel free to sit on the bed, youngster,” the man offered, gesturing off to the right of the safe, where a twin mattress with a large dip in the center was.

“I’ll stand, thanks.”

“That’s a cute dog you have there. I’m a bit of an animal lover myself.”

“Thank you. I could tell by the fish, and the, uh, bird,”  Miles said, shifting awkwardly while Missile sniffed a stain on the floor that looked suspiciously like gravy. “I’m sure you've heard about the murder that occurred here. I wanted to ask you some questions. On the night of Christmas Eve, did you happen to rent a boat to a Mr. Wright or a Mr. Edgeworth?”

“Hey, wait a minute!” the man snapped his fingers as realization dawned on him. Miles leaned forward, hopeful. “Now I know why you look so familiar! Why, you’re Keith! It’s about time you’ve shown up to visit your father! And you even brought your dog, Rover.”

“...What?” Miles could only stare at him in confusion. “I think you are severely mistaken. My name is Miles, and I’m a defense attorney. The dog is named Missile, and he’s a police dog.”

“Ah, ah, that won’t work on me, son! You’re not getting out of it this time!” The man laughed. “You were always a jokester, Keith. But now look at you—you’ve turned into a fine young man. So I think it’s finally time that I pass along the family business to you.”

“The family business? You mean boats? Or fishing?”

“No, no. Pasta! Don’t you recognize where you are?”

“The boathouse on Gourd Lake?”

“There you go again with your jokes. No, you’re in the Wet Noodle! The finest pasta shop in Los Angeles, and the pride and joy of our family!”

“Look,” Miles’ exasperation began to grow. It had been a long, strenuous day. He’d faced von Karma in court, he learned the details of his father’s murder, and now he was back at the murder scene, dealing with a delusional old man. He was liable to snap if he didn’t leave the cabin immediately, and the poor man didn’t deserve that. “I think I should go. I’m not Keith, but I hope he shows up to visit you soon. You must miss him terribly.” 

“Trying to get out of seeing your old man, eh? Well, you can’t run from me forever!” the man laughed. “Why don’t you go outside and see if there’s any confused customers wandering around. For some reason, they think this is a boat rental place and not a pasta place!”

“I hardly blame them. The sign out front says ‘Boat Rental.’”

“Does it? Dang storm. We had nasty winds about a week ago—it must have blown off the Wet Noodle sign! Do your dad a favor and go look for it, will you? Maybe Rover can sniff it out. I remember how much he loves pasta.”

“Er, right. Sure,” Miles sighed. He wasn’t going to get anything out of this man. This whole visit was a severe waste of time for both of them. He clicked his tongue. “Come along, Missile.”

Missile ignored him. While Miles spoke with the caretaker, the dog wandered into the corner where the parrot was, looking up at it curiously. When Miles gently tugged on the leash, Missile let out a small, startled bark, which caused the parrot to begin squawking.

“Hello! Hello! My name is Polly!” the parrot said. Missile cocked his head and growled.

“No, Missile. Bad.” Miles lectured. “You’re not a cat. Leave that poor bird alone.”

“Hello! Hello!” Polly repeated. Missile continued to growl. Miles approached, shortening the retractable leash so Missile had less room to move. Things were already bad enough; he’d hate for the dog to harm the man’s bird.

“Missile. Come.” Miles said more commandingly. His tone seemed to break Missile out of it, and the dog backed away, still keeping his eye on the bird. “Thank you. Now let’s go and meet back up with Eddie.”

“Don’t forget to look for the sign, Keith!” the man called out. While Miles attempted to corral Missile, the man had wandered to the small kitchenette on the opposite wall of the cabin and filled a large pot with water, no doubt to boil it for noodles.

“Of course,” Miles replied, figuring that it was best to play along. “I won’t forget.”

“Forget! Forget!” Polly suddenly squawked. “Don’t forget! Don’t forget FQ-9!”

Miles froze in his tracks. “ What? ”

“Uh oh, I think I hear people approaching!” The man suddenly stood beside Miles, his hand on his back, pushing him towards the door with surprising force. “Keith, they’re probably customers! Go look for me, will you?!”

“Wait a minute!” Miles exclaimed. “What did your bird just say?”

“Aw, Polly? She just likes to babble about any ol’ thing. Don’t pay her any mind. Now go on—go get me some customers!”

With that, the man pushed Miles and Missile out the front door. Before Miles could protest any further, the door slammed shut behind him, and he heard the unmistakable sound of a lock clicking into place.

He narrowed his eyes at the noise. Perhaps the boathouse caretaker wasn’t as forgetful as he seemed.

Miles contemplated this idea as he walked Missile back to the taped-off shore. He could see Eddie’s perm and hat bobbing around as he moved in circles with the metal detector. Eddie stopped when he heard Missile’s paws on the dirt.

“Heya Miles, that was quick!” Eddie said. “Did the guy have much to say?”

“No, it was a bust,” Miles said, not attempting to enter the sectioned-off area any further. “Until the very end, that is. He has a pet parrot. When we mentioned the word ‘forget’, the parrot started squawking about FQ-9.”

“The Wright Murders?”

“Yes. And then I was pushed out of the rental cabin. He locked the door behind me.”

“Definitely suspicious,” Eddie said. He glanced back at the cabin, eyes narrowed. “Maybe we should wait and see if he leaves.”

“And how do you propose we do that? He’ll see us out here if he  glances out his window.”

“We could hide in the bushes.”

“Not happening.”

“Aw, c’mon! It’ll be like a police stakeout! Besides, it’s the best lead we’ve gotten so far. All my searching has been a bust. So, c'mon, let's go. It's non-negotiable.”

Miles had always admired his uncle’s tenacity, but it became less admirable when he found himself on the receiving end of it. When Eddie made up his mind about something, it stuck. And right now, his mind was set on hiding in the bushes. Eddie leaped over the caution tape and approached a row of bushes to the right, conveniently facing the boat rental cabin. Without looking back, he beckoned to Miles, knowing he would follow.

And he was right. Miles sighed and led Missile to the bushes, reluctantly settling down beside his uncle. He tried not to focus too much on the branch that was scratching against his wrist. Missile wasn't helping his comfort; the dog kept weaving around Miles' and Eddie's legs, tangling his leash around them as he investigated every single leaf in front of him.

Eddie had set the metal detector aside—things had gotten much too cramped in the bushes as it was. It now lay inconspicuously off to his left on its side. In his quest to sniff the leaves, Missile ended up bumping into it. That single nudge was all it took for the detector to start beeping wildly. It was so loud that it sounded like a fire alarm going off.

“Uncle! Turn that off!” Miles clasped his hands over his ears. He had to raise his voice so Eddie could hear him over the racket. “The caretaker is going to hear us; I thought we were supposed to be hiding!”

“Hey, I didn’t touch it!” Eddie replied, quickly grabbing the detector and setting it upright. “Either the dog broke it, or we finally found something worthwhile. I’m going to follow the trail.”

“But what about the stakeout?”

“Stay seated if you want. It shouldn’t take me long to find whatever set it off.”

“Ngh…But I—”

“Want to tag along?” Eddie grinned. “I knew you would. You’re such an inquisitive little guy, always have been. Come on, you can keep an eye on the cabin while we search.”

Eddie crawled out of the bushes, metal detector in tow. Miles, who was struggling a bit due to Missile tying his knees together with a leash, followed shortly after. The beeping from the metal detector grew louder the further Eddie walked, despite the thickening brush as the greenery turned into forest. Now the detector's sound was almost as loud as a fire truck siren. Miles felt tempted to throw the thing into the lake, but before he could entertain that thought any further, Eddie exclaimed, “Aha!” and quickly flipped the off switch on the handle.

Miles decided not to go as far as his uncle and opted to squat instead. He had been crawling on his knees throughout the entire investigation, and his courtroom pants were covered in dirt and mud. He tried his best to peer into the bush in front of his uncle. "What is it?"

“Something huge!” Eddie exclaimed, grunting as he struggled to pull the object out. The tops of the bushes bent under the strain as he yanked it free. In his hands, he held a large metal air tank, similar to those used for filling balloons. The center of the tank was caved in like it had been struck with a bat.

“That’s a bizarre find,” Miles commented. “What would an air tank be doing out here?”

“Right, I don’t think it’d be useful for scuba diving. Unless someone was really ambitious or really stupid.”

“I don’t think either option is probable. This stinks of a clue. And of something else entirely.”

“What do you mean?”

“Growing up, we had a saying. ‘If something smells, it’s usually The Butz.’” Miles gestured with air quotations as he spoke. “In other words, I’m about ninety percent certain that Larry is somehow involved in this.”

“L-man likes to go scuba diving?”

“ No , Uncle. Recall the food stall area. Several of the booths had balloons attached to them. It’s not too hard to connect the dots.”

“You think this tank was used to fill the balloons. That’s real sharp of you,” Eddie nodded. “Jeez, why does L-man always gotta get involved in trouble?”

“I’ve been asking myself that question for fifteen years. Let’s go back and ask him.”

Before Miles could move, he heard a door bang open and muffled, frantic voices.

“Can you take—?” Miles asked, not bothering to finish his sentence as he clumsily passed Missile’s leash to Eddie. Eddie nodded wordlessly, accepting the leash without question as Miles crept back towards the lakeshore.

The boat rental caretaker stood outside his cabin, speaking animatedly with a police officer and looking upset. This was a stark contrast to how he had interacted with Miles just fifteen minutes earlier. Although he was too far away to hear the entire conversation, he caught bits and pieces of it.

“...Tomorrow’s trial,” the officer said.

“Why now?” The caretaker responded. 

“Safety. Von Karma said—”

“I’ll go.”

Miles strained to hear more but ended up falling face-first onto the ground. By the time he got back on his feet and brushed the dirt off his suit and face, both the caretaker and the police officer had disappeared. The cabin door was closed, but not completely. Miles could see a crack of light spilling out between the edge of the door and the cabin wall.

“Uncle!” Miles shouted over his shoulder.

Eddie appeared by his side almost instantly, lugging the air tank, metal detector, and Missile with him. “What?! What is it? Are you alright?”

“I’m fine. The caretaker left with a police officer, and it looks like he forgot to lock his door. Do you know what this means?”

“That you almost killed me for nothing? I’m not as young as I used to be, you know.”

“Please,” Miles scoffed. “You’re nine years older than me. You’re just horrendously out of shape. Anyways, this means that it’s a prime time for us to investigate.”

“Will you at least let me set all this junk down?” Eddie asked. “I’m liable to throw out my back.”

“Just stack it by the door—except for Missile.”

Without waiting for a response, Miles dashed towards the cabin door as if it would close at any moment.

“Miles! Come on!” Eddie huffed, trudging after him. But Miles didn't pay him any mind. He reached the cabin first and opened the door, allowing him easy access to the inside.

The cabin’s interior appeared unchanged from the last time he visited. Although it had only been half an hour, Miles scanned the room, noting every little nook and cranny. Seeing nothing out of place, his next stop was the parrot.

“Hello, Polly,” Miles said. “You told me something interesting earlier.”

“Squawk! Squawk! Hello!” The bird responded.

“I sure hope you haven’t forgotten me, Polly.”

“Forget! Forget! Don’t forget FQ-9!”

“You’re a smart girl,” Miles nodded. “What am I not supposed to forget about FQ-9?”

“Forget! Don’t forget!”

Miles' excitement deflated like a balloon. Was that all the bird was going to say to him? Was this entire diversion a waste of time?

“So, the bird is a blabbermouth, eh?” Eddie asked. His sudden appearance in the shack nearly made Miles jump out of his skin. “Heh, sorry about that, Miles. I finally got the dog wrangled—seems he only likes to listen to you.”

Normally that bit of information would have made Miles elated, but his joy had been sucked out once more. Happiness was a rarity nowadays anyway. “I’ll take him back if he’s bothering you. Maybe we can go for a walk around the lakeshore while you figure out the case.”

Eddie raised an eyebrow. “You’re giving up rather quickly. What’s the matter?”

“My lead has gone cold.”

“The bird?”

“I thought she’d have more to say.”

“Maybe you’re not asking her the right questions.”

“What else is there to ask? I tried probing about FQ-9, and she just keeps repeating not to forget it! It’s not like she’s sentient, and I’m not going to waste time interrogating a bird.”

“Allow me then. Polly, was it?” Eddie asked, approaching the parrot. He tipped his hat at her. “Nice to meet you. Say,” his eyes wandered toward the safe in the corner, “what’s the combination to the safe?”

“1228!” Polly replied.

Miles gaped at the bird. “What…?”

“Heh, told you so. All in a day’s work,” Eddie said. He squatted down next to the number pad on the front of the safe and punched in 1-2-2-8. The front lock clicked, and Eddie was able to easily open the door.

The safe was completely empty except for a single piece of paper folded in half on the top shelf. Eddie took it out and immediately handed it to Miles. "Open it."

“Why me? You’re the one who figured it out.”

“You’re the one in charge, Miles. Open it; I’m dying of curiosity here.”

“Very well,” Miles said, folding open the paper. “But if it’s a will or instructions leading to his buried assets, I’m putting it back. We’re not going to engage in any sort of criminal activity.”

“Gee,  you don’t let me have any fun, do you?”

Miles looked over the edge of the paper in disapproval.

“That was a joke, Miles. You don’t have to give me the ol’ Edgeworth stare. I’ve gotten enough of that to last me a lifetime.”

“And you will continue to receive it from me as long as you keep this up. Now be quiet,” Miles grunted as he returned his focus back to the paper. It was a letter, and it said:

“If you wish to seek your revenge upon the two men who ruined your life, heed my instructions.

“ You will take on the moniker of Robert Hammond and send two letters: one to Gregory Edgeworth and one to Phoenix Wright. Tell Edgeworth to meet you first and tell Wright to come later. I am certain that you have a pistol, whether it is for hunting or self-defense purposes. When Edgeworth arrives— ”

Miles felt vomit rising in his throat.

“ Shoot him.

“I should hope that you know what to do from here, but if not—”

“Hey, hey, hey! Woah! Miles!”  Eddie caught him before his head could hit the decaying floorboards of the cabin. 

“Sorry,” Miles said, looking up at the dim overhead light above him.

"Will you quit apologizing every time you have a fainting spell?" Eddie asked, gently kneeling down and resting the back of Miles' head in his lap. He could faintly feel Missile’s cold, wet nose sniffing his cheek.

“Sorry.”

“And don’t apologize for your apologizing; that’s extra annoying,” Eddie sighed. “So, I’m assuming that letter wasn’t a map to buried treasure. Probably had something to do with your dad, yeah?”

Miles silently handed the letter, which he had crumpled tightly in his hand, to Eddie. Eddie unfolded it and began to read. The paper hovered directly above Miles’ head, casting a heavy shadow over his upper torso. Although Miles couldn’t see his uncle’s face from where he lay, he could tell that a silent fury was overtaking Eddie with every sentence as his hands began to violently shake, rattling the paper from side to side.

It was silent for several long, agonizing minutes. Miles couldn’t take it anymore. “What did the rest of it say?” he asked, figuring Eddie must have finished reading by now. “I zoned out after the part where it said to—well, you know.”

“It went on to detail the crime,” Eddie said calmly. The letter remained in front of his face, obstructing everything, while his fingers curled over the edges of the paper, nearly tearing it apart. “After shooting your father, it told the recipient to hide the body, then meet up with Wright and frame him for the murder.”

“Ah.”

“Do you know what I wish?” Eddie asked, folding the letter and tucking it into his pocket. He didn’t look down at Miles. “I wish that caretaker was still around so I could drown him in the lake.”

“Uncle!” Miles exclaimed with a start. He sat up so suddenly from Eddie’s lap that stars danced in his vision. “You can’t say things like that!”

“He killed your father, Miles.”

“We don’t know that.”

“This letter is definitive proof.”

“It could have been planted.”

“Why are you deflecting?” Eddie asked, his smooth, calm expression now replaced by irritation. He looked at Miles with frustration. “Haven’t you been insisting for the past day that you were going to solve your father’s murder? We just got the motherload of evidence delivered straight into our laps!”

Miles shook his head. “This still doesn’t fully solve the case. Someone wrote this letter, and I don’t believe the caretaker wrote it to himself. It sounds like a premeditated crime. The real mastermind is still out there.”

“Shit.”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean—”

“No, no, don’t listen to the ramblings of a fool,” Eddie waved his hand. “You’re completely right. You usually are; you’re a smart kid. Gregory did a hell of a job raising you, you know?"

“Uncle, you’re not—I don’t think you’re—”

“Let’s get out of here,” Eddie said, kicking the door of the safe shut. “You think Gumshoe is smart enough to run a handwriting analysis?”

“Well…No,” Miles answered honestly. “But, he’d give it to someone who would."

“I want to find Gregory's killer just as much as you do,” Eddie said, his expression serious. “You’re right; we have the person who shot him, but we still need to catch the mastermind. We need to get him behind bars; I owe it to your dad.”

“And the air tank?” Miles asked, glancing at the object by the door. “Are we still going to question Larry over it?”

“Later. Let’s meet back up with Gumshoe. I hope he’s still in the park.”

The boathouse was deep within the park, which meant that Miles and Eddie had to make their way through the entire area to reach the front gates. While it would have been more convenient to question Larry on their way back, Eddie had a frighteningly determined expression on his face; Miles was afraid that if he brought up the air tank again, Eddie might snap at him.

However, it turned out that Miles didn’t need to worry about any of that. As they passed by the center of Gourd Lake, he saw Maya’s distinctive bun sticking up in the air, and he stopped dead in his tracks, causing Eddie to crash into him.

“Miles…?” Maya called, her attention drawn by the noise of the crash. She wasn’t alone; Mia Fey and Diego Armando were with her, in an eerie resemblance to the day prior. Together, the three of them sprinted over to Miles and Eddie to help.

“What are you doing here?” Miles asked. “I thought you were in the detention center!” He took the hand that Mia Fey graciously offered him, trying not to trip as Missile's leash wrapped around his legs. He really needed to remember to shorten it.

“Trite let her out. He paid her bail—which I didn't think was possible since he's also locked up—but hey. I think he's a slimy, corrupt slug, but at least this time he's putting his corruption to good use,” Armando said before Maya could answer. She huffed at him in response. “We just picked her up a little while ago.”

“And you brought her here ? Why?”

“What part of ‘I’m your assistant’ don’t you get?” Maya asked, pushing past Armando. “We still have a case to solve and a man to prove innocent! That’s what we do, isn’t it?”

“Spoken like a true Edgeworth and Co. Law employee!” Eddie grinned, springing to his feet. “Glad to see you out and about, Maya-Papaya. We were worried about you.”

“I’m okay; I was only in there for a few hours,” Maya said. “But now I owe Mr. Wright a mega-ultra-jumbo hamburger. It’s the least I can do for him.”

“It was the least he could do,” Armando grunted. “Considering you saved his butt in court today. He’s a lucky guy.”

“Diego, please. We’re running out of time,” Fey sighed, massaging her temples. “We have to help Miles and his uncle as much as possible. You saw how von Karma was in there.”

“Don’t I know it, kitten.”

“Help, eh?” Eddie replied, scratching his chin. “We appreciate the offer. Uh, by chance, are either of you handwriting experts?”

“Did you find a clue?” Fey asked. “We’ve been stuck in the woods all afternoon with Lotta Hart, talking in circles about the monster in the lake. It’s been a bit…frustrating, to say the least.”

“Oh, we found a clue, alright,” Eddie handed the caretaker's letter to Fey. “This letter we discovered explains the entire murder plot in excruciating detail.”

Fey’s eyes widened. “Where did you get this?!”

“From a safe in the boat rental shop.”

“Then the caretaker—”

“Yep, bullseye.”

“We’ve got to get him!” Fey declared, slamming her fist into her open palm. The letter fluttered to the ground, and Armando scooped it up, eyeing it hungrily. “Before he gets away!”

“He’s already with the police,” Miles explained. “That’s why we were able to get into the cabin. They took him away and mentioned something about von Karma and tomorrow’s trial.”

“Ugh, von Karma is probably meeting with him and convincing him not to talk, like he did with Lotta," Fey said. "I hate to say this, Miles, but you’re fighting an uphill battle.”

“I’m aware,” Miles grunted. “But I have no choice. I won’t abandon Wright, and I won’t let my father’s killer walk away. I appreciate all your help, Ms. Fey. You don’t have to do any of this.

“Mia,” she replied with a warm smile.

“Pardon?”

“If I’m on a first-name basis with you, then you’re on a first-name basis with me. It’s the least I can do; we’re practically family at this point. So please, call me Mia.”

“O-oh, I suppose…If that’s alright with you…”

“I wouldn’t have told you if it wasn’t,” Mia winked, which made Miles stammer even more.

“Hammond,” Armando suddenly said, saving Miles from any further embarrassment. “Babe, did you read this letter all the way?”

“Yes, I did,” Mia replied, folding her arms. “Do you have a comment about my reading comprehension? You don’t want to get into it with me, Diego.”

“Oh, trust me, I know. I wouldn’t dream of it,” Armando said. However, the smile that always appeared when he spoke with Mia quickly faded. “What I meant was that this letter mentions Robert Hammond. It instructs the recipient to pose as him and lure Edgeworth and Trite to the lake. Hammond was the attorney for the neighbor who was arrested for the Wright murders. I understand how that would draw Trite out, but Edgeworth…?”

“It must relate to FQ-9,” Miles said. “The parrot in the boat rental cabin would say, ‘Don’t forget FQ-9’ if you mentioned the word ‘forget’ to him.”

“So your father was involved with the incident?”

“I have no idea. The only time that case was brought up in front of me, he refused to speak about it.”

“Oh, I can answer that,” Eddie interjected. “Neither of us will ever forget that case. Gregory was devastated that the parents of Miles’ friends had died in such a horrible manner. He wanted to do everything he could to help their son, so when the police asked for leads, he went down to the station to speak with them. He was the one who directed the police to the Wright’s next-door neighbor. He shared all the details of the feud, and I believe that’s why the police ended up arresting him.”

A moment of silence encompassed the group. Armando was the first to break it. “That’s an important detail, don’t you think, Fender? Were you ever planning on sharing that with us?”

“I thought you knew,” Eddie shrugged. “Hammond was with your firm, after all.”

“It was his case, and he didn’t discuss it much with Grossberg or me. Everything I learned came from newspapers, Grossberg himself, or—” Armando paused and looked at Mia with concern. “Well, the rest isn’t important. My point is that Hammond kept us in the dark. He only shared the basics with Grossberg while the trial was ongoing. I had no idea that Edgeworth was ever involved.”

“He sure was," Eddie replied. "The prosecution even called him in as a character witness for the neighbor. He gave his statements right before they brought Misty Fey out. I’ll never forget it; it was one of the craziest trials I’ve ever witnessed.”

“Hey, don’t go bringing up—”

“I’m a grown woman, Diego,” Mia said, folding her arms. “It’s not illegal to mention my mother.”

“Of course not, but I know how upset you get, and Maya is here, and she’s already been through a lot—”

“Maya can handle it too; she’s strong. Besides, she barely even knows our mother.”

“Alright, if you’re sure,” Armando sighed. “I just want to look out for you. You always get upset when she is brought up, and I know this case is difficult for you to discuss.”

“I'm sure it's even more difficult for Prosecutor Wright, considering that he lost both his parents and was nearly burned to death himself.”

“Huh?” Miles interjected, his voice louder than he intended. Everyone turned their attention to him. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to raise my voice. But Ms. F—I mean, Mia, what are you talking about? Wright was at Larry’s house on the day of the fire. The police came and took him away, and that’s when he learned that his parents had died. Larry mentioned that to me yesterday.”

Now it was Mia’s turn. “Huh?” she asked, looking equally confused. “Look, I never intend to disparage anyone, but I think your friend is seriously misremembering. Phoenix Wright was found barely alive by firefighters near his parents' bodies, with his father’s pistol near his feet. This is stated in the official report of the FQ-9 Incident.

"Additionally, when my mother—excuse me—when my mother channeled Wright’s mother, she verified that her son was at the scene. When asked why he was holding his father’s pistol, she said he was trying to fight off the arsonist. She then named their next-door neighbor as the person responsible for the crime.”

“Wright was there?" Miles couldn’t believe it. If true, then this made the entire incident about ten times worse. No wonder Wright didn’t want to discuss it; he certainly wouldn’t have wanted to if he had been in Wright's shoes. “You’re positive about it?”

“Absolutely. But if you don’t believe me, the case file for the FQ-9 Incident is in the record room of the police precinct. I’ve spent a lot of time looking at it.”

“Don’t you need special permission to do that?” Eddie asked. “Or do you have a habit of sneaking into police record rooms? It’s fine if you do; I’m no snitch.”

“It’s nothing like that. I just, um, know the chief prosecutor rather well.” Was it his imagination, or was there a subtle blush on Mia's cheeks? “And she usually grants me permission to access restricted files.”

“Would that permission be extended to us?” Miles asked. “I’m curious about the incident myself. Wright won’t talk to me about it, so the only way for me to learn the truth is to read about what happened.”

“I’m not sure. Lana is a busy woman,” Mia mumbled. “Here’s what I can do: I’ll write you a note to give to the chief detective. I hope my word will be enough to let you in there to access the files.”

“You don’t have to do that for me.”

“It’s really not a bother,” Mia said, opening the small clutch she kept tucked under her arm. She retrieved a pen and a small notepad, using Armando’s shoulder for support as she wrote. After signing her name in elegant cursive, she tore the sheet off, folded it in half, and handed it to Miles.

Miles took the note and put it into his pants pocket. “I truly can’t thank you enough. All of this is highly unnecessary.”

"When you go through the loss of a parent, it's never easy," Mia said. "But having people to support you and knowing you're not alone really helps. It's something I wish I had when my mother disappeared. Allow me to empathize with you, and please forgive me for acting like a nosy older sister."

"I don’t mind," Miles said quietly. "I've been an only child my entire life, and somehow, in less than a year, I've gained two sisters. I appreciate it; I truly do. Please let me know if you find anything else during your investigation here. We can meet again tomorrow morning before the trial or, if you'd prefer," Miles said as he rummaged through his other pocket and pulled out his cell phone, "I can give you my number. It'll be easier to stay in touch."

“Thank you for working with me," Mia smiled at him as she entered his number into her phone. "We’ll find out who killed your father. I promise.”

Miles, Eddie, and Maya left Mia and Diego behind at Gourd Lake. As they departed, Miles mentioned the air tank they had found in the bushes near the boathouse and suggested that they ask Larry about it. If Larry gave them any trouble, they were to call Miles—he would handle the situation, as he had years of experience dealing with his friend.

As for Maya, she insisted on following them to the police precinct, hammering home that she was his assistant. She would have kept going until she was blue in the face if Miles had not intervened and told her she was allowed to come with.

They returned Missile to Gumshoe, but Miles was hesitant to let him go. Having a dog by his side had been wonderful—he had forgotten how much he enjoyed it. It had been years since he owned a dog; his last one had passed away when he was a teenager. After that, he went to college, joined his father's law firm, and moved out; needless to say, his life had grown far too busy for a dog. Missile also seemed unhappy about returning to Gumshoe despite the detective's efforts to bribe him with treats and beef jerky. As Miles tried to detach Missile (who kept sitting between his legs and refusing to leave) from himself, he brought up the letter they had found to the detective. Gumshoe then mentioned a fellow detective who could help them, which meant they could kill two birds with one stone during their visit to the precinct.

They finally managed to get Missile to stay with Gumshoe, but it required Miles to hand-feed him jerky links while promising the dog he would visit. After that, they got back into Eddie’s car—he still didn’t trust Miles to drive—and quickly made their way to the police precinct. Miles spent the whole drive anxiously looking out the window, wondering if it was going to be a fight to get access to the FQ-9 files.

But all his worrying had been for naught.

They approached the desk of the chief detective, who looked suspiciously like he was playing games on his computer based on the way that he yelped and immediately opened up a new browser window when they approached. Miles explained his request while holding the note in his hands. The paper barely touched the desk before the detective waved his hand and said, “Go ahead; you don’t need any sort of permission. The room is already unlocked, so you’re in luck. Prosecutor von Karma requested to go in earlier.”

“Oh, he did, huh?” Eddie said grimly, his fingers tightening around the brim of his hat. “Sounds like he had the same idea as we did, Miles. Be careful in there.”

“You’re not coming along?” Miles asked.

“I’m going to talk with the guy Gumshoe told us about. I figured I’m the best person to handle that, considering the contents of the letter. Will you and Maya be all right in there? Von Karma might still be lurking around.”

“Aw, we’ll be fine. He’s just an old man, and we’re not in court,” Maya waved her hand. “We can’t be removed! We have permission.”

“Mhm, a fair point. But be careful. Even outside the courtroom, von Karma is a lot. I don’t envy you.”

“Is that why you want to speak with the detective about handwriting analysis?” Miles snorted. “Are you scared?”

“Hey, you’ve seen how he is. He’s even more frightening up close—especially under fluorescent lighting. It really accentuates the wrinkles on his face. He looks a little…freaky from the front.” Eddie shivered. “Good luck in there, kids!”

Miles rolled his eyes and headed toward the records room, with Maya following closely behind. It was just like his uncle to be overly dramatic as usual. Despite his dislike for the man, von Karma was still a fellow member of the legal profession. He was likely researching FQ-9, just like they were. There shouldn't be any issues—they could share the case file.

When they walked inside, the record room was empty.  Rows upon rows of shelves filled with case files stretched before them, towering high towards the fluorescent lights hanging from the ceiling. The sight was completely overwhelming.

“How are we ever going to find the file in here?” Maya groaned. “It’ll take us months! Look at all of this!”

“Perhaps they’re arranged in alphabetical order?” Miles suggested. “There has to be some kind of organizational structure here; otherwise, they’d never be able to find anything.” He pulled out a random file labeled “DL-6” from his left. A quick glance at the first page revealed it was about an elevator crash in the State Capitol. The files next to it were labeled “DM-5” and “DN-2.” Alphabetical, just as he thought. “See? We’re in the ‘D’ section. Let’s go find the ‘F’ files.”

They ventured deeper into the record room until they reached the files that started with the letter F. Miles walked to the end of the section and found “FP-5” and “FR-7,” but there was no sign of “FQ-9.” “That’s odd,” he murmured, mostly to himself rather than to Maya. “Either someone took it out, or it’s stored in another section. Perhaps there are separate areas for cold case files?”

“We’re never going to find it!” Maya groaned. “This is pointless!”

“What kind of attitude is that?” Miles asked, placing his hands on his hips. “Come. Let’s search for the cold case area. If we can’t find it, maybe the detective has a file database we can access, like the one at the public library. We'll find it.”

“How can you be so calm? I’m freaking out over here!”

“One must always be calm in the face of an investigation,” Miles said, parroting something his father used to say to him. “Even if they’re, in your own terms, ‘freaking out.’”

“So you are freaking out!”

“...Perhaps a little.”

“Knew it.”

“Don’t gloat, Maya.”

“What on earth is all the ruckus in here?” Manfred von Karma suddenly rounded the corner of the “H” shelf, scowling as he carried a large stack of files under his arms. Upon seeing his face, Miles jumped; his uncle wasn’t exaggerating for once in his life. “This is a record room, not a playground!”

“Eeep!” Maya shrieked upon also seeing von Karma. “U-uh, I mean, hi! Sorry! I didn’t mean to be so loud!”

“Yet you continue to yell. Quiet down; you’ve already caused enough trouble with your yelling today, haven’t you?”

“Oh... Okay... I'm sorry,” Maya mumbled, instantly deflating.

Miles scowled and stepped forward. “Leave her alone. She’s been through enough today, thanks to you.”

“Ah, hello, Edgeworth,” von Karma said with a wry smile. “Are you conducting an investigation?”

“Of course, there’s a trial scheduled for tomorrow.”

“Then you must be rather fond of wasting your time on pointless endeavors.”

“What about you? You seem rather confident for someone who is also investigating the police precinct’s record room. This makes me think that tomorrow’s trial may not be as certain as you would hope.”

The smile vanished from von Karma’s face and was instantly replaced with a scowl. “Don’t give me lip, boy. Remember who you’re speaking to.”

“My esteemed colleague,” Miles said, giving him a slight bow. “Who I hope shares my mission of uncovering the truth behind this heinous crime.”

“You’re quite confident for a boy whose father was killed by a rogue prosecutor.”

Miles paused, his resolve beginning to crumble. The smile on von Karma's face returned, even more sinister than before. “I…” he took a deep breath, “Yes, I am confident because I believe in my client. It’s poor form for you to goade me with my father’s death, Mr. von Karma. I expected better from you; my father always spoke highly of you.”

The corner of von Karma's mouth twitched slightly. "I see your father never taught you about the perils of lying, Edgeworth."

"I’m not lying. It was no secret that he disagreed with your methods, but he still respected you as a fellow man of the law. I try to adopt his perspective in my own legal proceedings. I also disagree with your conduct and methods, but I still believe you are a great lawyer. You wouldn’t have gained such respect in the legal world otherwise."

“Stop talking about that man,” von Karma scowled, and this time he seemed almost...enraged. “I don’t want to hear the name ‘Gregory Edgeworth’ ever again.”

“You chose the wrong trial to prosecute, then, considering it’s about his murder.”

“We are finished here. Good day to you!” von Karma huffed. As he turned to leave, Maya caught a glimpse of the folder in his hands.

“Hey! You have the FQ-9 file!” She declared.

Von Karma stopped in his tracks and looked over his shoulder, his lips pressed into a thin line. “So?”

“We were looking for that! Can we see it?”

“No.”

Maya sighed in exasperation. “Okay…Can we see it after you’re done looking at it?”

“No.”

“Don’t be like this,” Miles said, stepping forward. “As a fellow man of the law—”

“Stop saying that,” von Karma's voice dropped low, his hand lingering over his front pocket. “You sound just like your father. You look like him too. You have his eyes. Stop staring at me.”

“I will,” Miles said, continuing his approach. “But only if you let me look at the FQ-9 file. I just need to see the case details; it shouldn’t take me more than an hour, and then I’ll gladly return it to you.”

“Get back! ” Von Karma snapped, suddenly pulling a taser from his pocket. 

Maya screamed. “It’s a gun!”

No, foolish girl!” Von Karma's thumb clicked a button on the side of the taser. The two black prongs of the device began to glow yellow as electricity crackled between them. “This is a stun gun. It has 600,000 volts of electricity running through it. I carry it for self-defense purposes. If you take one more step towards me, I won’t hesitate to use this on you!”

“You’re insane! ” Miles exclaimed, his jaw dropping in shock. “There’s nothing logical about this at all!”

"Back off, Edgeworth! Even in death, you continue to haunt me!" Von Karma declared, the taser in his hand crackling with wild energy.

“What? That makes zero sense—”

“Miles!” Maya exclaimed, pointing at the object beside the files in von Karma’s arm. “He doesn’t just have the FQ-9 file; he’s also carrying an evidence bag! It’s labeled with the words ‘FQ-9’, and it looks like a pistol!”

“...Von Karma. Why do you have that evidence with you?” Miles asked slowly. “You weren’t… intending to leave the police station with it, were you?”

“That’s it!” Spit flew from von Karma's mouth as he lost his composure. He pounced in an instant, brandishing the electrified taser, and pushed it into Maya’s shoulder. She let out a terrible scream, instinctively grabbing the fabric of von Karma’s jacket as her nerves seized up. Von Karma coldly pried her hands away and pushed her, causing Maya to fall backward and hit the floor.

As Miles sprinted to help her, von Karma turned his attention to him next. One moment, he was rushing to assist her; the next, he heard the crackle of electricity and felt a tingling sensation on his back as the taser pressed against the fabric of his suit. The smell of singed fabric filled his nostrils as his body locked up, and then he felt von Karma's hands pushing him down roughly, forcing him face-first onto the floor. His glasses cracked as he hit the linoleum.

“Stay out of this, Edgeworth,” von Karma said, his voice echoing down to Miles from the other end of the room. “Don’t poke your nose into things you don’t understand, or you might end up like your father.”

And with that, he was gone, leaving a paralyzed Miles and Maya in his wake.

Chapter Text

Miles didn’t know how long he had been on the floor before the numbness left his fingers, and he could move them again. When he regained full control of his hands, he used them to prop himself up on his knees and removed his broken glasses from his face. Squinting around, he saw Maya curled into a ball off to his left. “Maya…?” he asked, panicked. “Maya!”

“Argh…I’m awake,” she responded, shifting on the floor. Miles heard the rustling of a bag as she moved. “I’m sorry, Miles. I tried to grab the files from him as he was shocking me, but I couldn’t.”

“I don’t care about the files, Maya. I care about your safety,” Miles replied, kneeling down to help her. “Are you alright?”

“Yeah, I'm just tingly. It feels like all my limbs just woke up after falling asleep,” she sniffled. He hoped she wasn’t crying. 

As he helped her up, he noticed a bag in her hands. “Maya, what’s that?”

“Like I said, I couldn’t grab the FQ-9 files, but as he pushed me, I managed to grab the evidence bag. Von Karma didn’t notice. I watched him run after you; he looked super freaked out.”

“Maya, you’re brilliant,” Miles beamed. A light pink blush spread across Maya's cheeks at the compliment. “May I see the bag?”

Maya nodded and handed it to him. The label read: FQ-9 Evidence—Jay Wright’s Pistol.

“Hm, why would von Karma want to remove this?” Miles pondered out loud. “I’m sure there was other evidence involved. Why the pistol?”

“I don’t know, you wanna track him down and ask? He might zap us again.”

“No. Besides, he wouldn’t tell us anyway. I’ve never seen him more unnerved in my life. Something about the FQ-9 case has got him on edge, and I want to know what it is.”

“Yeah, well, I want to go home,” Maya sniffled. 

Miles froze. “Of course. You've been through a lot today. I understand if you want to leave, but didn't you say your village is remote? It's getting late. Will you be able to get back?”

“Oh, I've been staying with my sis this week. She lives with Diego in an apartment downtown.

“We can drop you off at her residence.”

“Can I stay with you tonight?”

Miles paused, surveying Maya's tear-soaked face. “Why?”

She winced. “Forget it, that was a stupid question.”

“No, you misunderstood,” Miles cursed himself at his awkwardness. “That came out harsher than intended; forgive me. I'm rather curious to hear your reasoning.”

“I don't want to be alone, and after what just happened, I don't think I'll be able to sleep tonight.”

“Are you usually alone at your sister's place?”

“She and Diego sleep in her room, and I'm by myself in the guest room. So technically no, but technically yes, if that makes sense. I can get lonely, and there's not enough room in her bed for three people.”

“Maya, are you insinuating that you wish to have a sleepover with me?”

“Is that weird?” Maya asked as she gazed up into his eyes. “I bet you haven't slept at all, and getting attacked probably didn't help. I thought camping out in your living room and marathoning Steel Samurai would make us both feel better."

Miles' heart began to melt. “That's sweet of you, but…”

Maya deflated. “But it's dumb, right?”

“Not at all, but we have a trial tomorrow. We can't stay up all night distracting ourselves.”

“You have a trial, you mean. I won't be allowed back in the courtroom.”

“Von Karma shouldn't be either, after what he just pulled,” Miles grumbled. “But he and his smarmy face will be at the bench tomorrow regardless.”

Maya hung her head and began to shuffle toward the exit of the records room. “I'll give you Mia's address.”

“Wait a minute,” Miles said, grabbing her by the sleeve of her robe. His fingertips were still numb and tingly from the stun gun's electricity. “Who's to say we can't simultaneously watch Steel Samurai and build a defense case? You may be barred from the courtroom, but you're still my assistant.”

Maya's mouth curled into a smile. “Then our sleepover is on?”

“Yes. My home has already been taken over by my uncle anyway. Adding another person into the mix won't change much.”

“How come he's staying with you?”

“He doesn't trust me to be alone.”

“Miles…”

“It's because of the fainting,” Miles clarified, pushing open the door of the records room and stepping into the hallway. “I have the tendency to do that as of late. But, speaking of which, let’s reconvene with my uncle and get out of here. I think we’ve had enough excitement for one day. Stash that evidence bag under your robes—I don’t think the police would look too kindly at us if they saw us removing evidence from the premises.”

“Aren’t you usually a nerd when it comes to the rules?” Maya asked. Though she was questioning him, she did as Miles asked and lifted her arm, stashing the pistol underneath. Miles was glad it was in a bag, though he doubted it was loaded; seeing Maya so close to a gun was still unnerving.

"If von Karma can attack us with a stun gun and steal a case file, then we can do the same and take some evidence with us. Besides, he was already trying to run off with the pistol. We'll return everything once this whole ordeal is over." Miles replied, glancing at Maya over his shoulder. “And I’m not a nerd.”

“You always say that when I call you one, but I haven’t seen any decisive evidence to prove otherwise.”

“I see you’ve picked up legal terminology rather well. This is neither the time nor the place, but rest assured, I will happily debate you over the matter.”

“Sounds like you’re pushing it off until you can come up with a counterargument.” 

“And it sounds like you’re elongating the process in order to rile me up. I’d like to get out of here as quickly as possible, considering what you have under your arm.”

Miles picked up his stride, causing Maya to straggle behind him. His legs were much longer than hers, a point she helpfully made as they walked to the front of the police station. Miles didn’t slow down until they were outside, where he spotted Eddie’s car parked on the street. He leaned against it, trying to catch his breath discreetly. He sent his uncle a text letting him know where they were, and then it was the waiting game. Maya attempted to pass the time by rambling off several Steel Samurai topics for debate, but after the fifth time Miles responded to her with a grunt, she sighed, hung her head, and fell silent until Eddie came out of the police station.

“Hey kids!” Eddie waved cheerfully while jingling his keys in one hand. “I ended up leaving the letter with the detective that Gumshoe mentioned. He’s going to run the analysis tonight and get back to me as soon as possible. How’d your field trip go?”

Miles and Maya exchanged a glance, neither of them eager to be the first to inform Eddie that they had just taken 600,000 volts to their bodies courtesy of Manfred von Karma. They stood inches apart, leaning against the cool metal of the car, locked in a standstill.

“Uh, I’m guessing it didn’t go so well, huh?” Eddie asked, breaking the awkward silence. When Miles and Maya still didn’t respond, he sighed and hit the unlock button on his key fob. “Alright, get in. No use being upset over it. We’ll figure something out—maybe Maya’s sister had better luck than us.”

They climbed into the cramped sedan, Maya in the backseat and Miles in the front. The car was silent until Eddie asked where they were taking Maya. Miles could only grunt in response, "My place."

The silence continued until the next red light, when Eddie finally had enough. He grabbed the radio dial with his right thumb and index finger and quickly turned it to the left, cutting off the ska music blaring from the speakers. “That’s enough of that. Miles, talk to me—now,” he said, his expression serious. “I can tell something happened. What happened in the records room? And why aren’t you wearing your glasses? Did you pass out? Did you hit your head?”

“Yes, technically, you could say that,” Miles admitted after a moment. It wasn’t a lie; after all, he did end up hitting the ground.

“So you did find something. What was it?”

Miles glanced into the rearview mirror, locking eyes with Maya, who shrugged and mouthed, “You tell him.”

Taking a deep breath, Miles swallowed and tried to calm his nerves before talking with his uncle. He knew Eddie would react poorly to what he was about to say. “We couldn’t find the files for FQ-9 on the regular shelves. I suggested that we look for the cold case area, but von Karma appeared before we had the chance.”

“I figured you’d run into him. Did he give you any trouble?”

Miles paused, trying his best to figure out how to phrase the next part. “Yes…Yes, I suppose you could say that. He had the file for FQ-9 under his arm. When we asked if we could borrow it, he said no.”

“So he just walked off with the files? And you let him?”

“Not entirely. I attempted to reason with him as a fellow colleague, but as I approached him, he uh, ‘freaked out,’ and whipped out a stun gun, telling us to stay back.”

“He threatened you?!” Eddie’s face morphed into a scowl. “The hell is his problem?!”

Miles knew that his uncle would only grow angrier with the next part. Bracing himself, he tried to get it out as quickly as possible. Maya then noticed that, in addition to the file, he was also holding an evidence bag from the FQ-9 incident. When I asked him if he was removing evidence, he…Well, he attacked me and Maya with the stun gun and fled.”

Eddie jerked the wheel, nearly swerving onto the sidewalk. Maya let out a scream.

“Are you trying to kill us?!” Miles exclaimed, clutching the fabric of his shirt over his heart. His heartbeat thumped rapidly, something it didn’t do even when von Karma pressed the stun gun into his back. “Didn’t you just hear what I said?!”

Eddie pulled over at the next available spot on the street. His hands trembled against the pleather steering wheel as he dug his nails into it, leaving small crescent indentations behind. “Yeah, I heard. What the hell, Miles?”

“I don’t understand why you’re mad at me. I didn’t attack myself.”

“Oh, you’re mistaken. I’m not mad at you. I’m mad for you,” Eddie said, his voice dipping into a low growl. “And as soon as I find von Karma, he’ll wish he’d never encountered you by the time I’m done with him.”

“Don’t go making threats that you can’t take back.”

“Will you stop being so calm about this?! You were just attacked by the prosecution! Literally! Right as he was in the middle of stealing evidence! Why didn’t you call for help? Why didn’t you tell an officer what happened?! They’re everywhere in there, it’s the police station!”

“Because it would do us no good, and you know that,” Miles responded. He appeared calm on the surface, but that was the only thing preventing him from completely falling apart. If he took a moment to reflect on what had just happened, he would likely pass out again. His back tingled as he continued talking with Eddie. “Von Karma is a well-renowned and well-respected prosecutor. If it were his word versus mine, who do you think would believe him?”

“ I believe you!” Eddie exclaimed, hitting his hands on the wheel in exasperation. “I would have backed you up, and you know it! I’m a veteran attorney; they would have believed me!”

“But you weren’t in the room with us. Therefore, von Karma would have an easy way to discredit you, and he’d do it too. I try to see the best in him, but it's difficult now, especially knowing he has no hesitation about using a stun gun to get what he wants."

“I hate it when you’re right.”

“You’ve told me many times.”

“You know I don’t mean it in a bad way, right? Your dad was the same way.”

“I’m aware.”

An uncomfortable silence filled the car. Eddie’s breathing was heavy, and his hands still shook. He took off his hat and fanned himself with it. “I worry about you, Miles,” he said after a moment, placing his hat in his lap. “With everything you’ve been through, I–I can’t…I can’t bear to see you get hurt. Not after Gregory. I can’t lose you, too.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” Miles reached across the center console and took Eddie’s right hand in his own, squeezing it.

“You say that, but then things like von Karma coming after you with a gun happen, and I just don’t know anymore.”

“Stun gun.”

“That doesn’t make it any better.”

“There’s a vast difference.”

“This doesn't change the fact that you were attacked by him. Why was he attempting to sneak away with the FQ-9 file and its associated evidence? Do you think he was trying to destroy it?”

“He probably wants to hide it. Remember what I told you about the boathouse caretaker? The police took him away from his cabin and mentioned something about tomorrow’s trial. I’d bet all the money in my wallet that he’ll be von Karma’s witness. I’m starting to think that the caretaker may somehow be connected to that horrible incident. Perhaps von Karma was trying to hide the files in case we decided to investigate, but we caught him in the act.”

“That you did, but he still managed to get away with the information."

“Not completely,” Maya finally spoke from the back seat. She had been unusually quiet ever since Eddie parked the car. Miles caught a glimpse of her sad expression in the rearview mirror as he talked with Eddie. He felt sorry that she had to be involved in his mess; sometimes, he wished she would just go home. Yet, part of him was grateful that she stubbornly insisted on staying by his side. “When he came at me with the stun gun, I grabbed onto him and managed to get the evidence bag. He then ran after Miles; he was so freaked out, I don’t think he noticed that I took it from him.”

Maya raised her arm and pulled out the bag with Jay Wright’s pistol inside, holding it up so Eddie could see it in the rearview mirror.

Eddie’s eyes widened. “Is that a gun?”

“Yeah, Mr. Wright’s. Um, I mean, the elder Mr. Wright. Gosh, that’s confusing,” Maya scratched the top of her head. “This was the only piece of evidence von Karma had with him.”

“Why? What does a gun have to do with anything? The Wrights died of smoke inhalation, not from gunshots.”

“Remember what my sis said?” Maya asked. “Mr. Wright—the younger one—was found by first responders with a gun near his feet."

“But no one was shot,” Eddie repeated, furrowing his brow.

“I understand the confusion, Uncle,” Miles said. “I’m also intrigued by this piece of evidence. Now that von Karma has stolen the file, the only way for me to learn what happened is to ask Wright himself.”

“Good luck. He seems pretty cagey about it—not that I blame him.”

Miles shook his head, determination shining in his eyes. “He has no choice. I won’t let him enter the courtroom until he tells me everything that happened. I have a feeling that this is a crucial element to the case.” 

Miles, predictably, didn’t sleep well that night.

True to her word, Maya turned on the Steel Samurai as soon as they settled into the living room of Miles' apartment. Miles made himself comfortable in his favorite spot on the couch—a position he hadn’t left since Christmas Eve—and tried to focus on the show, sinking into the rapidly forming indentation on the cushions. Maya was sprawled on a pile of blankets on the floor. Miles had offered her his bedroom or one of the easy chairs, but she had declined. Meanwhile, Eddie settled into his usual recliner, a spot he had been sleeping in since Christmas. He checked out about five minutes into the first episode and quickly fell asleep.

It was nice to have his living room filled with company, but it didn’t ease the empty void in his heart as he looked at his friends. They were missing one very important person, and though his chair was currently being occupied by a sleeping Eddie Fender, the emptiness lingered, weighing heavily on them all.

Perhaps it was this state of mind that led Miles into his nightmare.

It was dark outside. He was in a small rowboat in the center of a lake. Was it Gourd Lake? It was hard to tell with the thick wisps of fog swirling around him. He stood on the left side of the boat, while a figure in a trench coat—his father’s coat—sat opposite him. The fog was so dense that he couldn’t see the figure’s face; all that was visible was a dark, gaping void.

“You can't imagine how much I've suffered,” the figure told him. Miles couldn’t distinguish the voice. It sounded garbled, as if it were coming through a poorly connected telephone.

“You suffered?” Miles responded.

“For fifteen long years. But it ends tonight. At last... I shall have my revenge!” The figure pulled out a gun from its pocket and aimed it straight at Miles. “Merry Christmas.”

BANG!

A shot was fired. Miles expected to feel a stinging pain or to fall over, bleeding from a gaping hole in his body, but when he opened his eyes, he realized he was the one holding the gun. Smoke billowed from the barrel, and the figure in front of him fell backward into the water. Miles let out a horrified cry and rushed to the edge, watching as his father floated on his back in the water, the blood from the wound in his chest pooling around him, his face twisted in pain.

“Please, Father! I didn't mean for this to happen!” Miles cried out, desperately reaching for him.

Gregory lay as stiff as a board, beginning to sink beneath the surface. “Miles…” he croaked, “why? Why did you kill me?”

“I didn’t!” Miles exclaimed as he jumped over the edge of the boat, plunging into the frigid water with a loud splash. The more he swam towards his father, the further Gregory seemed to drift away. Miles could only see the upper half of Gregory’s face as he continued to sink.

“...Bullet…” Gregory said, before the water entered his mouth, turning his speech into a series of gurgles.

And then he was gone.

Miles shot up from the sofa and let out a scream.

“What?! What is it?!” Eddie exclaimed as he jolted awake, rolling off the armchair and landing with a thud on the carpet below. On the ground, Maya, already wide awake, quickly got to her feet. She grabbed the nearest object she could find—Miles’ stick vacuum—and swung it around like a bat.

“Nightmare!” Miles gasped, his hand flying to his chest once again.

“Oh,” Eddie said, looking up at him.

“Oh,” Maya said, dropping the stick vacuum on the floor.

Miles felt like the world’s biggest fool. “I’m so—”

Eddie held up his hand. “Don’t even start. Remember what I told you about your unnecessary apologizing?”

“But I woke you both up, and I’ve clearly worried you.”

Maya shrugged. "I wasn't asleep. I was on the floor, looking up at the ceiling. Hey, did you know that you snore louder than Eddie?”

Miles slumped his shoulders, hunching in on himself. “Well, you won’t have to worry about it for the rest of the night. I won’t be sleeping.”

“You wanna talk about it?” Eddie asked.

“Not really.”

“I can only guess what it was about.”

“You’d be right.”

“I’d normally recommend that you distract yourself by looking over the details of the case, but—”

“Not happening.”

“Figured.”

Miles sighed and lay flat on his back so he didn’t have to look at Maya and Eddie. He wished he had his book of Sudoku puzzles with him, but he’d left them at the law office, and he wasn’t venturing over there anytime soon. “It won’t be long until morning, I’ll be alright.”

“Um…” Maya sounded nervous. “It’s 1 am.”

“Wonderful,” Miles replied dully.

“Sorry….Hey, do you want to talk about the Steel Samurai? Get your mind off things?”

“No.”

“Okay,” Maya's voice sounded small. Miles turned away, his back to both of them, guilt radiating from the center of his chest.

“Don’t take it personally, Maya,” he heard Eddie say. “He’s going through a lot.”

“Yeah, it reminds me of sis—”

Miles clamped his hands over his ears. The less he was reminded of his father, the better. After a while, his arms became sore, and he finally let them drop. In the corner of the room, Eddie and Maya were speaking in hushed tones, no doubt spurred on by the fact that his gesture wasn’t exactly subtle.

He curled into a tight ball, hugging his knees to his chest, and remained in that position for the rest of the night, long after the whispers had ceased.

Miles was grateful that Eddie was the one driving for a change. Although he disliked how sharply Eddie took the corners, it was still better than having to drive himself. Given his lack of sleep, he wasn’t sure he could make it to the courthouse in one piece, and he didn’t have the stomach for coffee, doubting it would help anyway.

As they exited the car, Miles spoke to Maya and Eddie for the first time since last night. “A word, please,” he said, causing them both to jump. He knew they had been talking about him; their side glances and worried expressions told him everything. However, they had avoided speaking directly to him, except for one instance when Eddie asked if he wanted breakfast. Miles could only grunt in response, and that quickly ended the conversation. “I would like to go into the defense lobby alone. I need to speak with Wright about the FQ-9 incident, and I think he’ll be more willing to talk if there are fewer people in there. I can come to collect you when the bailiff arrives.”

“Gotcha. I can keep myself occupied,” Eddie replied.

“I won’t be joining you anyway. I’ll be in the gallery with my sister,” Maya mumbled. “I’m not allowed back on the bench for this trial.”

“Since when ?” Miles felt a surge of anger rising in his stomach.

“Von Karma petitioned for it. It was a condition of my release.”

Several swear words ran through Miles’ head, but out of the professionalism instilled into him by his father, he didn't voice them.

Eddie, on the other hand, didn't have that issue. “That wrinkled old motherfucker.”

“M-Mr. Fender!” Maya squeaked. “It’s not a big deal, really!”

“He got you thrown out of court, arrested, and then he stole a case file before attacking you with a stun gun. It’s warranted.”

“I agree with him,” Miles said, his hand resting on the door to the lobby. “Don’t dismiss it, Maya. You’re worth more than that.”

“M-Miles…” Maya responded, her lips quivering. Before he could see her burst into tears, he pushed open the doors to the defense lobby. He was already fragile enough; watching Maya cry would push him over the edge.

Wright was in the lobby, playing with an empty Styrofoam cup that had undoubtedly been filled with coffee earlier. "O-oh, Edgeworth! Hey!" he exclaimed as he noticed Miles entering the room. He tossed the cup aside, intending to throw it into the small wastebasket in the corner. However, his aim was completely off, and he missed entirely. The cup fell to the floor in the middle of the room. For Wright's sake, Miles chose to ignore it.

“How are you doing?” he asked, sitting on the sofa across from Wright.

“What do you think? It’s day two of being on trial for a murder I didn’t commit, headed by the world’s greatest prosecutor.”

“My apologies.”

  "No, that was unnecessarily aggressive,” Wright sighed, sinking back against the couch. “You’re the one helping me, after all. You’re the last person I should act like this toward, especially considering—”

“Let’s discuss the case,” Miles said, interrupting Wright. Wright nodded, and a look of understanding passed between them. Miles hoped he wasn’t about to burn up the rest of his goodwill with what he was about to do.

“Good idea. What did you find?”

“A letter in the boat rental cabin, detailing the entire crime.”

“ What?! ”

“I was equally as shocked. It seems like the caretaker set you up,” Miles sighed and shook his head. “Did you notice anything suspicious when you went to rent the boat?”

Wright looked confused. “I didn’t rent a boat.”

“You were in the middle of Gourd Lake, correct? You didn’t just materialize a boat from your pocket; obviously, you rented it.”

“Like I said—I didn’t. It was already on the shore when I arrived. The man in your father’s coat got in first, pushed us away from the shore, and rowed out, where we had our talk.”

“So you didn’t speak with the caretaker at all?”

“Might want to get your hearing checked, Edgeworth. That’s what I’ve been telling you.”

“Then why did the police take him away last night?”

“They did what?” Wright blinked in surprise. “Hell if I know. I’ve been locked up tight in the detention center.”

“I was hiding in the bushes with my uncle when I witnessed it,” Miles explained. “The police came to the boat rental shop’s doorstep and mentioned something about the trial, and then the caretaker was gone. That’s why I was able to retrieve the letter.”

“Why were you hiding in the bushes?” Wright looked amused. “Is this a new defense attorney tactic that I need to be aware of?”

“It’s a long story involving a police dog, a metal detector, and a giant metallic clue that I’m certain involves Larry.”

“Still causing trouble, eh?”

“You don’t know the half of it. He’s been a trouble magnet nearly every single day for fifteen years.”

Now Wright was smiling. “I’d like to hear about some of his antics at some point. He always used to make me laugh…” he looked wistfully off into the distance. It was nice to see him soft and relaxed; it suited his face well. And now Miles was about to ruin it.

“I could easily spend an entire afternoon with you, catching you up on what you’ve missed,” Miles said. He folded his hands in his lap and adjusted himself to sit up straight on the sofa. “But now is not the time. If you noticed, I came in here alone. I would like to speak with you about something important.”

“Uh oh, should have known you were buttering me up for something,” Wright sighed. “Alright, what is it?”

“FQ-9.”

“You’ve got to let that case go, Edgeworth. A: I told you I’m not talking about it, and B: it has nothing to do with this current case.”

“Wrong, it has everything to do with this case,” Miles replied. He reached into his satchel bag and retrieved the letter, throwing it on the coffee table in front of them.

“Is this the—?”

“Correct.”

Wright picked up the letter from the coffee table. Like Eddie before him, the more he read, the angrier his expression became. “What,” he said after he was finished, “the fuck.”

“Eloquently worded, Wright. You share my sentiments exactly.” 

“So I was set up! Why? ”

“I’m still trying to figure that one out myself. That’s why I need your assistance.”

“With discussing FQ-9, you mean,” Wright scoffed. “And once again, I have to say that this case has nothing to do with it.”

“Oh, come off it. I know you read the letter, so use your brain,” Miles said. The thinner his patience became, the larger his irritation grew. "My uncle informed me that my father was involved with the case, and it’s clear that you are also involved. There’s one more detail I didn’t mention about my visit to the cabin. I didn’t just connect everything to FQ-9 randomly. The caretaker had a pet parrot, and when you said the word 'forget' to it, the parrot would respond with, 'Don’t forget FQ-9.'"

Wright’s jaw went rigid. “Yogi.”

“Pardon? No, the parrot’s name was Polly.”

“Not the bird, idiot. I mean the man who owns the rental shop, the one you saw get taken away by the police. I’d bet all the money in my bank account that he was Yanni Yogi.”

“This is where I need your cooperation, Wright,” Miles said calmly, the corner of his lip twitching upon hearing Wright’s childish name-calling. “I don’t know anything about this case because no one will talk about it, and now the file is gone thanks to von Karma. So please do me a favor and tell me who the hell Yanni Yogi is, for both our sakes.”

“Von Karma did what?” Wright asked, surprised. “Why does he have the file? Wait, no, scratch that. He probably came to the same conclusion as you. That means I’m right—that man is Yogi.”

Miles tapped his index finger against his elbow. “Any time you feel like elaborating, that would be wonderful. We’re on a time limit here.”

Wright ran a hand through his hair. His spikes didn’t move an inch—impressive. “It’s not easy for me to talk about.”

“Nor is this current case for me, yet here we are.”

Wright sighed. “That’s fair. Alright, I’ll talk.”

Miles spread his arms out in what he hoped was a courteous gesture. “The floor is yours.”

“Right,” Wright swallowed hard, his Adam's apple bobbing in his throat. “I’ll never forget what happened. It was a few days after Christmas, and I was at Larry’s house. You were there too, actually, but I don’t know if you remember.”

“I broke my arm,” Miles said, nodding. “Larry and I discussed this with Mr. Armando earlier. I had forgotten about it until he reminded me. I tripped and fell off Larry’s jungle gym, and I think you ran inside to get help.”

“Yeah. You were crying your eyes out on the grass,” Wright said. “And Larry wasn’t being helpful. I ran inside to tell Mrs. Butz what happened, and she called your dad.”

“And that’s when the police came by to tell you about the fire.”

“What? No,” Wright frowned. “Where’d you hear that from?”

“...Larry.”

“And you chose to believe him?”

“I realized my mistake after saying it out loud.”

“As you should.”

“Speaking of which, you also need to apologize to him,” Miles said, clearing his throat. “I don’t mean to add to your misery, but you were determined to convict him for murdering Cindy, and you were quite harsh with him. Larry, despite his annoying behavior, is a good guy. He didn’t deserve that kind of treatment from you.”

Wright sighed. “Look, if you get me cleared of these charges by some miracle, I have a lot to atone for. Larry is on my list, alongside Mr. Powers.”

“I’m glad you’re not as pompous as you appear to be.”

“I’ve been doing a lot of self-reflection. There’s not much else to do when you’re alone in a cell all day.”

“I enjoy seeing this side of you; it’s lovely,” Miles smiled. “It reminds me of the little boy I once knew. I’ve missed you terribly, Wright.”

Wright blinked in surprise. “You…Have? Why?”

"Because you were one of my closest friends. Then one day, you just vanished. Larry and I had no idea what happened to you. We tried to reach out, but we couldn't get in touch, and eventually, during our high school years, we just gave up."

“I didn’t know you cared so much.”

“I never stopped caring.”

A silence lingered between them as they locked eyes, holding each other's gaze. Miles looked at Wright fondly, while Wright appeared uncomfortable, clutching his elbow and straining his knuckles as he gripped the fabric of his shirt. Despite his discomfort, he didn't break eye contact. It was progress.

“That’s good to hear,” Wright spoke first. “I wish I knew that earlier. Maybe we could have gotten coffee or something.”

“I prefer tea,” Miles said. “Don’t speak as if this is your last chance. I will gladly go out for drinks with you once you are declared innocent.”

“You’re confident in being able to beat von Karma?”

“What other choice do I have? I can do it, especially with your help,” Miles said encouragingly to Wright. “Now, I’m sorry to have to steer us back towards the unpleasant topic of FQ-9, but would you please continue with your story? You went into the house to tell Mrs. Butz about my injury, but what happened after that?”

“Right…” Wright tightened his grip on his elbow once more. "While I was inside, I heard a knock on the door. Mrs. Butz assumed it was your dad and was surprised that he had arrived so quickly. Being the nosey person I am, I followed her to the door. When she opened it, I saw one of my parents' friends standing on the doorstep. I quickly ducked around the corner and pressed myself against the wall to listen to their conversation.

“She asked Mrs. Butz if I was at the home, and Mrs. Butz confirmed that I was. She then told her that there had been a terrible fire at my house, and she didn’t know who was all inside. The fire department had been called. She said…She said that the neighbors could hear screaming from inside. I knew that she meant my parents.

“I didn’t stick around to hear the rest. I ran out the back door. You were still on the ground, crying your eyes out, and I think Larry was with you. I nearly smashed through the back gate while trying to leave the yard. I grabbed my bike and rode back home, pedaling as hard as I could. I’ll never forget the burning sensation in my calves as I rode—they felt like they were going to explode.

“I smelled the smoke before I saw my house. The sky was dark, and I could hear the chatter of my neighbors. I didn’t want anyone to see me; I knew they would try to stop me. You see, I was on a mission. I was determined to run inside, grab my parents, and rescue them. The fire department still hadn’t arrived, and from what I could hear, no one was attempting to go in. So I had to be the one to do it. I had to save my parents.

"I veered into the alleyway behind our house and ditched my bike there. I entered my house through the backyard, flinging open the back patio door with all my might. Luckily, the fire hadn’t spread to the back yet; otherwise, I’m sure I would have burned my hands. I ran through the house, screaming my parents’ names over and over. The smoke filled my lungs and burned my throat, obstructing my vision, but I didn’t care. I needed to find my parents.

“I found them in the living room. The fire hadn’t reached that part of the house yet, but the air was thick with black smoke and soot. They were lying on the floor, unconscious. I was certain they had passed out from smoke inhalation. Next to my dad's body was the pistol that he kept in the gun safe for self-defense. My mom was a few feet away, near the entryway to the living room. I stood there, trying to figure out the best way to get my parents out when... it appeared.”

Wright fell silent, tearing at the fabric of his suit. He looked as if he might throw up.

“It?” Miles prompted. 

“I-It,” Wright tried to speak again. His breath was ragged, and his words were shaky. “It. The…shadow man. The devil,” his voice dropped to a low whisper.

“Pardon, did you say the devil?”

“Yes,” Wright suddenly leaned forward on the couch, his hands gripping his knees. “It appeared in the smoke. The figure stretched tall, almost reaching the top of the entryway arch. When I saw him, I screamed, which triggered a coughing fit. The figure began to move toward me and my parents. I was terrified. At that moment, I did the only thing I could think of; I picked up my father’s pistol and threw it at the devil. I missed, of course. I was nine. It was dark, and my eyes burned from the haze of the smoke. The pistol landed somewhere on the floor and discharged. I-I then heard the most horrific scream. That’s how I knew it was the devil standing in those flames. No human could possibly produce a scream as horrible as that.

“The smoke became overwhelming, and I collapsed near my father. When I regained consciousness, I found myself in the back of an ambulance with an oxygen mask on my face. No one would tell me anything, not even the doctors. I didn’t learn what had happened to my parents until later that night when police detectives came to speak with me. It was then that I learned both of my parents had died.”

“Wright,” Miles said, standing up from the couch abruptly. This was a lot to take in, but his immediate concern was the man in front of him, who looked ready to fall off the couch in shock. He quickly approached Wright and placed his hands on his back without hesitation to help steady him. “Phoenix, breathe. Can you do that for me?”

“I-I can t-try,” Wright choked.

Miles began to rub his back. “It will help. I know from firsthand experience. It’s how my uncle talks me through one of my dissociative episodes.”

“Right, right. Okay…” Wright took a deep breath, causing Miles’ hands to shift. “I can do this.”

“Yes, you can. You’re in the defendant’s lobby of the courthouse, and I’m here with you. When you feel strong enough, could you look up and tell me what you see?”

“What I see?” Wright murmured. He slowly lifted his head. “Um, I see the empty couch where you were sitting.”

“Can you describe it to me?”

“It’s brown. Kinda worn out and junky looking. You know, with the amount of money that lawyers and judges rake in, you’d think they’d be able to afford nicer furniture, wouldn’t you? It’s like this in the prosecution lobby, too. Man, you should see the lobbies in Germany, now, those are fancy.”

Miles chuckled. “I assume you’re feeling better?”

“Sorry,” Wright suddenly looked embarrassed. “I didn’t realize I was rambling.”

"It’s okay. That was the purpose of the exercise. I wanted to help take your mind off the situation and bring you back to reality. I knew discussing this would be difficult for you, and I apologize for causing any distress."

“It’s not your fault. This is the first time I’ve talked about the fire in a long, long time.”

“I appreciate your willingness to share,” Miles gently patted him on the back. “I promise we’re almost done. I think I know the rest of the story from here. The police arrested your next-door neighbor, but he was acquitted of all charges, and the case went cold.”

“Yeah, you got it. The next door neighbor was named Yanni Yogi, that’s why I brought up the name.”

“So it was Yogi’s silhouette you saw in the darkness?”

“Logically, yes. Unlogically—”

“That’s not a word, and there’s no such thing,” Miles interrupted. “It is like ghosts. The devil does not exist; it is as simple as that. There is a rational explanation here. What you saw was likely the arsonist, nothing more.”

“Yeah…Yeah. I guess that makes sense,” Wright said. He didn’t look too convinced by his own words. “But that noise was inhumane.”

“I have no doubt that it was. Perhaps he touched some superheated metal or was singed by the fire.”

“You’re really good at rationalizing, you know that?”

“I’m a lawyer. That's simply what I do.”

“Thanks.”

“Of course,” Miles said, realizing his hand was still on Wright’s back. He quickly pulled it away. “Can I get you some water? You’ll need it. I’d hate for us to go in there and have you become dehydrated; you might pass out.”

“I’m not that thirsty.”

“Will you do it for me?”

Wright paused. “...Sure.”

“I appreciate your willingness to work with me,” Miles said as he brought the small styrofoam cup over to the drinking fountain. He frowned while filling it up; it wasn’t nearly enough water for a man on the verge of a panic attack—something he understood all too well. “Hm, remind me to bring in a water bottle for you if this trial gets extended another day. I’d get you one now, but we’re due in court soon.”

Wright shook his head. “That’s unnecessary,” he said, watching Miles carefully make his way back, trying his best to avoid sloshing water out of the cup. “I can easily chug about eight of those before we go in.”

“That’s an oddly specific number.”

“Years of practice.”

“I can’t believe I was intimidated by you,” Miles chuckled, resuming his position on the sofa across from Wright.

“I’m sure it helps that I’m not decked to the nines anymore.”

“Right. Von Karma took your jabot and earrings. I forgot.”

“I’m more torn up about the earrings. I hope he returns them to Franziska—that’s my sister—instead of throwing them out.”

“I had no idea you had a sister. You’ve never mentioned her, and I thought you were an only child.”

“She’s not biologically related to me. She’s Sir von Karma’s youngest daughter. He has two girls; I’ve met his eldest a few times, but Franziska and I practically grew up together. I moved in with the von Karmas when she was two.”

“Was it hard being raised by von Karma? He seems um…” Miles trailed off, trying to think of a non-offensive way to describe the man. “ Difficult , sometimes.”

“You don’t know the half of it, but I still respect him greatly. He took me in when I had nothing and taught me everything I know about the law. He even paid for my schooling.”

“Oh, that’s unexpected,” Miles said. He tried to envision a benevolent von Karma, but all that came to mind was static. “Speaking of which, did you know that he carries a stun gun?”

“Yes, it's for self-defense,” Wright nodded. “I don't blame him. He’s shared some wild stories with me and suggested that I get something to protect myself. Did you know his daughter carries a whip as her self-defense item? She told me I wasn't allowed to copy her—like I would anyway! I’m not crazy enough to walk around with a whip. Uh, please don’t mention that around her.”

“So what do you carry?”

“Nothing. I haven’t felt the need to. People usually hurl verbal insults at me.”

“That’s not great, Wright.”

“Better than getting attacked.”

“I suppose that’s true.”

“Hey, why did you ask about Sir von Karma’s stun gun anyway? Did he show it to you?”

“That’s one way to describe it—”

Miles was interrupted when the defense lobby doors swung open. Eddie Fender walked in with his hands in his pockets, followed by a bailiff. "Hey, Miles," he greeted. "I hope you got everything you needed from this conversation. It's time to head into the courtroom."

“Right,” Miles said as he got up from the couch. “Sorry, looks like you could only finish one of those cups.”

“I can refill it in the hallway. I’m the chugging champion,” Wright said. His tone was jovial, but his eyes revealed a different story.

“I’ll request that they bring us bottled water.”

“Aw, Edgeworth, you don’t have to do that for me.”

“Too bad, I'm going to do it anyway, whether you like it or not,” Miles said, and with that, he charged into the hallway. Behind him, he could hear Eddie talking with Wright.

“That’s our Miles: strong, determined, and as bullheaded as ever. You couldn’t ask for a better lawyer.”

Wright spoke the following words with an unusual softness:

“I know.”

Chapter Text

Von Karma stood at his usual spot on the prosecution bench, arms crossed. Despite the quiet murmurs from the gallery, the distinctive sound of his foot tapping on the polished wooden floor could be heard. This was reminiscent of how he had appeared when Miles entered the courtroom the previous day: his expression revealing nothing, a steel wall of cold, ruthless calculation mixed with a hint of impatience.

As Miles took his position on the defense bench, he unintentionally locked eyes with von Karma for a brief moment. In that instant, a smirk flashed across von Karma's face before he returned to his usual scowl. Miles chose not to take the bait and deliberately maintained eye contact while he worked to arrange his station.

“Hmph, it's about time you showed your face, Edgeworth,” von Karma said. It seemed that he could no longer ignore Miles' stare. “I half expected you to flee.”

“What could possibly make you think that?” Miles replied. It was a pathetic attempt to provoke him, and he wondered if von Karma really had such a low opinion of him that he believed Miles would fold from a simple condescending remark.

“Because my victory is as certain as the sun rising in the sky,” von Karma answered, the sly smirk returning to his face. “And you don’t look so well. You seem a bit… pale.”

“I suggest the prosecution focus on their own issues. Though I appreciate the concern, I am quite well. I think it would benefit you to concentrate on the trial instead of worrying about me.”

“Pah! I don't know what I expected,” von Karma sneered. “No Edgeworth I've ever met has had good manners, and it appears that you are following the trend of your lineage, boy.”

“Mm,” Miles grunted in response. That was the best way to deal with von Karma, he decided. If he was as impenetrable as a stone wall, then von Karma would have nothing to pick at him with.

“Let me tell you, old man, the Edgeworths are a hell of a lot more well-mannered than the Fenders.” Eddie had been quiet, carefully observing Miles and von Karma, trying to decide if he should intervene. He flexed his hand and curled it into a fist. “Would you like me to show you?”

“Is that a threat, Fender? Because if so, I will have you thrown out—”

“In contempt of court. Yeah, yeah,” Eddie rolled his eyes. “You're a broken record and a hypocrite. You want me thrown out for a silly little gesture, yet you carry around a high-voltage weapon in your pocket.”

“Where is your evidence, hm? Or are you just spewing hot air at me?"

“You and I both know damn well what you did. So I recommend that you shut your mouth before—”

“Alright, alright. Order!” The judge had taken his seat at the desk while they were speaking with von Karma. The strike of his gavel quieted Eddie and von Karma instantly. “Please save your arguments for the cross-examination. Now then, Mr. von Karma, your opening statement, if you would.”

"Decisive evidence. A decisive witness. Today, we will reveal the truth that everyone in this courtroom has known all along: Phoenix Wright shot and killed Gregory Edgeworth in the early hours of Christmas morning."

Von Karma snapped his fingers, the noise echoing around the silent courtroom. He didn't elaborate after that.

“Mr. von Karma? Is that all?” The judge asked.

Arms crossed over his chest and pulling at the fabric of his expensive coat, von Karma replied, “What more is there to add? This trial will be over in three minutes.”

“Erm, yes. Very good! Short and to the point, as always! Now then—”

“I summon my witness to the stand!” Von Karma interrupted the judge by banging his cane on the floor.“Gourd Lake’s boathouse rental shop caretaker!”

“Who’s running the trial around here?” Eddie muttered to Miles under his breath as the bailiffs escorted the caretaker to the stand. “I wish the judge would stand up to that old prune.”

Miles nodded in silent agreement as they waited for the caretaker to get settled. It was daunting to stand against someone so famous, revered, and feared in the courtroom. Someone who was able to bend officers and judges to their will, to command the courtroom with just a cold snap of their fingers. He felt like a lone boat on an endless dark lake; any motion he made would rock it and send him and his uncle tumbling into the icy water below.

But that wasn't true. Miles shook his head to get Gourd Lake (it was always Gourd Lake) out of his mind. He knew they weren't alone; the Feys and Diego Armando were watching from the stands. He couldn't let them down, and he especially couldn’t disappoint the man sitting to his right. If he failed, Wright would end up in prison for the rest of his life, a false guilty verdict hanging over his head.

That’s why, when the caretaker began to speak, Miles listened carefully. He held a memo pad in one hand and kept his pen poised, ready to strike the page swiftly, like a machete cutting through thick brush.

“I don’t remember my name,” the caretaker said in response to von Karma’s request to state his identity.  “I lost a lot of my memory in a tragic boating accident. Always remember to wear a helmet, ya hear? Anyways, I’m the owner of the Wet Noodle, the finest pasta shop in the vicinity of Gourd Lake!”

The judge looked confused. “Didn’t Mr. von Karma say you were a boathouse caretaker?”

“Why yes, I did. Witness,” von Karma’s tone took a dangerous turn. “You will be truthful.”

“...I also rent boats in addition to running the pasta shop,” the man added. Was it Miles’ imagination, or did he look frightened of von Karama? “Anyways, there I was, minding my own business inside my cabin, trying to come up with a nautical-themed pasta dish, when I heard a loud bang. Sounded like a car backfiring, but that’s crazy; the nearest parking lot is up the hill, a ways away. After the bang sounded, I looked out my window and saw a boat floating in the lake. Then another bang sounded, and the boat drifted back to the shore. A man suddenly walked by. It scared the bejeezus out of me; the fog was so thick I didn’t think anyone would be out! He walked by the window, and I got a clear look at his face.”

“Thank you, Mr., uh, whatever-your-name is,” The judge said. “I would now like to begin the cross-examination—”

“Objection!” At the sound of von Karma’s yell, Eddie jumped, nearly crashing into Miles. “Your Honor, the cross-examination is meaningless! My witness’s testimony is absolute; there’s nothing to question! Besides, there are only ten seconds left until three minutes are up. I demand you read your verdict, now!”

“Objection!” Miles countered. Von Karma’s eyes flashed dangerously at him, but he stood his ground. “I have the right to cross-examine the witness!”

“Mr. Edgeworth brings up a valid point,” the judge said. “I will withhold my verdict until the cross-examination is completed.”

“ Argh! ” von Karma let out an uncharacteristic snarl as he hunched over the desk, gripping his right shoulder. Miles half-expected to see him frothing at the mouth; he wondered what had caused such an intense reaction in the man.

“M-Mr. von Karma! Are you alright?” 

“Three…minutes…” von Karma muttered, his eye twitching in agitation.

“Pardon?”

“Three minutes just passed, Your Honor.”

“Ah, well, no worries. We’re not in any rush. Mr. Edgeworth? You may begin.”

“I have two questions for you,” Miles said. “You said you heard two gunshots; is that correct?”

“Ayup, sure is, Keith! Boy, I didn’t know you were a lawyer on the side! You’re going to be the first lawyer-pasta-maker in the family! You really do make an old man proud!”

“This is utter lunacy. A complete waste of my time and my sanity,” von Karma remarked. “Edgeworth, get on with it. It pains me to say, but even my disgraced former mentee would run a trial better than this.”

“My second question,” Miles said, ignoring von Karma entirely, “is about the man who walked by your window. You stated that you got a clear look at his face despite the fog. Can you tell me who that man was?”

“Sure thing, son. He’s sitting by your desk. The man I saw walk by my cabin was the defendant. He muttered, ‘I can’t believe he’s dead’ as he walked past. Heard it with my own two ears in the quiet of the night.”

“I…” Miles took a step back, startled. Behind him, the gallery buzzed like a swarm of bees. “Pardon me. I meant to say, are you certain? Are you absolutely certain that the person you saw walk by your window was Phoenix Wright?”

“Ayup! It was that Wright boy, I’m sure of it!”

“I see,” the judge said, frowning. “This certainly sounds like conclusive evidence.”

“Wait, wait, wait,” Miles began to do what he usually did the moment his back was pressed up against a wall: panic. “Wait! I object! This is objectionable!”

“Objectionable,” von Karma stated dryly. “My, what a way with words you have. And what, pray tell, are you objecting to?”

"I pointed out a flaw in Lotta Hart’s testimony yesterday, remember? You’ve conveniently omitted that from the trial so far. We established that the gun had fingerprints from Wright’s right hand, yet the photo shows the perpetrator firing the gun with his left hand! How do you explain that?"

“It's simple. Wright wiped his fingerprints after firing the gun. I recommend you return to the basics of evidence; I have eyewitness testimony that overrides what was said yesterday.”

“This man can’t even remember his own name. What’s to say he isn’t lying?”

“Very true, Edgeworth, very true. Where’s your proof?”

“Pardon?”

“Where. Is. Your. Proof.” Von Karma said each word slowly for emphasis, a nasty smile spreading across his face. “If you are going to refute my witness, I need to see the proof that he’s lying.”

Miles turned to Eddie, a look of desperation on his face. “Uncle, help.”

“I…I can’t. I’m sorry, Miles,” Eddie took off his hat and held it forlornly against his chest. “I’m stuck. I know you’re right, and you know you're right, but I don’t know how to prove it.”

Miles turned away from him, bitter, hot tears welling up in his eyes. If only his father were here, he’d know what to do. Gregory Edgeworth always had the right answer, even in the face of impossible situations. Miles was just a pale imitation of the man that came before him—he was nothing but a sham.

“Hm…” von Karma stroked his chin thoughtfully. “Perhaps three minutes was too high an expectation. However, fifteen isn’t bad! Yes, it isn’t bad at all. I must have set a new record.”

“Silence, please!” Von Karma’s ruminations were cut short by the judge’s gavel. “The witness may leave the stand.”

“Thanks. I got a pot o’ water that’s calling my name,” the man said, stepping off the witness stand. “Feel free to stop by The Wet Noodle for all your pasta needs!”

“Mm, yes,” the judge said, waving his hand. He shifted his focus back to Miles and von Karma. “This court sees no reason to prolong the trial any further. It is very clear to me what occurred, and there is no room for misinterpretation of the facts. Therefore, this court finds the defendant, Phoenix Wright, guilty.”

Wright didn't react much to the judge's words. As Miles observed him, nearly biting a hole through his own lower lip, Wright simply sat there. He was solemn in his chair, his expression blank. It was as if he had accepted his fate long before the judge announced the verdict. Miles knew he should be upset with him, but, well, he had failed the man. Despite all his grand promises to fight for Wright's innocence, he had lost. Was he doomed to remain in his father's shadow for all eternity?

Von Karma had started to gather his belongings as the judge continued speaking, informing Wright that he would be facing a sentencing trial in a month. Miles heard the soft “tsk, tsk, tsk” of von Karma clicking his tongue. That sound pulled him out of his thoughts and forced him to look at the man at the bench, which was exactly what von Karma wanted. As their eyes met, von Karma flashed him a nasty smile. Miles couldn’t maintain eye contact; despite everything inside him screaming not to, he lowered his gaze back to the bench.

“Court is adjourned,” the judge said. His gavel was mid-swing when it happened.

“WAIT!” The doors to the courtroom flew open, slamming against the wall with a loud bang. Larry sprinted inside as if he were being chased and skidded to a halt in front of the judge’s desk, nearly falling onto the floor. “WAIT! You can’t sentence Nick yet! You can’t !”

“Pardon? Who are you, young man? Are you a friend of the defendant?” The judge asked. “I’m sorry, it must be hard for you, but the trial has concluded—”

“I was in the park the night of the murder!” Larry exclaimed, waving his arms around like he was a windmill. “I was! And I heard it! I heard the gunshot!”

“What?!” von Karma snapped. His briefcase hit the ground with a loud thud. “Your Honor, I object! This is absolutely preposterous. The verdict has been decided; clearly, Edgeworth and Wright put the boy up to this. I’m sure they planned to use him as a diversion should Wright be declared guilty. I call for an adjournment of the court this instant!”

“Mr. von Karma, I am the judge, not you,” the judge said sternly. “I will make that final decision. This young man is clearly distressed, and I would like to hear him out.”

“But—”

“So, young man, you said you heard a gunshot on the night of the murder?” The judge asked, cutting off an incensed-looking von Karma.

“Yeah! I was sitting in the audience, listening to that old man's testimony, and I suddenly realized that I was there that night. What he said was different from what I remembered!” Larry smacked his fist into his open palm. “So I rushed out of the stands and came down to the floor because I couldn’t…I couldn’t just sit there and let you call Nicky a murderer—that wouldn’t be right. So please, let me testify!”

“Pah, too little, too late, boy!” Von Karma exclaimed, speaking quickly before the judge could. He pointed at Larry with the top of his cane. “This trial is over!”

“Aw, stuff it, gramps!” Larry retorted back, banging his fists against his thighs. “Go take a nap. Maybe you’ll be less cranky!”

“ What did you just say to me—”

“Your Honor, if there is another witness, it is our duty to hear him speak!” Miles said. “I request that Larry Butz be allowed to take the stand and testify. It would be a miscarriage of justice if we do not allow him to speak. Please!”

“Stay out of it, Edgeworth! The verdict cannot be overturned!” Von Karma snapped. “You and your family’s annoying habit of butting in when not needed will be the death of me!”

“I wish he’d just keel over on the spot. Would save us a lot of trouble.” Eddie muttered. 

“The judge has not officially closed the trial,” Miles replied. “We still have time.”

“Hm… Quite right, Mr. Edgeworth,” the judge said. His eyes had remained closed while the three of them deliberated. Now, he opened them, and newfound clarity shone in his gaze. “In all court proceedings, it is our duty to prevent an inaccurate verdict. I would hate to prematurely end the trial without hearing from a witness. Therefore, I withdraw my previous guilty verdict! Mr. von Karma, I order you to call this young man to the stand as a witness, now!”

“Woohoo!” Larry cheered as he approached the witness stand, not waiting for von Karma to respond. He glanced over his shoulder and winked at them. “I’ve got this, guys! I won’t let you down!”

“So my fate rests in Larry’s hands?” Wright asked with a groan. “I’m toast.”

“I don’t think you are. I hope,” Miles said, not sounding very sure of himself. “Larry has a good heart underneath all of…everything else.”

“No, this is good,” Eddie cut in. “Von Karma hasn’t accounted for Larry. You know what that means?”

“...He didn’t get a chance to speak with Larry,” Wright said. For the first time since his trial began, he looked hopeful. “Von Karma has only ever run perfect trials, with perfectly controlled witnesses and perfect evidence. Larry, on the other hand, is a rogue element. We may have a fighting chance. I just worry about what he has to say.”

“Knowing him, it’ll likely be full of holes, greatly exaggerated, or both,” Miles sighed. “I nearly killed him during his own trial.”

“Yeah, I remember. Your expression was pretty funny; I thought your eyes were going to burst out of your head. You looked like you were doubled over in pain.”

“Wonderful. I’m glad you have such a photographic memory, Wright.” 

“Hey, at least you weren’t boring.”

The sound of the judge’s gavel hitting his desk drew their attention back to the trial. Larry was now at the stand, looking deep in thought. Von Karma stood behind his desk, seething with anger.

“Begin,” the judge said.

“...” von Karma stared silently at Larry, fuming.

“Uh, aren’t you going to ask me a question?” Larry asked.

“...”

“Sheesh! Nick did that to me when I was on trial for murder. He was pretty good at it, too! Do you need a nap?”

“...”

“Young man, go ahead and testify,” the judge said. “Mr. von Karma appears to be in a mood. I advise him to get over it. Quickly .”

Von Karma wrinkled his nose. For a moment, Miles thought he would hurl a nasty comment at the judge, but instead, he turned and directed his anger toward Miles, giving him what amounted to a death glare.

“Right,” Larry scratched his chin. “So that night, I was out on the lake in this tiny little boat. Don’t recommend it, by the way; it was cold as hell out on the water. But I was looking for something, and I, uh, found it. So, after I found what I was looking for, I snuck the boat back to the rental shop dock and tied it up. While I was thinking of going home, I heard a loud BANG. I looked out at the lake but didn’t see anything. The noise kinda spooked me, though. So after I heard the gunshot, I left.”

“That was a bit…vague,” the judge said. “Erm, very well then. Mr. Edgeworth? You may begin your cross-examination.”

“Y-yes, Your Honor.”

“Hey, don’t talk like that,” Eddie whispered, nudging Miles in the side with his elbow. “You look like you’re heading off to your death. Try to have a bit more confidence.”

“It’s hard when it’s Larry,” Miles muttered. “I appreciate him trying to help us, but I have no idea what he’s going to say if I press him. He could sink this whole trial.”

“Well, that's a risk we'll have to take, right? Your old man used to say things about that. Remember?”

“Yes. ‘A defense attorney is only as good as the risks he’s willing to take.’”

“Then you know what you have to do.”

“Unfortunately.”

“Chin up kiddo. I can try and shut him up if things get too out of hand.”

“You weren’t sitting on the bench during Larry’s trial,” Miles grumbled. He glanced towards the witness stand; Larry was visibly nervous, sweating heavily and looking as if he might faint. They hadn’t even started the cross-examination yet. He better not faint up there; otherwise, Miles would kill him.

“Larry,” he began.

Larry yelped. “Warn me before you’re going to do that, Edgey!” 

“Before what? Saying your name?”

“You’re not just saying my name! You’re glaring at me, too.”

“I’m looking at you with my normal expression.”

“Exactly!”

“Larry, take this seriously. You are in a court of law,” Miles slammed his hand on the desk, causing Larry to shriek again. “Now stop jumping around like you’re in trouble, and get ready to answer my questions.”

“Questions? What could you possibly wanna ask me about?”

“ Several things. One of my biggest questions is if you’ve ever seen a court testimony before in your life, but I digress. There is a more pressing issue that interests me. You stated that you heard a loud bang. Is that correct?”

“Yeah, weren’t you paying attention?”

“ Yes . I’m just trying to clarify your statement to make my point. You heard one loud noise. One.”

“Yeah, Edgy. Chill out. You sound like a parrot with all your squawking and repetition.”

“ Listen to me, Larry,” Miles growled. “This is important. Ms. Lotta Hart testified during yesterday’s trial that she heard two loud bangs and the gentleman who testified before you said the same thing. Your testimony contradicts theirs, so I would like to ask you again: are you certain that you heard one gunshot?”

“Um…Well…” Larry scratched the back of his neck, and Miles’ stomach sank. This is exactly what he had been afraid of. “To tell you the truth, Edgy, I’m not sure.”

Miles took a deep breath to calm the anger that was rapidly boiling inside of him. “You’re not sure,” his voice came out steady despite his trembling hands. “And why is that?”

“I, uh, might have missed the other gunshot. I was listening to something else.”

“Anytime you would like to be more specific with your testimony would be delightful. ”

“Okay! Stop glaring at me like that, Edgey! I was listening to my radio, and I had my headphones on.”

“What?!” Miles would have fallen face-first onto the desk if his uncle hadn’t grabbed the back of his shirt. “How loud was the volume?!”

“Pretty loud, dude. You know how I like to jam.”

"Order! Order!" the judge exclaimed as he banged his gavel on the desk. “Mr. Edgeworth, I will give you a moment to collect yourself—you’re looking a little red. In the meantime, Mr. von Karma? What is your opinion regarding this testimony?”

“It is an utter waste of time,” von Karma replied. His eyes were closed, and he tugged on the sleeve of his left arm in annoyance. “I do not accept this witness nor his shoddy testimony. If Edgeworth is smart, he will do the same.”

“Mhm, thank you. Mr. Edgeworth? What is your opinion?”

Miles rubbed the bridge of his nose, a gesture made easier since his glasses were broken. “Your Honor, I request that you allow Mr. Butz to continue his testimony.”

Von Karma snorted. “And there go my hopes about your intellect. This is pitiful, Edgeworth. You’ve lost, yet you still insist on putting us all through this trainwreck of a testimony. I have never witnessed a trial like this in my life.”

“If Mr. Edgeworth believes that there is still more to cross-examine, then he is allowed to continue. But,” the judge looked down sternly upon Larry, “the court asks that the witness remember to include details in his statement. Like his radio.”

“Uh, yes, sir,” Larry said. “So I was listening to my radio because…because, well, it was Christmas Eve, man! And I was alone, which sucked! You know how depressing it is to spend your holiday all alone? Luckily, there was an all-requests show playing on the station, so other sad-sacks like me could call and talk to someone. I had the music cranked up really loud, but I’m SURE I heard that gunshot! I even remember what the DJ was saying; that’s how much it startled me.”

“Mr. Butz,” the judge interrupted, breaking the silence that had fallen over the courtroom after Larry’s testimony. “Are you saying you were listening to your radio at a high volume?”

“Yeah! What’s the problem? I had headphones in; it wasn’t like I was out noise-polluting!”

“Yes, yes, bravo!” Von Karma clapped sarcastically. “Well done, Edgeworth. What a delightful witness you’ve kept on the stand. This entire testimony is worthless. That loud banging noise? Most likely a loud drumbeat from the radio. I pray that you’ve finally seen the light.”

“Mhm, yes, I do agree, Mr. von Karma. I find it hard to believe this testimony myself—”

“Objection!” 

“Oh! Mr. Edgeworth, that startled me,” the judge said. “Yes? What is it?”

To an onlooker, it might have seemed like Miles was stewing at his bench in silent frustration. But in actuality, the puzzle pieces of his mind were snapping in place, forming a clear picture of what had transpired that night on Gourd Lake. “You Honor, the witness stated that he remembered what the DJ said when he heard the gunshot. This indicates that no music was playing at that moment, meaning he could have heard the gunshot coming from the lake. I would like to continue the cross-examination.” 

“Very well.”

“Thank you. Larry!”

“Edgey, do you have to look at me like I just drowned your goldfish every time you ask a question?” Larry whined. “I thought we were friends!”

“Yes, we are. It is very imperative that you answer my next question. What was the DJ saying when you heard the gunshot?”

“Oh, that’s an easy one! She said, ‘Hey, it’s almost Christmas!’ I remember because I was gonna cheer when the clock struck midnight. While she was saying that, I heard the gunshot.”

And with that, the final puzzle piece locked into place.

“Your Honor, I would like to highlight the witness’ last statement.”

“The part about it being almost Christmas?” The judge asked.

“Yes. Did you catch that? Almost Christmas—it means it wasn’t Christmas. When Mr. Butz heard the gunshot, it was still Christmas Eve. However, this contradicts a piece of evidence submitted to the court by Ms. Hart. Do you remember her motion camera? I would like to ask the court to review the timestamp on the image."

“Hrm…Oh!” The judge gasped, pulling out his copy of the photograph. “Why—look at that! The timestamp on Ms. Hart’s photo reads, ‘12/25. 00:15!’ This was taken fifteen minutes after midnight on Christmas Day!”

“Exactly. Thank you, Your Honor,” Miles couldn’t suppress the smirk forming on his face. Each contradiction he uncovered brought him closer to the truth. “This is a clear contradiction.”

“But what exactly does this mean, Mr. Edgeworth? Our two prior witnesses stated that they heard gunshots after midnight. However, now we’ve discovered that this witness heard a gunshot BEFORE midnight.”

“Pah! You’re overthinking, Your Honor,” von Karma interjected, like Miles knew he would. He could never keep his mouth shut for long. “The answer is simple. The current witness is mistaken; just look at him.”

Larry stomped his foot on the ground. “Hey! What is that supposed to mean, you old coot?!”

“Hmph, have you looked in a mirror, boy? Why—”

The judge cleared his throat. “Ahem. Mr. Edgeworth? We’ve heard the prosecution’s…strong opinion. What is your opinion on the witness’ claim?”

“That Larry is telling the truth. He heard the gunshot before midnight.”

At that, von Karma set his sights on Miles. “I’m assuming you have evidence? Because if you don’t, Edgeworth, then you will quickly find yourself looking as foolish as your friend.”

“Why, yes, I do,” Miles replied, pulling out another photograph from the large manilla folder on his desk where he kept the evidence. “Ms. Hart’s photo—”

“Didn’t you just show that to us? You’re losing it, Edgeworth. Might I rec—”

"Let me finish," Miles interrupted von Karma, using a tactic straight from his father's playbook. "This is Ms. Hart's other photograph. Remember, two pictures were taken that night. If you're having trouble recalling that information, I suggest you refer to the court transcript."

Von Karma's hand moved directly to the pocket of his right thigh, where Miles knew he kept the taser. It was a silent threat, an intimidation tactic, a warning. Miles now understood why Wright always seemed so jumpy. “Ahem, Your Honor, I would like to present Ms. Hart’s first photograph to the court. Please note that the timestamp on this picture reads 12/24, 23:50.”

“Oh, yes, I can see that from the copy on my desk. But, Mr. Edgeworth, may I ask a question? This is a picture of an empty Gourd Lake. What does this have to do with the crime?”

"Exactly, Your Honor. Why was this picture taken if the lake is empty? Ms. Hart mentioned yesterday that she was searching for the so-called 'lake monster' known as Gourdy, which is why she set up the automatic camera. This same automatic camera was rigged to activate in response to a loud noise! This photograph serves as evidence that Mr. Butz is telling the truth. He heard a gunshot on Christmas Eve, and that shot is what triggered the camera to take this picture!"

“Incredible, Mr. Edgeworth! However, I fear that we now have another issue. Ms. Hart testified that she heard the gunshots after midnight, and the photo of the two men in the boat was timestamped at 12:15 AM on Christmas Day. Are you retracting your previous statement?”

“Not at all. As you so helpfully pointed out, we have proof that the camera was triggered 15 minutes after midnight. Your Honor, on the night of the crime, there were two sets of gunshots with a 25-minute pause between them!”

“Objection!” And there it was. Miles knew von Karma was going to cut in. His outbursts were almost as steady as the white noise that filled the courtroom every time the gallery chattered. “Your Honor, this is absurd! There is no proof that the loud noise at 11:50 PM was a gunshot! Why, the explanation could be as simple as the witness sneezing! A sneeze would be loud enough to trigger a camera!”

“The prosecution makes a good point. Mr. Edgeworth? Do you have any evidence to support your claims that the loud noise was, in fact, a gunshot?”

Miles' throat was dry, and his lips trembled with anxiety. He was close—so close—to getting justice for his father and for Wright. He couldn’t afford to mess this up. 

"Yes, Your Honor. I would like to discuss the murder weapon. There’s something that has been bothering me. Our previous two witnesses testified that they heard two gunshots, but the forensics report stated that the weapon was fired three times. When was the last shot fired? I’ve just realized that the third shot was the one Larry heard just before midnight!"

Von Karma snapped his fingers, the sound slicing through the uproar from the gallery like a knife. “And what would the motive be, Edgeworth? What on earth would be the reasoning behind two sets of gunshots?”

An image of Will Powers, standing tall and proud in his Steel Samurai costume, flashed through Miles' mind. Could it be possible that the person responsible for his father's death had the same motive as Dee Vasquez when she murdered Jack Hammer? "Well, it's simple, Mr. von Karma. We've all been assuming that my father was shot 15 minutes after midnight."

He felt Eddie squeeze his hand from underneath the desk. He hadn’t realized he had started shaking again. 

“An assumption that you just proved, boy!” Von Karma replied, clicking his tongue. “Tsk, tsk, tsk. If this case is affecting you to the point that you’re forgetting details you previously mentioned, then you should be removed.”

Miles inhaled. Exhaled. In. Out. He repeated this process three times to ground himself. This was it—the decisive moment. He had proclaimed Wright’s innocence, but now he finally understood the truth about how the crime was committed. “Remember: Larry heard a gunshot 25 minutes before. I  propose that this was when my father was murdered, at 11:50 PM on Christmas Eve. The two men in the boat photograph are Wright and the murderer. The murderer killed my father, then assumed his identity and met Wright on the lake.”

“What,” von Karma started.

“The,” the judge continued.

“Hell yeah, Miles!” Eddie declared, using his free hand to give Miles a light smack on the back. “That’s how it’s done!”

Emboldened by his uncle, Miles continued, “Wright and I had a discussion in the lobby before the trial this morning. During my investigation at Gourd Lake, I discovered a letter in the boathouse caretaker’s safe that detailed the crime. The letter instructed the caretaker to lure my father and Wright out to the lake, kill my father, and frame Wright for the murder. When we consider the pistol, the photographs, and Larry’s testimony, we have a complete picture of how this crime occurred. The true culprit isn’t Phoenix Wright; it’s the boathouse caretaker!”

“You. Have. A. Letter?” Von Karma grunted. Miles noticed that he was burrowing his fingernails into his right shoulder. “Alright. Very well. Assuming that the letter is not forged, how do you suppose he carried out this crime? In the photograph with the timestamp of 11:50, the lake was empty!”

“There's an easy explanation for that. The crime took place where…where my father’s body was ultimately discovered, on the shore of the lake. I propose that the crime occurred inside the boat rental shop. That’s how the caretaker could have committed it without being seen,” Miles paused, watching von Karma take a breath. He was trembling with rage. “And before Mr. von Karma can utter his favorite phrase, yes, I have proof.

"Please recall Mr. Butz’s testimony. He was searching for something in the lake and found it, returning the boat to the shore. As he was heading out, he heard a gunshot, despite listening to the radio at the time. This indicates that the gunshot was very close by. So, what would be close if he had just returned a boat?”

“This is incredible, Mr. Edgeworth!” The judge declared, looking stunned. “But what about Mr. Wright? What about the pistol being fired on the boat?”

"Your Honor, it's simple. The killer shot my father with a single bullet. After that, he lured Mr. Wright into a boat, lifted his pistol, and fired one shot, ensuring that anyone who heard it, like Ms. Hart did, would look towards the lake. He waited a moment and fired again before..."

An echo of his nightmare flooded his mind, the distant splashing ringing in his ears. “Before he jumped out of the boat himself, leaving the pistol behind, where Wright, stunned beyond belief, retrieved it! If someone were looking from the edge of the lake, it would appear that one of the men on the boat had shot the other.”

Miles was growing increasingly excited. His face flushed red, his pulse quickened, and he felt hot. For once, Von Karma was at a loss for words, allowing Miles to continue. "The murderer didn’t know about Ms. Hart’s camera, so he shot twice to draw attention to the boat. He then swam back to his shop, put the coat back on my father, and threw his body in the lake."

“Good job, kiddo,” Eddie whispered. The weight of his hand nearly crushed Miles'. “I didn’t even feel you sway once.”

“I can’t afford to lose now. This is for my father.”

“He’d be damn proud of you.”

“I…I…ahem. Order!” The judge broke out of his stunned stupor. “Order!” He cried again despite the courtroom being deadly silent. “Bailiff! Bring out the witness from before, the boathouse caretaker!”

The recess was longer than usual. Miles spent it silently in the defense lobby with Wright and Eddie. Wright was uncharacteristically quiet, and any attempt to spark a conversation with him fell flat; he only responded with grunts and avoided making eye contact completely. Miles didn’t understand why he was acting this way. They were just moments away from a potential victory, and Wright should have been overjoyed. Perhaps he was simply anxious. Miles could relate—if he were in Wright’s position, he would probably be losing his lunch by now.

Eddie had taken to restlessly pacing the defense lobby again. He was never one to sit still. The sound of his thrifted leather loafers tapping against the wooden floor of the lobby was comforting; it reminded Miles of the many afternoons he had spent in his father’s law firm, watching Eddie pace in circles as he tried to sort out the details of various cases.

Eventually, he couldn’t take it anymore. He muttered, “That’s it,” and headed for the doors. They suddenly swung open and almost hit him directly in the face as Detective Gumshoe raced in, skidding to a halt just in time to avoid crashing into the couch where Wright was sitting.

“Prosecutor Wright! Sir!” Gumshoe saluted. He was out of breath, huffing and puffing with a grin on his face. “How are you? Are they feeding you well? Is Edgeworth being nice? Is von Karma bothering you? Did you remember to drink your water today?”

“I’m fine,” Wright grunted. He didn’t look up.

His response, however, didn’t deter Gumshoe. He nodded at Wright, a smile still on his face. “Great! I’ve been watching your trial! It’s going amazing out there. We’ll have you out of the detention center in no time, sir!”

“Why are you here?”

“Oh! Uh, I came to let you guys know that we finally captured the boathouse guy!”

“Captured?” Miles asked, startled. “As in, he was on the run?”

“Yes, sir, Mr. Edgeworth, sir!” Gumshoe said. “He was dismissed from court but had to stay around in case they needed to pull him back in for questioning. When the judge told the bailiffs to bring him back to the courtroom, the guy got wind of it and fled the courthouse! They called us in to get him. For an old guy, he sure runs fast! I nearly had to tackle him in the middle of People Park!”

Eddie peeled himself away from the wall, where he had braced himself after Gumshoe had thrown the doors open. “Why was he on the run?”

“Beats me, pal! He wouldn’t talk to us. You’ll have to pry the info out of him on the stand.”

“Course. It’s never easy, is it?” Eddie sighed. “You know, sometimes I wish we’d get something boring. Like tax evasion. Aw, well, I’m not worried. Miles is meticulous; he’ll get the witness to talk.”

“It’s not like I have a choice, uncle.”

“Can you at least try to take the compliment? Especially since our client is sitting on the couch, looking oddly despondent for some reason?”

“Fine. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome. Next time, smile a bit, and don’t grit your teeth.”

“Are you trying to make me irritable? We have a trial to run. If I snap at you, it’s because you brought this on yourself,” Miles said as he collected his satchel bag and tucked it securely under his arm. He glanced over his shoulder. “Come along, Wright. We have a case to win.”

Wright’s only response was, “Mhm,” as he got up from the couch. He still refused to make eye contact with Miles. He didn’t look at anyone, not even Gumshoe after he nearly collided with him when the detective leaned in for a hug.

“Don’t give up hope, sir!” Gumshoe said, patting Wright delicately on the shoulder. “Mr. Edgeworth will prove your innocence to everyone.”

Wright cringed, folding into himself as he hunched his shoulders. He didn’t respond to Gumshoe but steadily walked past him, trailing behind Miles, his gaze fixed on the floor.

The judge wasted no time. Instead of exchanging his usual pleasantries, he ordered the boathouse caretaker to come up to the witness stand immediately. Miles couldn’t get a read on von Karma at all; he stood stone-faced at his bench, just as he always did. Miles had hoped that perhaps something in von Karma's facade would crack, especially since he seemed caught off guard before their recess. Now, he understood why his father always returned from facing von Karma in court frustrated beyond belief.

“Witness,” the judge glared down at the boathouse caretaker, his expression resembling that of a stern, disappointed father. “Would you please tell the court why you decided to flee when I asked the bailiffs to retrieve you?”

“Oh, sure thing,” If the boathouse caretaker was nervous, he, like von Karma, didn’t show it. He seemed as dazed as ever when he spoke. “See, I was planning on going back home to cook up some pasta when I suddenly realized I had no food for my parrot! I couldn’t leave the poor girl alone to starve, so I decided to head out to the pet store.”

“Officer Gumshoe told me that he apprehended you in People Park.”

“I cut through there to get to the pet store.”

“Hrm, I see. Defense? What do you think of this statement?”

“I think that he’s lying, Your Honor,” Miles replied. “I think he realized that we had discovered the truth behind the murder, and he fled.”

“Objection!”

“Oh, here we go,” Eddie muttered as he locked eyes with von Karma. “What is it, old man?”

“Motive, Fender,” von Karma responded. “One of the basic principles of any criminal case; something that even your primitive mind should be able to comprehend. If Edgeworth believes this man to be responsible for the crime, what is the motive?”

“What, did you forget during recess? Maybe you should get your memory checked, von Karma. Miles found a letter detailing the crime in this man’s safe!”

“I will reiterate what I said previously, you simpleton. It could be forged. We will need more evidence before we accuse a man of murder.”

Eddie let out a slight hiss and bit his tongue, falling silent. Miles nudged him with his elbow. “Didn’t you hand that letter over to the police to get a handwriting analysis?”

“Yeah, but I don’t want to reveal that now. I’d rather keep it a surprise for von Karma. Less chance for him to meddle. Do you have any other way that we can prove the caretaker’s motive?”

“Yes. I just have to get him to own up to it.”

“Good thing you’re notorious around the office for not letting things go.”

“I’ll remember that,” Miles said, turning his attention to von Karma, who, strangely, appeared more relaxed than he had right before the recess. “The motive is clear if you consider who this man really is.”

Von Karma scoffed. “His identity as the boathouse caretaker? What, was your father a world-champion fisherman? Don’t waste my time.”

“He’s lying about his identity. He’s lying about quite a bit, actually.”

“Oh? And what is his identity, boy?”

“Simple. The man on the witness stand is none other than Yanni Yogi, the former neighbor of Jay and Phoebe Wright.”

“Oh! From the FQ-9 Incident!” The judge exclaimed. “Why, that would mean…”

“Yes, Your Honor. Yogi would have a motive to kill.”

“Tsk, tsk, tsk,” von Karma was back to his usual tactic of barging into conversations. He wagged his finger at Miles as if he were scolding a small child. “Evidence, Edgeworth? Or are you simply jumping to conclusions, eager to solve your father’s murder by blaming any poor fool who happens to be on the stand? A poor fool, I should remind you, who has lost his memory?”

“All we need to do is take his fingerprints,” Miles replied. “Yogi’s prints should be on file with the police department from when he was arrested for the FQ-9 Incident. We’ll simply compare the two.”

“Ah, a noble effort, Edgeworth, truly,” von Karma said, dramatically shaking his head. “But I’m so very, very sorry. You see, our witness…has no fingerprints.”

Miles suddenly hunched over the desk, feeling as if his eyes would bulge out of his head. “What?!"

“Ayup,” the caretaker scratched his ear. “Before I started managing the boathouse-pasta shop, I worked at a chemical plant. I burned my fingers while working with that stuff.”

“So, now you see the truth, Edgeworth," von Karma said. "No one can testify to this man’s identity, and you have no proof he is who you claim.”

“Argh…” Miles groaned against the cool wood of the desk. “I didn’t even think someone would go so far as to burn their fingerprints off.”

“Hey, it’s okay,” Eddie reassured. “We’ll figure something out! We’re too close to give up now.”

“Poor Edgeworth. What kind of absurd tricks will you attempt next to save yourself?” von Karma mocked. “Maybe you’d like to cross-examine his parrot for fun?”

An idea suddenly struck him. Images of a floor safe and a chatty parrot filled his mind. “The parrot!”

“What?” von Karma stared in disbelief. “You’re not seriously going to cross-examine a bird, are you?”

“Don’t be ridiculous. What kind of fool would do that?” Miles asked, disregarding Wright’s quiet murmur of, “Oh, thank God,” from next to him. “But I want to thank you for jogging my memory, von Karma. That bird is crucial to proving that the witness on the stand is none other than Yanni Yogi!”

“Oh, do tell, Edgeworth. How will you connect a parrot to a man from a case that happened 15 years ago?”

“If you may recall, I stated that I found a letter in the safe of the boathouse—”

“Not this again. Must I repeat myself? That letter has a possibility of being forged!”

“The letter isn’t what I’m highlighting, von Karma. How do you think I got the combination for that safe?”

“How am I supposed to know that? Maybe you picked the lock! You seem like the type of man who does unsavory things.”

“Sorry to disappoint you, but no. I learned the combination from the parrot. And before you interrupt me again, I have a witness,” Miles said, gesturing to Eddie. “My uncle. He was the one who spoke to the bird.”

Eddie grinned. “All I had to do was ask her what the safe combination was. Not a great security measure, honestly.”

“Does this nonsensical banter have a purpose?” von Karma asked.

“Yes,” Miles said, keeping a close eye on the caretaker. “The combination was 1228.”

“Your point?”

“1228. If you split it in half, you get 12-28. December 28th. The date of the FQ-9 Incident.”

Von Karma threw his hands into the air. “Oh honestly, Edgeworth! Now you’re just grasping at straws. That number could mean anything!”

“Yes, and it signifies the day that Yogi’s life changed forever!” Miles retorted, his cheeks flushed as he pounded the defense bench with his fist. “And I’m not pulling this out of thin air either. If you said the word ‘forget’ around the parrot, she would respond with, ‘Don’t forget FQ-9.’ This, combined with the safe code, proves that this man on the stand is none other than Yanni Yogi!”

“Pah! Coincidences! Patterns where there are none!” von Karma said. “A word of advice? Go home and sleep. You’re seeing things.”

“Hmm, I’m not so sure,” the judge said. “Two coincidences happening at the same time seem more like a pattern to me.”

“Thank you, Your Honor,” Miles gave a slight bow of his head toward the judge. Invigorated, he pointed toward the witness stand. “This man is Yanni Yogi, and he is the true culprit in the murder of my father, not Phoenix Wright!”

Von Karma pinched the bridge of his nose. “For the last time, Edgeworth, he doesn’t remember his—”

“No,” the caretaker said, raising his hand with a serious expression. “I’m done with this charade.”

“ Excuse me? ”

“You’re Mr. Edgeworth, correct?” the man asked. Miles nodded in response, stunned by the sudden change in personality. Had he truly been pretending to be a confused old man for 15 years? “I’m sorry. I didn’t realize that the victim in this case was your father.”

Miles' throat dried instantly. “So you’re admitting it?” 

Yogi looked off to the side. He took a deep breath and closed his eyes, keeping them shut as he spoke. “You must understand, young man. My life was ruined by this case. I was accused of murdering my neighbors, and the police arrested me after your father pointed them in my direction. My attorney, Robert Hammond, devised a plan: to win the trial, I was to pretend that I had brain damage from the fire that started at the Wright's home. You see, part of my home also caught fire, and I lost consciousness in my kitchen due to the smoke. Hammond believed I could be acquitted under an insanity plea, and he was… he was right. But because of that, I lost everything—my job, my fiancée, my social standing. I’ve spent 15 years sitting with this bitterness, ruminating over what I lost.

"But then, this year, a package arrived. Inside was a letter and a pistol. The letter detailed a carefully written plan for me to exact revenge on the people who had ruined my life. I didn't care who sent it; I thought this was my chance after fifteen years. Finally, I had an opportunity to take revenge on those who had wronged me: Gregory Edgeworth and Phoenix Wright!"

“You...killed him,” Miles whispered. “You killed my father on Christmas Eve over something that happened fifteen years ago.”

Yogi opened his eyes, looking pained. “I—”

“Wait a moment. Revenge against Phoenix Wright?” The judge asked. “What do you mean by that?”

Yogi sighed. His hands were trembling. “Why don’t you ask Mr. Wright yourself?” He said. And with that, he stepped down from the witness stand and approached the bailiff, extending his wrists, ready for the snap of the handcuffs.

"Very well. I believe I have all the necessary information to render my verdict. Are there any objections?” The judge asked with a pointed look at von Karma.

“No, Your Honor. Wright is innocent when it comes to this case,” von Karma replied.

“Thank you. I will refrain from asking too much of the defense in this scenario, given that this is a personal case for him. I shall not prolong the verdict. Phoenix Wright, will you please take the stand?”

Wright nodded and rose from the bench, making his way to the stand. Despite being on the verge of being cleared of a murder charge, he didn’t appear very happy. He kept his eyes fixed on the floor the entire time and swayed slightly as he took his place.

“Phoenix Wright. I do not fully understand all the intricacies of this case, and I feel that there are a few mysteries still to be solved. However, that does not affect the verdict I am about to give. You have been cleared of suspicion for this case. I would like to pass judgment on the murder of Mr. Gregory Edgeworth."

Silence enveloped the courtroom, and anxiety churned in Miles' stomach. Why wasn’t von Karma objecting? He had never lost a case in 40 years. He should have been shouting, screaming, foaming at the mouth, but instead, he stood quietly at his bench, his eyes fixed intently on Wright.

“Very well. This court finds the defendant, Phoenix Wright, not guilty. This court is adj—”

“Objection!” Wright exclaimed, spinning on his heel to point directly at the judge.

“Erm, Mr. Wright? What is the meaning of this?”

“I object to your judgment, Your Honor.”

“What?! Are you suddenly confessing to the murder?”

“No, I did not kill Gregory Edgeworth. However, I am not innocent! As we heard Yanni Yogi state, he murdered Mr. Edgeworth and framed me in revenge. But for what reason? Every night for the past fifteen years, I’ve had a recurring dream. But now… now I know it wasn’t just a dream. Yanni Yogi was not the killer.”

“In FQ-9, you mean?”

“Correct. It was me, Your Honor. I confess my guilt; I am the culprit in the FQ-9 Incident!” 

“Are you out of your mind, kid?!” Eddie shouted over the noise from the gallery. “You were just a child when that happened, and you weren’t even at home when the fire started!”

“Quiet, Fender!” Von Karma raised his hand. His eyes shone brightly. “It is our duty to hear this man out. I propose we conduct a retrial of the FQ-9 Incident!”

“I…” The Judge looked between Miles, Wright, and von Karma with a deep-set frown. “I think I would like to take a five-minute recess. I will consider the appropriate course of action to take. Until then, the court is adjourned.”

“I’m sorry, Edgeworth,” Wright said. It was the first time he had spoken to Miles since the end of the trial.

Miles ignored him and concentrated on organizing the papers in front of him into a neat stack. Once he was satisfied with the arrangement, he reached into his satchel bag and pulled out his sticky note flags. This allowed him to color-code his documents and organize them to his liking.

“Edgeworth? Hey…” He heard rustling as Wright shifted on the couch, the cheap leather squeaking beneath his expensive suit. “Are you mad at me?”

“I wouldn’t be lying if I said I wasn’t a little irritated with you,” Miles replied, reshuffling the red-tabbed documents on top of the blue-tabbed ones. “However, I’ve felt that way toward you for quite some time.”

“Oh,” Wright fell silent, but he didn’t remain that way for long. Much like an antsy child, he couldn’t keep himself still. “What are you doing?”

“I am building your defense case. Please stop asking me questions; we are short on time.”

“Wait, what?!”

Miles glanced up from his notes, squinting at Phoenix beneath the harsh glare of the fluorescent lights. He really needed to replace his broken glasses. “Frankly, Wright, I don’t believe in your nightmare. It’s just a dream; you need to focus on the facts of the case. The truth is buried here in the court record.”

“Edgeworth, didn’t you hear me? I’m guilty!”

“Based on something that is in your head. Logic will ultimately prevail in the end. We cannot abandon it for some mythical idea—”

The doors to the defense lobby opened. Miles thought nothing of it; in fact, he didn’t even turn his head to look. It was probably Eddie, returning from wherever he went after the recess was called. It was only when Wright exclaimed, “Ms. Fey!” that Miles turned around to see what was happening.

Mia Fey stood at the entrance of the room, looking nervous. She didn't move from the entryway as Wright greeted her.

Miles felt a pang of disappointment. Although he cared for Mia, he found himself wishing it was Maya who had come to see him instead. He hadn’t had a chance to talk to her all day, and he missed her presence at the bench.

“May I help you with something?” he asked.

“Maya wanted to…help,” Mia began, drumming her fingers along the edge of the door. Miles had never seen her so anxious before. 

With a sigh, Miles pushed his papers aside and stood up to face Mia directly, rather than speaking over his shoulder. “What did she do? I’ve never met a girl who was so prone to attracting trouble.”

“While I agree on that end, what she’s done isn’t…bad, I think.”

“You think ?”

“She said she didn’t want you to be upset with her. She stressed the importance of that to me.”

“Mia, this is sounding worse by the minute.”

“Listen, it’s better if you see it with your own eyes. I don’t think you’d believe me otherwise. Maya has mentioned your opinion on the matter.”

Mia stepped aside, cleared her throat, and glanced into the hallway behind her, beckoning with her hand.

Armando appeared at the entryway, stopping in his tracks. He was holding someone's hand, but his tall stature blocked the person behind him. “Did you brief him?”

“I couldn’t think of how to word it.”

“It’s alright, kitten. It can be a lot for someone who isn’t used to these things. Take it from me; you saw how I was when I first met your family.”

“Can you two stop dancing around the subject and tell me what Maya did?”  Miles asked, tapping his foot on the floor in irritation. "The suspense is making it unbearable."

“Right. Might as well rip the bandage off. Well, you heard him. Come on in.”

Armando let go of the hand he was holding and stepped aside. 

“Hello, Miles.”

Gregory Edgeworth entered the room wearing what appeared to be Maya's clothing. His arms were outstretched, and his lips trembled. Despite his best efforts, he couldn't hold back his tears. 

"I'm so glad that I get to see you again."

Chapter Text

Miles lay draped over the sofa in the defense lobby. 

Above him stood his father, concern etched on his face, blending in with Maya's features. That’s how he knew he was dreaming. His father was dead, and even if he weren’t, why would he be standing there with Maya's hair, wearing her robe? He wasn’t even the right height. No, this was some sort of strange dream, likely a result of the immense stress from the ongoing murder trial.

“I told you he’d faint. It’s been happening ever since Christmas morning,” Eddie’s voice drifted into his ears from somewhere to his right.

“Because of the murder?” Gregory asked, a frown settling on his face. He reached down and brushed Miles’ bangs away— a gesture he’d often do when Miles was sick. “Oh, Miles, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt you like this.”

“You can’t seriously be apologizing for getting murdered, can you?” Eddie sounded bewildered. “How were you supposed to know?”

“There were many things I could have done differently, Edward.”

“It’s not your fault,” a choked sob escaped Eddie’s mouth, and his voice wavered.

“I suppose I should apologize to you as well. Come here.”

“No, no, I don’t need a hug. Focus on your son; he’s more important.”

“You’re family too.”

“Stop that, you’re going to ruin my image if you keep making me cry like this.”

“You’re getting a hug from me later, whether you like it or not,” Gregory said, turning his focus back to Miles. “Are you alright, Miles? Your forehead feels clammy.”

“That’s funny,” Miles replied weakly. “I didn’t realize dreams could include physical sensations.”

“Oh dear. Miles, this isn’t a dream.”

“Yes, it is. You’re dead.”

“Correct.”

“Hence my reasoning.”

“Ah, but reasoning fails in the realm of the supernatural.”

Miles couldn’t help but laugh. “Are you claiming that you’re a ghost ?”

“How much do you know about the Kurain Channeling technique?” Mia Fey asked. She was sitting at the edge of the couch cushion by Miles’ legs. “It’s what my family, my village—my mother— is known for.”

“Spirit channeling? Not this again,” Miles groaned, looking up at the ceiling where several dried water stains marred the tiles. “I’m sorry, Ms. Fey, I don’t mean to be rude, but—”

“Mia, remember? You got it right just before we brought your father in,” she replied, sounding unfazed. After a moment, she reached out and placed a hand on his knee. “Like I said, it’s a lot to take in. The Kurain Channeling technique involves inviting a spirit into the channeler's body, allowing them to communicate through a living person. That’s why your father appears shorter.”

“He has Maya’s hair.”

“I must admit, it’s rather nice,” Gregory joked. “I don’t think I’ve ever had such long, luxurious hair before.”

“See?” Mia said. “It’s not a dream. This is what I was referring to when I mentioned that Maya wanted to help you. Did you know this is the first time she’s channeled? She’s doing an incredible job, and I want you to tell her that later. She’s been worried about being, in her words, ‘useless’ in this case.”

“Useless?!” Miles sat up at her words, causing his father to grunt in surprise. “Maya has never once been useless to me. I would never think that about her!”

“I know. I tried to tell her that, but she fixated on the idea. This was the only way she could think to help.”

“You’re asking me to believe in ghosts, Mia. Do you realize that?”

“Is that too much of an ask?”

“Yes!” Miles threw his hands in the air. “Ghosts, spirits, whatever you want to call them, don’t exist!”

“How do you explain your father being in the room with you?”

“That’s the problem. I can’t.”

“I can see this is hard for you.”

“I just—I have to reconsider my entire worldview,” Miles muttered. “If ghosts are real, then what else is? Do you realize I comforted Wright with this logic? If ghosts are real, then the figure he saw was—wait. Wright !” 

Miles whipped his head around to look at the man whose defense he had been calmly building just moments before. Wright looked petrified, backed up against the arm of the couch, staring at Gregory like a deer in headlights.

“H-hey, Edgeworth. Um, the other Edgeworth. The alive one.”

“Are you…scared?” Miles asked.

“Aren’t you ? There’s a ghost in here! Um, no offense, Mr. Edgeworth.”

Gregory instinctively reached to tip his hat but paused when he accidentally patted Maya’s bun instead. “It’s quite all right. It’s a lot to take in. Rest assured, I won’t hurt you.”

“I’m more concerned that you're going to yell at me,” Wright replied nervously.

“Why? Are you being rude to my son again? From what Ms. Fey and Mr. Armando have told me, he did an excellent job defending you.”

“No, no, god no. I wouldn’t do that, especially after what he did for me,” Wright shook his head, sighing heavily. “But I ended up wasting his time.”

“Yes, I was informed of that as well. You claim you’re guilty regarding the deaths of your parents.”

“Yes.”

“May I ask why?”

“No.”

Gregory sighed. “Fair enough. I suppose we’ll hear the story in court when you take the witness stand.”

With that, he moved back toward Miles, extending his hand. Miles looked up at him reproachfully, keeping his hands glued to his sides. “What did you mean by, ‘we’ll hear the story?’”

“I’m here to help you, Miles.” It was bizarre seeing his father’s warm smile on top of Maya’s features. He wanted to look away and burrow into the couch, but couldn’t bring himself to do so. He’d missed that smile so much. Though it had only been five days since he last saw it, it felt like a lifetime ago.

Bracing himself, he forced himself to continue the conversation. “What about Uncle Eddie?”

“I’ll still be there with you,” Eddie replied. “But the boss-man is the king when it comes to tricky situations like this. We could use the help.”

“Are you saying I’m not good enough to defend Wright for a second time?”

“What? No! C’mon, Miles, don’t do me dirty like that! You know I think you’re a killer attorney.”

“Then we don’t need the help of a supposed spirit on the bench.”

Eddie sighed and jammed his hands into his pockets, a gesture he often made when he was frustrated. “Too bad. As your senior partner at the firm, I overrule your objections. Your father is assisting us with this trial, whether you like it or not.

Miles groaned, letting out an “ugh!” before crossing his arms and lying back down on the couch like an upset teenager. His father’s image appeared above him, prompting him to close his eyes.

“Miles.”

“ What ?”

“Do you really not believe it’s me?”

Miles opened his eyes. He should have known it wouldn’t be easy to escape this situation. “Considering that I have repeatedly stated I do not believe in ghosts, yes. Yes, I do.”

“Very well. Then what is your reasoning for my presence? I’d like to hear your explanation.”

“Ugh, you always do this when I argue with you. You insist that I explain the reasoning behind everything!”

“Mhm,” Gregory’s eyes twinkled. “Your last statement contradicts your previous one. If you truly don’t believe I’m standing here, why did you react like that? Why did you comment on my usual behavior? Wouldn’t that indicate that it’s really me?”

Miles froze. “I suppose that would be the case, yes.”

Gregory looked troubled for a moment, his hand twitching by his side. After a second, he reached out and placed his hand on Miles’ shoulder, giving it a firm squeeze. “Do you not want me here?”

“I do,” Despite his best effort, Miles couldn’t choke back his sob. “I want that more than anything in the world. You’ve been dead for three days, and I’ve been living a nightmare ever since. Whenever I can manage to sleep, you’re in my dreams. You’re everywhere in my mind, in my body, in my heart. I want you back. I need you. I-I-I-”

“Shh, it’s alright. I’m here now,” Gregory said, opening his arms again. This time, Miles went to him. He threw himself into his father’s chest and cried, inhaling the familiar mix of his father’s amber cologne and Maya’s vanilla body spray.

He didn’t know how long he had been pressed against his father, gripping Maya’s robes so tightly that his fingers tingled. All that mattered was that he was there , actually there, tangible, physical… there . Gregory stroked his hair as he cried. He could hear shuffling and Eddie's distant voice, wondering if they should leave. His father replied, and Miles felt the rumble of his voice reverberate through the skin that his ear was pressed against. Reluctantly, he forced himself to look up.

His father wasn’t looking at him, so Miles tugged on his sleeve to get his attention, something he hadn't done since he was much younger. Although his tears had nearly dried, they threatened to start again when his father smiled warmly at him and asked, “Yes?”

“We should get ready for the trial,” Miles said. “I still need to build Wright's case."

“That’s my boy,” Gregory said, releasing his hold on Miles. Miles cleared his throat, acutely aware of everyone’s eyes on him, and returned to sorting through his documents, trying to tune everything out. Wright’s gaze stood out from the rest— it felt like a ray of sunlight through a magnifying glass, burning a hole in his skin and piercing his heart.

Miles, of course, ignored it. Conversing with Wright, Eddie, or anyone else at this moment was pointless. There was no time, and he was flying by the seat of his pants. Wright was innocent; he knew that down to his bones, but how would he prove it? Von Karma would be ruthless. He had to think, think, think —

“Please follow me to the courtroom.”

The bailiff's voice startled him, causing him to violently flinch. They were out of time.

"Thanks for trying," Wright said as he rose from the couch. Miles finally pulled his gaze away from the documents spread out on the table. "I'll make sure this goes quickly so I don't waste any more of your time."

He walked toward the bailiff with the demeanor of a man who had accepted his fate and didn’t look back. 

When they entered the courtroom, Wright had already taken his seat, his eyes downcast and shoulders slumped. He let out a series of sighs as they settled in at the defense’s bench. Von Karma, noticing Wright’s demeanor, quietly scolded him.

“For god’s sake, Wright, will you take what I’ve taught you to heart and face your sentence with dignity?” Miles heard him hiss. “You can at least do that to make up for the embarrassment you've caused me."

Wright nodded in response and slowly raised his head.

“Well?” Von Karma said, looking annoyed. He was clearly waiting for something.

“Thank you, sir. I’m sorry, sir,” Wright replied.

“Better.”

With that, von Karma turned his attention to the bench, his trademark smirk on his face as he sized up Miles, Eddie, and—

Suddenly, von Karma went pale.

“What,” he said, his breathing suddenly ragged, “is that?”

He extended his finger toward Gregory. Miles was startled to see his father’s gaze so intense. They hadn’t even started the trial, but it felt piercing. He felt as if he were in trouble by proxy.

“Have you forgotten my face already, von Karma?” Gregory asked.

Von Karma stumbled backward, looking rattled. “I must be hallucinating,” he said, although it sounded like he was trying to reassure himself more than throwing his usual insults. “I’m certain that I asked the court to ban Miss Fey from the trial.”

“Well, lucky for you, it’s not her,” Eddie said. “So there shouldn’t be a problem, right?”

“Don’t be preposterous, Fender. Of course it's her—who else would it be?”

“You know exactly who it is.”

“He’s dead!” von Karma snapped, slamming his fist down on the prosecution bench. “We just conducted an entire trial regarding his murder!”

“Ever hear about the Kurain Channeling technique?”

“Fender, you are on thin ice—”

“Order! Order! My goodness, why is everyone so riled up?” the judge asked, looking bewildered. “The recess was only 15 minutes long.”

Von Karma turned around, huffing like a petulant child who hadn’t gotten his way. “Your Honor! Miss Fey has been banned from assisting in this trial. Yet the Edgeworth team has brought her back in! I demand that she be removed from the bench!”

“Hm? Oh! She is down there, isn’t she? Hello, Miss Fey, how are you doing?”

“Your Honor, if I may speak for the young lady,” Gregory said, his smooth tenor voice drifting through Maya’s lips. “I believe she’s doing alright.”

The judge paused and did a double take. “Wait, are you—?”

“My apologies for stepping up to the bench without notice, Your Honor. I know I’ve circumvented standard courtroom procedure, but it's sort of an unusual circumstance.”

“Mr. Edgeworth!” The judge looked delighted. “Why, I thought you were dead!”

“I am.”

“Then how are you here?”

“Miss Maya Fey kindly brought me here so I could assist my son; I hope that's alright with you. Since I’m not Maya Fey, I believe we aren’t breaking any laws, correct?”

“Hm,” the judge scratched his chin in thought. “Yes, technically you’re not. I’ll allow it, but I want to hear the story behind how she managed to bring you back.”

“In due time, Your Honor. Perhaps after the verdict? It’s been a while since we’ve caught up.”

“I would like that very much, Mr. Edgeworth.”

“You cannot be serious! Judge!” Von Karma exclaimed, hunched over and pounding his fist against the bench repeatedly. “Clearly, they’ve made Miss Fey do an impersonation! I demand that she be removed!”

“What are you so afraid of?” Gregory replied coolly. “Come now, don’t embarrass yourself like this.”

“You keep your mouth shut , Edgeworth!”

“Ah, so you acknowledge that I, in fact, am not Maya Fey.”

“I-I-I-”

“Your Honor, the defense rests, in this instance. Shall we resume the trial?”

“Yes, I think that would be for the best. Mr. Wright looks sickly, and Mr. von Karma, well, frankly, I’m concerned for his health. I’ve never seen his face get so red before. So, before anyone has a medical emergency in the courtroom, would Mr. Wright please come up to the witness stand?”

Wright nodded and made his way to the witness stand. Once there, he looked over at von Karma expectantly, but von Karma was still fuming. The redness had spread from von Karma's cheeks down to his neck, making him appear as though he had a severe sunburn. Wright glanced over at the defense bench and, for the first time in a while, made eye contact with Miles. Miles gave him a slight nod and what he hoped was a reassuring smile, though the motion felt awkward on his face.

Wright cleared his throat. “Ahem. Sir?”

“What, Wright?!” Von Karma snapped.

Wright didn’t react to the anger in the voice; it seemed he was used to it. “Aren’t you going to begin the trial? You should ask me my name and profession, and then I’ll give my testimony.”

“Are you trying to tell me how a trial is conducted?!”

“I just thought you needed help, sir. You seem distracted.”

“Cut the sass, Wright.”

“It wasn’t my intention, sir.”

“How many times have I heard that before?”

“We’re derailing the trial, sir.”

“Fine,” von Karma hissed through clenched teeth. “Witness, state your name and profession, and keep the sarcasm to a minimum.”

“My name is Phoenix Wright, and I’m a prosecuting attorney.”

“Mr. Wright, you claim that you were responsible for your parents' deaths fifteen years ago. Is this correct?”

Wright inhaled slowly. “Yes, that is correct.”

“Then testify, and do it right.”

“I will.” Wright ran a hand through his hair. A part of his bang came undone from the gel that held his impressively thick mane of spikes in place, and poked straight out. “Fifteen years ago, on that day, I went into the backyard and built a fire in the firepit. I did it all by myself, just like my dad had shown me during our annual summer camping trip. We were on Christmas vacation, and I wanted to build a bonfire for my friends. But when I went inside for some water, my mom told me that my friend had called and asked me to come over to his house instead. So I grabbed my bike from the garage and left. I didn’t put out the fire. I forgot.”

Wright looked pained, as a bit of wetness crept into his brown eye. “While I was at my friend’s house, I overheard a conversation between a neighbor and his mother. She mentioned that my house was on fire. I rushed back home as quickly as I could and found the house engulfed in flames. I located my parents in the living room. While trying to wake them, I thought I saw a figure in the smoke. In a panic, I threw my father’s pistol at it, and I heard it discharge before I passed out. When I regained consciousness, my parents were dead. The EMTs informed me that they had died from smoke inhalation.”

Von Karma crossed his arms. “So, you believe you are responsible for starting the fire. But until now, you thought this was all just a dream?”

“Yes. I’ve carried a bit of guilt with me, but there was always some doubt in the back of my mind. However, after hearing Mr. Yogi’s testimony, I now know that isn’t the case. It was my fault.”

“Very good. Defense! Begin your cross-examination,” von Karma said with a snap of his fingers. “This shouldn’t take long.”

Miles slowly inhaled and focused on the one detail that caught his attention. “Mr. Wright, you stated that you believed your backyard bonfire was the cause of the fire, correct? But didn’t the reports on the FQ-9 Incident label it as arson?”

Von Karma barely let him finish his sentence before he raised an objection. “Where else could the fire have originated, Edgeworth?”

“I don’t know. The case files were missing when I went to investigate them,” Miles said, directing a pointed glare at von Karma.

“How unfortunate.”

“Yeah, it is. Maybe you should tell everyone why you took them,” Eddie snapped. 

“Edward,” Gregory warned under his breath. “Don’t provoke him. This is a delicate situation.”

“He attacked Maya and Miles!”

Gregory’s jaw clenched, his eyes fixed on von Karma. “I’m aware.”

“Don’t throw around such baseless accusations at me, Fender,” von Karma retorted, his bravado noticeably faltering under Gregory’s gaze. “The files are right where they belong. Call the police department if you don’t believe me.”

“I bet you put them back to cover your ass.”

“Your language is abhorrent.”

“Your personality is abhorrent.”

“You are wasting my time, Fender. I’m in the middle of a counterargument.”

Eddie rolled his eyes. “Right, I forgot how valuable you are compared to the rest of us. Don’t let me stop you, old coot.”

“I would like that comment stricken from the record.”

“Noted,” the Court Reporter said from her desk, the rapid-fire click-clacking of her keys echoing throughout the room as she backspaced in her document. 

“Typical,” Eddie said. “You always have to get your way, don’t you, von Karma?”

“Much like you're trying to do, Fender, by derailing the cross-examination. I've presented a perfectly valid counterargument to Edgeworth's claims, and you, knowing your team doesn’t have a response, are desperately trying to prevent me from doing my job. Quite pathetic of you. Now, if you’ll excuse me,” von Karma snapped his fingers. “I believe I asked Mr. Edgeworth a question, and I'm expecting an answer.”

“There are numerous spots in a home where a fire is likely to occur,” Miles replied, trying to keep his voice calm. “The kitchen, the garage, the living room, any area where a candle is burning, or where there are electrical wires.”

“That is a valid assumption; however, you do not have proof that the fire originated from any of those locations,” von Karma countered.

“Nor do you have proof that the backyard bonfire was the cause, Mr. von Karma.”

“I have a witness,” von Karma said, gesturing toward Wright, who was hunched over in the witness stand, hands on his head. “Did you not just hear his testimony?”

“The witness was a child, and he went through a traumatic event. Who’s to say his memory is accurate? What if it was, as he originally thought, a horrible dream?” Miles challenged.

“It is a fact that the house burned down. It is also a fact that Jay and Phoebe Wright died of smoke inhalation, and that Jay Wright’s pistol was fired. Phoenix Wright's testimony is accurate in that regard, so why would his statement about the bonfire be considered faulty?”

“Very well. Let’s suppose Mr. Wright accidentally started the house fire. It would still, as I just stated, be classified as an accident,” Miles said, his tone softening as he looked at Wright on the stand. Wright was slightly trembling. “He did not start the bonfire with the intent to burn his house down, nor kill his parents. That should reasonably clear him of any charges.”

“No,” Wright mumbled quietly. Von Karma’s smirk reappeared for the first time since they returned from the recess. He tugged on the ends of his spikes. “Please, stop, Edgeworth. I know you’re trying to do your job, but I'm guilty.”

“Why are you so insistent about that?” Miles asked. “I don’t understand. If you truly started the fire, it was an accident. You were just a little boy.”

“What about the pistol? It was discharged. I remember the noise, the smell of gun smoke, and the shadowy figure letting out a hellish scream. I shot someone.”

“Completely irrelevant,” von Karma interrupted. “The autopsy report showed that your parents died from causes related to the fire. There was no bullet found in either of their bodies at the scene.”

“Yes,” Gregory chimed in. “An excellent point. As I recall, the missing bullet was one of the biggest mysteries surrounding this case at the time.”

Von Karma’s smirk twisted into a scowl. “Once again, the bullet is irrelevant. It probably got lodged in the wood of the house or was lost in the environment. Wherever it ended up, it’s likely long since turned to ash.”

“Or perhaps Mr. Wright did indeed shoot someone that day,” Gregory suggested. “The arsonist.”

“Wright was hallucinating! I mean, did you hear the man? Shadow smoke figures? Utter nonsense. He also passed out from smoke inhalation, so it’s not unreasonable to think he was seeing things,” von Karma argued.

“The fire department classified it as arson. Arson is intentional. Are you doubting their investigative skills?” 

“Perhaps I am. After being in this profession for 40 years, I have witnessed all sorts of incompetence from so-called ‘professionals.’”

"I won't deny that," Gregory said. “However, I don't believe that is what happened in this case. I propose that Wright shot the arsonist.”

“Then where is the bullet?”

“Ah, that, I don’t have an answer to,” Gregory admitted, looking slightly bashful. “Miles? Would you like to weigh in?”

Miles slowly shook his head. “I… don’t know. It pains me to say this, but I think Mr. von Karma is right. Where would the bullet have gone?”

Von Karma looked triumphant. “Well, well, well. I never thought I would see an Edgeworth agree with me. Perhaps you’re not as hopeless as I once thought, boy.”

“If both the defense and prosecution agree that the bullet from Jay Wright’s pistol is irrelevant to the proceedings, then we will disregard it and focus on Mr. Wright’s earlier testimony,” the judge declared.

“He’s going to be found guilty,” Miles groaned. “I’m sorry, Father, I let you down. You were pulled out of your rest for nothing. I’m glad I was able to solve your murder, but it seems to have come at the cost of Wright.”

“Breathe, Miles.” Gregory placed his hand atop Miles’ shaking one. “You have everything you need in order to prove our client’s innocence. Your panic is clouding your thoughts. Now, try to turn your thinking around for me, alright? Where do you think the bullet could have gone?”

“It probably disintegrated, like von Karma said.”

“Wouldn’t the detectives or forensics have found traces of it?”

“They might,” Miles said slowly. A crazy idea was starting to form in his head. “So perhaps…”

“Perhaps?” Gregory asked with an encouraging smile.

“This is a stupid idea.”

“No such thing.”

“That’s not true. I recall you calling several of my ideas stupid when I was younger.”

“I don’t believe I would have ever used those words to describe you.”

"You did when Larry and I used to 'sled' down the stairs in our sleeping bags and crash into the hutch at the bottom."

"Hm, alright, perhaps I did call that a stupid idea," Gregory said, scratching his chin. "As much as I enjoy reminiscing about your younger years, let’s get back on track, shall we? You have a friend to save. So please, tell the court your idea, no matter how stupid you think it may be. Who knows? It might just be the thing to save Mr. Wright."

Miles swallowed hard, trying to ignore the massive lump in his throat. "Your Honor, before we move on, I would like to continue discussing the bullet from Jay Wright’s pistol."

"It seems I will have to retract my earlier praise," von Karma sighed, massaging his temples. "I should have known this wouldn’t go as perfectly as I had imagined."

“Go on,” the judge encouraged. 

"Mr. von Karma raised an excellent point regarding the bullet. However, what if the reason it wasn’t found wasn’t because it disintegrated, but rather because... because..." Miles closed his eyes, aware of how ridiculous his words would sound, "because the arsonist took it?"

“What.” Von Karma said flatly. “Are you hearing yourself, boy? Is there a gas leak in here? Out of all the foolish things you’ve said today, this is the most foolish of them all! You claim that the arsonist ‘took it,’ but how would they have found it? It’s not easy to find a stray bullet under normal circumstances—and this house was on fire , Edgeworth!”

“The arsonist, um, had to take the bullet.”

“And why is that? Did the bullet start the fire, hm?”

“No…but what if the bullet hit the arsonist? Then they would have no choice.”

The silence was almost deafening. Aside from an encouraging nudge in the side from his father, no one attempted to speak. Miles continued his theory, realizing he sounded absolutely crazy. "If a bullet hit you, you’d have to take it with you, wouldn’t you? It’s not like you could perform surgery to remove it on the scene."

“Oho, that’s an excellent point, Mr. Edgeworth! But now we have a problem,” the judge said. “Yanni Yogi claimed he was innocent in the fire. If it wasn’t him, then who was the arsonist? This case went infamously cold because the charges against him were dismissed, and the police had no other leads!”

“Yes, unfortunately, that’s where I hit a wall. I don’t know who else could have—”

The doors to the courtroom burst open as Detective Gumshoe stood in the entrance, huffing and puffing while waving a note around in his hand. “Wait! WAIT! Don’t declare Mr. Wright guilty yet! WAIT!”

“I’m going to have a migraine by the time this trial ends,” von Karma muttered. “Detective, cease your whining! You’re interrupting the conclusion of the trial!”

Gumshoe froze, his eyes widening, as the paper fluttered in the breeze of the courtroom's air conditioning.“M-M-Mr. Von Karma! I didn’t think you’d be here!”

“I’m the prosecution, fool. Why wouldn’t I be?”

“I-I-I—”

“Gumshoe?” Wright finally raised his head, looking confused. As soon as he saw the detective in front of him, his hands stopped shaking. “What are you doing here?”

Wright’s presence seemed to reset the detective. He saluted him with his free hand and then approached the defense’s bench. “Here, Mr. Fender. The handwriting analysis of the letter in Yogi’s safe is back from the lab. I raced over here as fast as I could; I even ran a couple of red lights!”

“Um, I hate to be the bearer of bad news, man, but the murder trial is over. Yogi was arrested,” Eddie said.

Gumshoe’s shoulders slumped. “So, I’m too late?”

“No. Open the letter,” Gregory said. “Yogi didn’t write it to himself.”

“Will this really change anything?”

“You’ll see.”

“That’s awfully cryptic of you, but alright,” Eddie said, unfurling the letter. Inside was a sticky note, and when Eddie read it, he went pale. “Mr. Edgeworth, is this—?”

“Tell Miles.”

“You knew. You knew this whole time, didn’t you?”

“Edward, please.”

Eddie nodded and shakily handed the paper to Miles. “You heard him.”

Miles followed his uncle's instructions and opened the letter. There, in neat handwriting, the truth lay before him:

Analysis concluded. The author of this letter has been determined to be Manfred von Karma.

Suddenly, the pieces of the puzzle snapped into place.

“Von Karma,” the name slipped from Miles’ lips, strained in his throat.

“What now?” von Karma asked impatiently. “You better not be about to tell me that the contents of that letter somehow magically reveal where the bullet is.”

“No. I’m naming you as the suspect in the arson.”

“What?!” Wright yelped. “Edgeworth, what are you—?”

“Bah.” Von Karma snorted and waved his hand dismissively.

“Uh, you’re not…objecting?” The judge asked, stunned. “The defense just accused you of setting fire to the Wright’s home!”

“No need,” von Karma replied. “Why should I honor this ridiculous outburst with my objection? Edgeworth has clearly lost it. I recommend that he be placed in a mental health facility.”

“You wrote this letter to Yanni Yogi!” Miles said, waving the letter in his hand. “You, of all people, wouldn’t do that unless you were somehow involved in the crime! It wouldn’t make sense otherwise!”

Von Karma’s mouth formed a thin line. “Prove it.”

“That you wrote this letter? The police department already did!”

“No, fool. Prove that I’m the arsonist. You claim that Wright shot the arsonist. If I’m the arsonist, prove it! I would have needed surgery to remove the bullet. Where did I go under the knife? Bring in the doctor who operated on me! Have him testify!”

“I’ll find out and—”

“Von Karma wouldn’t leave evidence,” Wright interjected, ignoring the withering glare from von Karma. “There was no surgery—that would have left the doctor as a witness.”

“Are you suggesting he pulled the bullet out of himself?” Miles countered. “That’s insane! You can’t just pull bullets out of yourself!”

“Indeed,” von Karma said. “So, your accusation against me is baseless.”

“No, it’s not,” Miles said, as a realization slowly dawned on him. It was crazy, too crazy, but what other option was there? Why else would von Karma go to such lengths? The letter to Yogi, the theft of the FQ-9 case files, and the tasering—none of it made sense unless there was something he was desperately trying to hide. With one final look at Wright to give him strength, he slammed his palm down on the defense bench.

“Because the bullet is still inside you, von Karma!”

“What?! After fifteen years?” Eddie exclaimed. “There’s no way! ”

“For once, I agree with Fender,” von Karma said, gripping his right elbow. “Ludacrious. I’ve never faced a more ridiculous attorney in court in my entire life. Making an accusation like that without a shred of evidence—shameful!”

“Oh, there’s evidence,” Miles said calmly. He had known it the moment Detective Gumshoe entered the courtroom. “Detective?”

“Uh, yes, sir, Mr. Edge—uh, I mean, Mr. Miles, sir!” Gumshoe saluted. He had been pacing around the witness stand for the last five minutes, his face stricken with worry and ready to leap to Wright’s aid at any moment. “What is it?”

“Do you still have your metal detector with you? The one you lent to me and my uncle the other day?”

“Oh, yeah! I’ve got that and my fishing rod. I would have brought Missile, too, but pets aren’t allowed in the courthouse.” Gumshoe rummaged through his ratty green oversized coat and retrieved the metal detector. He placed it on the desk of the defendant’s stand and froze when his eyes met Gregory’s, a look of confusion blossoming on his face.

“Well?” Miles said once Gumshoe collected himself and stepped back. “Here’s where I present my evidence, von Karma. All I need to do is run this over you and see what I can find.”

“Objection!” von Karma snapped. “I refuse!”

“Do you realize that by refusing, you’re essentially admitting to your guilt?”

“Silence! I’m not listening to the ramblings of a half-rate defense attorney any longer! Judge! I call for a suspension of this trial—this is an invasion of privacy!”

“Objection!” Miles countered. “The statute of limitations runs out on this case today! Your Honor, the defense requests that we be allowed to use the metal detector!”

“Order! Order! Order!” The judge raised his voice until he was almost yelling, a rarity from someone usually so gentle in his trial proceedings. “I permit the use of the metal detector. Mr. von Karma, you will submit yourself for testing.”

“Ngh…” von Karma grimaced, his face pale as he gripped his right shoulder tightly.

“Well, Miles? You wanna do the honor?” Eddie asked. “'Cause if I try it, I’ll want to smack him with the damned thing. Or we could let your old man do it.”

“Miles should do it,” Gregory said quietly. His piercing gaze remained fixed on von Karma, as it had throughout the trial. Miles had never seen his father look so intense—not even during his angriest moments. There was something in his eyes that went beyond fury. “He’s the leading attorney.”

With his father's and uncle's blessing, Miles switched on the metal detector. A soft pinging sound began to emit from it, growing louder as he stepped out from behind the defense bench. It grew louder, and louder, and louder until it was blaring. Miles was now face-to-face with von Karma, who exhaled sharply through his nostrils like a bull. Undeterred, he continued, moving the detector toward the shoulder that von Karma was clutching. The device was going haywire now. Miles turned away from von Karma and switched the detector off.

“I believe that speaks for itself, Your Honor.”

“Von…Karma…” Wright broke the silence, his voice seething with anger. Miles had never seen his face darken so severely before. “It was you? This entire time, it was you?! ”

“Ah, I was afraid this would happen.” Von Karma was remarkably calm for someone whose guilt had just been exposed in front of the entire courtroom. “Indeed, there is a bullet in my shoulder. However, it has nothing to do with this incident!”

“You’re lying,” Miles said. “There’s no point in trying to prolong this. Do the right thing and admit your guilt!”

“You’ll not strong-arm me into a baseless confession, Edgeworth,” von Karma retorted. “The burden of proof is on you, not me. Can you prove that this bullet is connected to the FQ-9 incident? I don’t think you can.”

“Ngh, that’s because you took the evidence—”

“And since you have no proof, you cannot convict me of any crime. So sorry, Mr. Edgeworth.”

The sound of something hitting the defense bench caught the attention of Miles and von Karma. An evidence bag containing a familiar-looking pistol lay on top. “Your Honor, I would like to submit this evidence from FQ-9 to the court,” he stated, adjusting the interior pocket of Maya’s robe and straightening his appearance. “This is Jay Wright’s pistol.”

“Where did you get that?!” von Karma shouted, causing Miles to flinch.

Gregory continued speaking calmly, ignoring von Karma's outburst. “Your Honor, this is the gun that young Mr. Wright threw at the arsonist. All we would need is a court order to extract the bullet from Mr. von Karma’s shoulder and compare the ballistic markings of that bullet to this pistol. If the markings match, it would indicate that the bullet in von Karma’s shoulder was fired from this gun. If that is the case, it would place von Karma at the scene of the Wright fire."

“M..M..Mmmpf,” von Karma began to twitch behind the desk. 

Gregory ignored his reaction and continued calmly, as if they were in the middle of a normal court proceeding. “Mr. von Karma, you will allow us to extract that bullet. Then we will have the answers we seek.”

Von Karma staggered backward, tilted his head upward, and screamed so loudly that the light fixtures hanging from the ceiling began to sway.

Wright raised his left arm and pointed straight at von Karma. “Von Karma, it was you who let out that scream in my house!”

“How many times have I told you to lower your voice, Wright? How many times have I told you not to point that finger so carelessly? How many times have I told you not to make a fool of yourself in public?” Von Karma hissed. “Be. Quiet .”

“Tell me why you did it! Why did you kill my parents?!”

“I didn’t. I merely started a fire.”

“They died because of you!”

“They weren’t meant to.” 

“Then tell me why!” Wright pounded his fist on the witness stand. “What was the point of starting the fire? We didn’t even know you!”

“It was meant for someone else,” von Karma said. Smoothing his hair back, he snapped his fingers and looked at the judge. “Well? End this charade. Give me the verdict and put an end to it.”

“Not so fast,” Gregory held up his hand. “There’s one more thing we must do. Von Karma, I think it’s time you confess to your other crime.”

“Edgeworth…” von Karma’s composure cracked instantly. “Why can’t you just stay dead ?!”

“I will not rest until you answer for your crimes. All of them. I know you’ve felt my eyes on you during this trial. I’ve seen the way you squirmed and the way you can’t look me in the eye. I swear on the rest of my unlife that if you are not truthful to the court, I will haunt you for the rest of your days.”

“Edgewoooooorth!” von Karma roared, slamming his right shoulder into the wall behind him, causing it to crack.. “I should have known, should have known that you, of all people, wouldn’t know when to let things go!”

“Tell the court,” Gregory repeated. “I’ve got all the time in the world. Do you?”

“Stop staring at me with those blasted eyes! Those damn, accursed eyes have been following me for 15 years!”

Gregory didn’t move. Didn’t breathe. Didn’t blink. That seemed to finally push von Karma over the edge.

“Fine! FINE! I confess!” von Karma shouted, throwing his hands into the air. “Yanni Yogi wasn’t the one who shot Gregory Edgeworth at Gourd Lake. It was me!”

“You did what?!” Eddie roared, and in the blink of an eye, he was over the desk, rushing towards von Karma. Gumshoe had to grab him by the armpits to stop him in his tracks. “You did WHAT?!”

“Yogi was a coward,” von Karma said. “This is why you can’t trust others to do your work. I went to all that trouble with the note and the framing. Everything was perfect, naturally. And then what did he do? He got cold feet at the last minute. So I took over. I grabbed the pistol and shot Edgeworth myself.”

“Why…?” Miles’ voice came out more broken than he expected. “Why would you do that?”

“He was supposed to die fifteen years earlier. I was merely correcting a previous error.”

“The Wright fire,” Miles said, his heart heavy.

“Precisely,” von Karma replied. “Gregory Edgeworth was supposed to be at the Wright residence that day. The Wrights were key witnesses in a case he was defending. I knew he’d be at their home. I knew that would be my opportunity for revenge. It was perfect—a house fire would take the life of the man who blemished my perfect record.”

“You killed my parents over that?!” Wright exclaimed, his voice strained. “Over a stupid penalty?!”

“Fifteen years of having you in my home, and yet you’ve learned nothing. What have I told you about listening when I speak to you? I never intended for your parents to die. Fate is a cruel mistress. Gregory Edgeworth, in fact, was not at the Wright residence that day.”

“Because I broke my arm,” Miles said, stepping back from the prosecution’s bench. He glanced over his shoulder at his father, who never took his eyes off von Karma, even as Miles stared at him. “I broke my arm at Larry’s house, and he came to get me.”

“And thus, when I realized the Wrights were in the fire, I foolishly tried to drag them out,” von Karma continued. “And what did I get for that act of nobility? A bullet lodged in my right shoulder, and Edgeworth was still alive!”

“You’re a monster,” Wright spat. “I’m glad I shot you.”

“I waited,” von Karma said, ignoring Wright. “I thought the neighbor, Yogi, would be implicated—I was wrong. I sat and stewed for fifteen years. I’m not entirely heartless; I did feel remorse over the deaths of the Wrights. That’s why I took in their child, you see. It was my penance for my crimes. But still, that vile venom, that hatred for the man standing directly across from me… it never went away. Today marked the end of the statute of limitations for my crime. I knew I had to act. I could right what went wrong. I could correct my imperfection. So, I wrote a letter.”

“Why would you blame Wright?” Miles asked. “You just said you adopted him because you felt guilty. But then you went to frame him for murder? Why?”

“He was an embarrassment,” von Karma said. “On a losing streak. To an Edgeworth . That was when I decided to wash my hands clean of the Wrights and the Edgeworths, once and for all.”

“And so you shot me,” Gregory said, clasping his hands together. “Dead, in cold blood. You looked me directly in the eyes and fired that pistol.”

“You destroyed my record.”

“And you’ve destroyed your legacy. Had you not been so petty, so consumed by your desire for revenge over a well-earned penalty, you could have retired and been known as one of the greatest prosecutors this world has ever seen. But instead, you threw it all away when you decided to send that bullet into my heart.”

Von Karma hung his head. “Judge,” he said quietly, “arrest me. This is over. I do not wish to continue.”

“Very well,” the judge said, looking solemn. “Mr. von Karma, I… I am at a loss for words over your actions. You will receive your sentencing at a later date, but I cannot begin to express my disappointment in you. I had thought you were one of the best prosecutors this legal system has ever seen, but it appears I was mistaken. Now, regarding Mr. Wright…

“It appears that we’ve finally reached the truth of the matter. Mr. Phoenix Wright, you were innocent in the deaths of your parents. You are innocent. It was, as you said, a nightmare.”

“Thank you, Your Honor,” Wright said quietly.

“I do hope you can get some rest. As well as Mr. Edgeworth,” the judge said, his gaze drifting to Miles, then to his father. “I will have Mr. Yogi released. That poor man has been under duress for so long…But excuse me, I’m rambling. This court finds the defendant, Mr. Phoenix Wright, not guilty.”

Wright doubled over at the sound of the gavel, the culmination of emotions causing him to collapse. As Gumshoe cheered and the gallery erupted into a cacophony of noise, Miles went not to his father, nor to his uncle—who looked pale and trembling and on the verge of collapsing himself—but to Wright. He wrapped his arms around him before he even realized what he was doing, and as he pulled the prosecutor into himself, enveloping him in a tight embrace, he realized that Wright was crying.

“It’s okay,” Miles comforted, his hands instinctively moving to stroke Wright’s hair. “It’s okay. It’s over; it’s all over. We’ve won.”

“Von Karma…he…” Wright choked out. “He killed them. He raised me as his son, and he killed them. And he killed your dad and he—”

“It’s over,” Miles repeated firmly. “He’s going to be locked up for the rest of his life.”

“How are you not upset?”

“I am. But my father once told me that a lawyer is someone who smiles no matter how bad it gets. I will grieve later, but right now, let’s celebrate your victory. You are innocent, just as I always knew you were.”

Wright looked up at him, his brown and blue eyes filled with tears. They held each other’s gaze under the fluorescent lighting of the courtroom, a charged tension lingering between them. No one moved. No one spoke. No one hardly breathed. Miles felt a tug deep within him, unsure if it was his gut urging him to do the one thing he had always dreamed of or if it was simply nausea. There was only one way to find out.

Miles broke eye contact, leaned forward, and pressed his lips to Wright's in a fleeting, tender kiss.

“Congratulations, Phoenix.”

Chapter Text

After the verdict, it all became a tumultuous blur. Miles didn’t remember how he got back to the lobby or how he managed to leave Phoenix after kissing him. Now, he found himself back in the defense lobby, alone except for his father.

“Are you alright, Miles?” Gregory asked, gently brushing Miles' bangs away from his forehead. "You’ve been shaking ever since... well, goodness, ever since Mr. Wright’s second trial started. I’m worried you might faint again.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Miles asked, unable to meet his father's gaze. Instead, he focused on his father's hand, distracting himself with the grooves that ran along the underside of his fingers. “Or Uncle Eddie? Why didn’t you tell us that von Karma was the one who shot you?”

“I could have,” Gregory replied. “But I was brought in during the recess, and we only had fifteen minutes. If I had told you two, it would have completely derailed the trial. Neither of you would have been able to keep your composure. I knew that you would uncover the truth at the end.”

“Did you know about von Karma’s involvement with FQ-9?”

“No, but I had my suspicions after seeing him with Yanni Yogi at Gourd Lake.”

“What a nightmare,” Miles groaned. “All of this. One man ruined countless lives just because of a bitter courtroom rivalry.”

“Yes. I do hope that’s not the case between you and Mr. Wright; though, your actions after the conclusion of the trial have eased any concerns I might have had.”

Blood rushed to Miles’ face, and he could feel his cheeks burning. “Oh. You saw that.”

“The entire courtroom did.”

“Wonderful.”

“It was cute.”

“I would appreciate it if we changed the subject, Father.”

Gregory chuckled and ruffled the top of Miles’ hair. “Very well. I don’t have much time left, and I doubt you want your last impression of me to be me teasing you.”

Miles froze. “What do you mean you don’t have much time left?”

“Miss Fey is channeling me, remember?”

“How could I forget? You’re about a foot shorter than usual.”

“Well, she can’t do this forever. Her sister told me this was her first time attempting spirit channeling, and that the session may be short. From what I understand, it’s very taxing on the body.”

Miles’ breath hitched. “So you’re going to…leave? Forever?” 

“Well, I don’t know about that,” Gregory mused. “I’ll always be with you, of course. But should you need me, I wouldn’t be opposed to communicating with you like this again.”

“Is that selfish of me?” Miles pulled away from his father, casting his gaze to the floor. “I’m interrupting your rest. You’re dead. I should move on.”

“There’s no right way to grieve,” Miles felt his father’s hand on his shoulder. “There’s no ‘should’ or ‘shouldn’t’ about it. If you need me, I’ll be here, just like if I were alive. That’s my duty as your father.”

A choked sob escaped his throat, and Miles turned around, throwing himself into his father’s arms and burying his face in his chest. Gregory stood there, rubbing his back and letting Miles cry until his tears dried and his throat stung.

“Miles. I have to go. She’s shaking,” he said the next time Miles looked up.

“But I–”

“Call me if you need me.” Gregory pecked his forehead, then grabbed one of Eddie’s spare notepads left on the coffee table along with a pen. He began to write something down.

“You’re not…leaving me a ghostly phone number, are you?” Miles asked, trying in vain to wipe his face with his shirt sleeve.

Gregory laughed. “No, but wouldn’t that be something? I’m leaving a note for Miss Fey. She wrote one to me before channeling, and I’m just returning the favor.”

“Can I ask what it said?”

Gregory paused, clicking the end of the ballpoint pen and retracting it. “She said that you needed my help and that you were a wreck without me. She was afraid you would lose the trial and said you needed my guidance. She also apologized for dragging me out of my rest.”

“Oh, Maya…” Miles frowned. “I don’t know if you heard Mia while you were out in the hall, but she mentioned that Maya thought she was useless to me.”

“Well, now, that’s interesting,” Gregory said as he resumed writing his note. “Where on earth would she get such a silly notion? She’s been a wonderful asset to the Edgeworth and Co. Law team. I’ll make sure to add that to the note.”

Gregory scrawled his neat signature on the paper and set the notepad down. “Now then, may I get a hug from you before I head off?”

“Of course,” Miles was on him in an instant, wrapping his arms tightly around his father. “I’d attach myself to you if I could.”

“That won’t be necessary. Though I do enjoy your hugs—they remind me of when you were little. You were quite clingy,” Gregory chuckled. “I love you, Miles.”

“I love you too, Father,” Miles whispered back, squeezing him as tightly as he could.

“We’ll meet up again soon. I promise.”

Maya’s body went limp in his arms, and Miles knew that his father was gone.

Maya didn’t stir right away, and if it hadn’t been for her slow, deep breathing, Miles would have panicked all over again. Instead, he tried his best to drag her to the closest couch, a task that would have been laughable and likely earned him some teasing from Maya if she were awake. As soon as he laid her down, her eyes fluttered open. Her face was hers again, and there were no traces of his father left behind on her soft features.

“Miles…?” She murmured.

“Are you alright?” Miles asked, trying his best to sound calm. “Stay there. I’ll get you some water.”

Ignoring him, Maya sat up quickly. “Did we win? Ow…”

Miles rushed back to her side. “What happened? Are you hurt?”

“I’m dizzy and there’s stars in my eyes.”

“That’s because you shot right up,” Miles sighed. “What am I going to do with you?”

“You could answer my question.”

“Yes, we won. Wright was declared innocent. Von Karma—” Miles paused, the name stinging his lips like a wasp. He didn’t want to think about that man anymore, but he owed it to Maya. "He was the one behind the FQ-9 incident. He set the Wright fire with the intent to kill my father. When that failed, he waited fifteen years and shot him on the lakeshore instead."

“It wasn’t Yanni Yogi?!”

“No.”

“Did your dad know?”

“Yes.”

“Miles, I’m so sorry,” Maya began to cry. “Oh my god, that must have been terrible for you!”

“Maya, woah, hey. Why are you crying?” Miles asked, noticing the snot beginning to drip from her nose as she futilely tried to wipe it away. He shook his head and offered her a tissue from one of the boxes on the nearby end table.

“B-Because I channeled your dad, and von Karma was there, and you and Mr. Wright have both gone through a terrible loss and–”

“You’re going to make yourself hyperventilate. Can you breathe for me?” Miles asked. “I’m fine.”

“Miles, you’re not fine! You haven’t been fine since Christmas Eve!” Maya huffed. “I’ve seen it with my own two eyes. Don’t lie to me, okay?”

Miles sighed. “Okay. I’m not fine. But I’m here, and I was able to see my father again because of you, so thank you.”

“Oh!” Maya’s expression shifted into a smile. “It worked then?”

“Of course it did. What did you think had happened?”

“I dunno; I never channled before. One moment, I was in a supply closet with Sis, and the next, I’m here on the couch. For all I know, I could have fallen asleep or passed out.”

“No, no, it was successful, and I’m very grateful for that. But,” Miles looked at Maya, confused. “Did you just say that you and your sister were in a supply closet? Why?”

“Oh! Because usually when channeling, we go into a darkened room,” Maya explained. “It’s really formal, with candles and everything! But, no open flames are allowed in the courthouse, and we didn’t want to set off the fire sprinklers. So, Sis found the nearest supply closet to use as our makeshift channeling chamber.”

“O…kay,” Miles said, trying to ignore the numerous questions he now had. He had just come to terms with the reality of ghosts, and he didn’t have time to unpack everything Maya had just told him. “Well, it worked. Thanks to my father, thanks to you, we won. You’re incredible, Maya.”

Maya shook her head. “I didn’t do anything. I was just the vessel for your father. You did the hard work.”

“No, it was the gun you grabbed from von Karma that ended the case. That was the decisive evidence we needed to prove he was the arsonist. Without you, he would have gotten away with it, and Pho—Wright would have been wrongfully convicted.”

“You’re just saying that.”

“If you won’t believe me, then will you believe my father?” Miles asked, retrieving the notepad from the coffee table and handing it to Maya. “He left you a message.”

Maya read the note from Gregory and began to cry again, which wasn’t his intention. “Ohhhh, your dad is so sweet!” She exclaimed, tears falling.“H-He said that I’m officially part of the firm!”

“I hope that doesn’t interfere with your sister’s practice,” Miles said with a small smile. 

“N-No, she’ll be okay with it. She has Diego as an assistant anyway.”

“Good, because truth be told, I had no intention of giving you up.”

“What if Mia said no? Would you beg her to let me join Edgeworth and Co.?”

“Yes, I suppose I would.”

“Would you get on your knees and plead with her?”

“Nngh, if it came down to it…”

“Aw, damn,” Maya said, snapping her fingers with a pout. “Now I wish she'd fight you for me. I'd pay good money to see that.”

Miles sighed. ”You're something else, you know that? You're going to give me a headache if you continue with these antics.”

Maya playfully elbowed him in the side. “Oh, don't be a grouch. You love me!”

Miles accepted the sharp jab without complaint for once. Although she had knocked the breath out of him, he couldn’t help but smile.

“That I do, Maya. I don't know what I would do without you.”

The funeral was a quiet affair, as most usually were.

The turnout was surprising. Guilt crept into his heart, wrapping around it and taking root within him at the thought. Why should he be surprised? His father had been a respectable lawyer. Mia had told him, Armando had told him, and Gumshoe had told him. Yet as he entered the funeral parlor, he was shocked to see a packed room. There weren’t enough chairs for everyone, and many had resorted to standing against the walls. The front row was reserved for family, and Miles could see Eddie’s hair peeking above the sea of mourners. 

As he stepped inside, all eyes turned to him, and a hush fell over the room. Miles quickened his pace, avoiding their stares by focusing his gaze above the casket at the front. It was blissfully closed. Eddie finally allowed him to read the autopsy report after the trial concluded, and it was just as upsetting to read as he had expected. He didn’t remember much after reading about his father’s body, but he recalled pressing his face into his uncle’s shoulder and crying until the tears stopped and his voice became hoarse. He wasn't particularly fond of the terms "waterlogged" and "bloated" used to describe his father, and he was grateful that he and the other attendees didn't have to see the body. He wanted to preserve his memories of his father just as they were—his smile and the warmth that filled his eyes whenever he spoke to Miles. Maya had allowed him to see his father like that one last time, and for that, he was thankful. That was the vision of his father that would remain in his mind. The body in the casket was secondary to his memories.

During the funeral, there were opportunities for attendees to speak. Miles respectfully declined and asked Eddie to speak on his behalf instead; it was something that they had discussed briefly (Miles never liked to linger on the topic of his father’s funeral for long). He didn’t think he could handle it, and thankfully, his uncle understood.

Eddie couldn't get through his speech without crying, nor could Mia or the handful of other lawyers and police officers who wanted to say a few words. Larry was the last to speak, and his cry was the loudest of all the attendees, which shocked Miles. However, it made sense; he and Larry had been friends since the fourth grade, so it was only natural.

After the funeral concluded, they made their way to the cemetery. The air was bitterly cold as Miles stood outside in the January chill. Despite his reluctance, he forced himself to watch as his father’s casket was lowered into the ground. He removed his gloves to scoop frozen dirt from the ground, feeling the sting of frost against his fingertips. His thoughts drifted back to childhood memories as he tossed the dirt into the grave. As it fell, he kept his eyes on the casket and occasionally glanced at his mother’s headstone, which stood to the right of his father’s.

He wasn’t sure how long he stood there—long after the undertakers had finished burying the casket with fresh sod and long enough for the sun to hang low on the horizon. The wind began to pick up, and most of the attendees had long since left. He could feel his uncle’s presence hovering behind him; it had been a constant ever since he’d shown up at the funeral. He appreciated Eddie giving him space. He wondered if his uncle would let him stay by the grave all night if he wished to.

When he could no longer endure the wind piercing through his coat, he forced himself to turn away from the headstone etched with his father’s name. As he turned, he caught a fleeting glimpse of a figure in blue standing beneath a barren tree. 

Prosecutor Wright.

How long had he been there? Had he been watching Miles all this time? Miles didn’t recall seeing Phoenix during the funeral, but then again, everything had been a hazy blur. He had to actively ground himself throughout the day and keep his focus in the moment. 

He hadn’t spoken to Phoenix since the conclusion of the FQ-9 retrial. There was so much to say, yet Miles couldn’t bring himself to talk to the man. It felt rather ridiculous, really—he had kissed Phoenix in the middle of the courtroom, yet he was too afraid to make a simple phone call. Now, in the cemetery, their paths had crossed once more.

Miles stepped forward, the frozen grass beneath his feet crunching through the cemetery. He didn’t think he would be so noisy, but Phoenix jumped at the sound and hurriedly sped off without a wave or a hint of acknowledgement. 

And so, Miles was left alone, his father’s grave at his back, his arm outstretched, the ghost of Phoenix Wright’s name lingering on his lips.

The rest of January became a blur.

"Easier" would not be the word Miles would use to describe the dull ache of grief. It still thrived within him, a black hole in his heart devouring any memory of his father that surfaced. It didn’t take much; even the smallest things would trigger it. The smell of Colombian dark roast, the sight of an old sedan, the morning paper, or the sound of jazz music—any one of these mundane items would cause him to falter. However, his reactions were less extreme, and he didn’t pass out anymore.

It helped that he wasn’t alone.

Eddie was a constant presence in his life. At first, he spent nearly every day at Miles' apartment. Over time, those sleepovers became less frequent, but Eddie still made an effort to visit once or twice a week. It was comforting, though Miles didn’t express his gratitude as often as he should have. He had been accustomed to weekly dinners with his father, and the first Sunday without him was particularly tough. Eddie’s company helped alleviate some of the emptiness.

Maya and Larry also visited frequently. Miles had grown so used to having friends coming and going in his home that he was beginning to forget what it felt like to be alone. It was ironic in a way; many times during his teenage years, he had fought with his father regarding his need for independence. But now that he was gone, Miles longed for the familiarity and safety of his childhood home.

So, he made the dubious (in his mind) decision to move out of his apartment and purchase his father's home.

Gregory Edgeworth had not left a will. Why would he? He was fifty years old, and as far as he knew, he had a good fifty or so years left ahead of him. Although Miles was a criminal lawyer and not an estate lawyer, Gregory Edgeworth’s name was well-known among nearly every lawyer in the Los Angeles metro area, particularly following the sensational news of his murder case. Miles had no trouble finding someone to help him with the legal aspects of his father's assets: the home, the car, the bank accounts, and the law practice (which he still couldn’t bring himself to visit). Eddie stood by his side throughout the entire process, and when things became too overwhelming, he encouraged Miles to take a break and suggested that he see a therapist.

For once, Miles didn’t argue.

He started seeing a therapist to work through his grief. At his therapist’s suggestion, upon discovering that he was a lifelong dog lover, he decided to adopt a dog: a big, white borzoi he named Pess. His old apartment didn’t allow dogs, and the last one he had owned passed away when he was a teenager. Now that he had his father's home with a spacious yard, it was the perfect opportunity. His therapist referred to her as an “emotional support animal.” Miles hadn’t heard that term before, but based on his therapist’s description, Pess fit the role perfectly. On nights when he woke up in his old bedroom, reeling from nightmares about Gourd Lake or von Karma, Pess would bound up into his bed, curl into his arms—why did big dogs always think they were lap dogs?—and lick his face with her sandpaper-textured tongue. He felt especially grateful for her fluffy white fur, which he could bury himself in, using her like the world’s biggest, fluffiest pillow.

He needed to do one last thing before he felt ready to return to the office. At the end of January, he visited a department store and purchased red slacks and a matching red suit jacket. The grey suit he wore, identical to his father’s, would be stored in a garment bag and kept at the back of his closet. Perhaps one day, when he felt ready, he could wear it again. But until then, the next time Miles stood in court, it would be in burgundy.

With Pess by his side, his regular therapy appointments, his new suit, and his newly purchased journal with a dog pattern on the cover, Miles felt ready to return to Edgeworth and Co. Law Firm in February. Eddie had been managing the office in his absence; it looked the same as usual, except for the empty, heavy presence that loomed from the desk against the far window.

One day in late February, as he worked his way through a new book of sudoku puzzles, the small bell above the firm's entrance chimed. Miles flinched at the sound; it had been so quiet that even the slightest noise made him jump. Mia Fey strolled into the office, her face serious. However, when she saw Miles at his desk, her stern expression softened into a warm smile.

“I’m so glad to see you here, Miles,” she said as she approached his desk. “Maya told me you had started coming in again.”

“Yes, well, I had no choice," Miles replied, marking his current puzzle with a sticky note before closing the book. "Especially since Maya informed me that she had taken a liking to my desk while I was out. I’ve found many burger wrappers in my trash can since my return, along with scattered packs of Steel Samurai trading cards around my desk.”

“Oh? Those weren’t yours?”

“Please,” Miles waved his hand. “My trading cards are at home, stored in a special binder and protected by sheet protectors, where they should be. Maya will regret her careless card habits one of these days.”

Mia laughed. “Perhaps I should give this show a watch since you two seem so enthralled with it."

“If you do, you have to tell me your thoughts on each episode. This is non-negotiable.”

“Maya said the same thing. It’s eerie how similar you two are sometimes; it’s cute. You’re almost like a little brother in that way.”

Heat rose to Miles’ cheeks at her words. Although he had never had a sibling, he wouldn’t mind if Mia Fey wanted to act like his older sister. Over the past few months, as he got to know the Feys, he felt they had quickly become like family to him. Now that he was alone, having a familial bond with someone felt comforting.

“Um, pardon me,” he coughed awkwardly, trying to change the subject gracefully but failing miserably. “But what brings you in? Did something happen?”

“Ah, yes,” Mia’s expression turned serious again. “I suppose you could say that. You see, I’m in the middle of a major case at the moment. I don’t know if you’ve heard, but the Chief Prosecutor has been arrested for the murder of a detective.”

“No,” Miles replied, his mouth open in disbelief. “No, I have not, in fact, heard that. Am I correct to assume that you’re her legal counsel?”

“Yes. Lana, erm, I mean, Chief Prosecutor Skye, is an old friend.” Was it his imagination, or were the tips of Mia’s ears bright pink? “Her little sister came into my office a few days ago, pleading for me to defend the Chief Prosecutor. I couldn’t refuse.”

“That’s very noble of you, but may I ask what that has to do with me?” Miles asked. “Pardon my expression; I don’t mean to sound harsh. I don’t think I’ve ever met the Chief Prosecutor, so I’m not sure how much help I can be.”

“It’s nothing to do with Lana—uh, the Chief Prosecutor. I came to ask you about Prosecutor Wright.” 

“What about him? I haven’t really seen him since the conclusion of the FQ-9 retrial.”

“He’s prosecuting this case.”

“Oh.”

“Why do you look so shocked about that, Miles? It’s his job.”

“I thought… well, considering what happened to him, I assumed he would take a break from the courtroom like I did.”

Mia shook her head. “No, in fact, he’s thrown himself into his work, becoming more of a workaholic than usual and pushing himself to the limit. Or at least, that’s what Detective Gumshoe said. He’s worried about Wright, and so am I. He’s not...well, especially since the body of the murdered detective was found next to Wright’s bike.”

“Wait, are they suspecting him of–”

“No. Lana Skye is my client, remember?”

“Right,” Miles said, releasing the tension he didn’t realize he had in his shoulders. “I would have felt horrible if he were accused of murder again, especially so soon after the last trial.”

“Thankfully, he’s not under suspicion. But,” Mia paused, her expression growing more serious. “He’s worrying all of us. He’s distant, quiet, and the bags under his eyes seem to be increasing. He’s more forgetful than usual. Detective Gumshoe cornered me in the parking garage of the Prosecutor’s Office while Diego and I were investigating and told me all of this. He begged me to help Prosecutor Wright, but I don’t know him that well outside of the courtroom. I figured that if anyone could get through to him, it would be you.”

“Oh,” Miles felt his face heat up. “Because of the kiss.”

“I was going down the route of childhood friends, but if you want to go with the romantic angle, I suppose that works too.”

“Mia, please.”

“It was quite charming the way that you–”

“Please.”

“Alright,” Mia said, smiling again. “But will you do it? Will you go check on Wright for me?”

“Of course I will.”

“Great! I’ll give you his office address. Detective Gumshoe says he hardly leaves. He should be there.” Mia grabbed a spare piece of paper and quickly wrote down the office number. “I know you’re not taking cases right now, and I’m not asking you to get involved, but frankly, this situation is worrying, and—”

“You don’t have to justify it. I’ll help him. I’ll always help him. It’s been the nature of our relationship since we were nine,” Miles said, standing up from his desk and grabbing his coat off the back of his chair. “I’ll go straight away.”

“Would you like me to send Maya out with you?”

“...No,” Miles said after a moment. “Much as I miss her, this is something I’d rather do alone.”

The Los Angeles County Prosecutor’s Office was located in a tall high-rise that towered over the downtown city streets. Miles had never been to their offices before and was awestruck by the size of the skyscraper before him as he approached the building's underground parking garage. It shouldn’t have been surprising, considering the size of the city, but he had never thought about it before, especially since the Edgeworth & Co. office was leased out of a building that housed a variety of businesses.

After the nightmare of trying to find a parking spot, he stepped into the elevator and unfurled the piece of paper that Mia had written the office number on. 1202. Looking at the panel of buttons, he noticed the floors went up into the 20s. He pressed the button for the 12th floor and waited as the elevator hummed, taking its time to reach the top.

When the elevator doors opened, he power-walked down the hall until he reached Phoenix's office. He stopped in front of the door, anxiety building in his stomach; it felt as if a swarm of butterflies had taken flight within him. Raising a shaky hand, he knocked on the door. There was no answer. He waited a few seconds but heard no movement from behind the thick oak. He knocked again, louder this time; the sound of his knuckles striking the wood echoed down the empty hallway of the 12th floor. Still, there was no answer. His hands moved down to the door handle, and without thinking, he turned it. It was unlocked.

“Phoenix?” Miles called out. The room was dark. He flicked the light switch on the wall to his right, illuminating the space. He was alone.

Phoenix’s office was spacious—much more than his own, though to be fair, Phoenix didn’t have to have three desks in a small space. At the center of the room sat Phoenix's desk, an ornate piece with a computer in the middle and a lamp hanging over one side. While that seemed normal enough, what surprised Miles the most was the sheer quantity of papers scattered around the desk, along with an old, coffee-stained mug off to one side. It was an impressive display of chaos. Miles didn’t know why, but he thought the prosecutor would be a neater, like himself. 

A plush couch was on the left side of the room, and a gaudy outfit was framed above it. Phoenix certainly had an interesting taste in decor. Behind the desk was a set of small square shelves filled with coffee canisters, files, mugs, and, surprisingly to Miles, several expensive, intricate volumes of Shakespearean plays.

Miles was admiring a ficus in the corner, musing to himself about Phoenix’s gardening habits, when he heard someone clear their throat behind him.

“Is breaking into offices one of your hobbies, Mr. Edgeworth?” Phoenix asked, standing in the doorway with his arms folded and the corners of his mouth upturned into a wry smile.

“The door was unlocked,” Miles replied after his pulse stopped hammering in his ears. “I would hardly describe that as breaking and entering. Therefore, you can’t charge me with a crime.”

Phoenix entered the room, breezing past Miles without a second glance. “You’re a very shrewd man,” he said as he took a seat at his desk. “What brings you here? Do you need help?”

“I could ask you the same thing,” Miles said. He remained fixed in place by the ficus, watching as Phoenix pushed away a legal pad with several scratched-out pen marks on the top page. 

Phoenix paused. “Are you asking me why I’m here? In my office?”

“No, Phoenix—uh, I mean, Wright. Prosecutor Wright,” Miles fumbled, tripping over his words. “I was referring to the last part of your sentence. Do you need help?”

“Hm, let me amend my previous statement. You’re a very shrewd and confusing man, Edgeworth.”

Phoenix had been pushing the legal pad further and further away as they spoke. It now teetered on the edge of the desk. Although Miles was a bit far away, he could make out a few words written on the yellowed paper.  Something that began with an “r” was prominent on the page.

Noticing Miles's gaze, Phoenix remarked, “A very shrewd, confusing, and nosy man.”

“How many more adjectives are you planning to add to your statement?” Miles asked.

“As many as is necessary. I keep noticing things about you.”

“Shouldn’t you be more focused on the work you keep pushing away?”

“I would, if it weren’t for the fact that I have a red-suited burglar in my office. That color looks good on you, by the way. I think red suits you.”

“Thank you,” Miles said. “It was time for a change.”

“I understand that all too well.”

A silence fell between them. Phoenix continued to look at him, but he didn’t seem eager to break the silence. The floor was open, and Miles realized it was up to him to make the first move. “You’re avoiding my question, Phoenix.”

“Did you ask one?”

“Yes, and you know I did.”

“Care to jog my memory?”

Miles sighed and approached the desk. “Do you need help?”

“With…?” Phoenix asked, raising an eyebrow. “My current case? Did you find out about it? I guess I shouldn’t be shocked; it’s all over the news. The media is sensationalizing the hell out of it. They’ve been particularly fond of dragging me through the mud, something they haven’t done since my first year as a prosecutor.”

“They are?” Miles asked. “What are they saying?”

“So you haven’t noticed? The pictures in the paper featuring my scowling face? The big, bold headlines about the return of the demon prosecutor?”

“I haven’t read the paper much since December.”

Phoenix paused, his scowl softening. “Right. Sorry. I didn’t mean to bring up anything painful.”

“I’m alright,” Miles reassured him. “Really, I am. My dog and a bit of therapy have done wonders.”

“Hm, wouldn’t have pegged you as a dog guy. You give off more of a scowly cat vibe.”

“I had a dog when I was young. You probably met him when you stayed over. You don’t remember?”

Phoenix smiled sadly. “I don’t like to reflect much on my childhood. I prefer to leave it in the past. No offense.”

Now it was Miles’ turn to feel ashamed. “Oh. Sorry. I didn’t mean to bring up anything–”

“It’s alright,” Phoenix said, raising his hand to cut him off before he could finish his sentence. “Now, returning to your previous statement: you want to help me with this case? I might have been more willing to hear you out if you were a fellow prosecutor, but since you’re a defense attorney, I’m not going to accept your help. For all I know, Mia Fey could have sent you over here.”

“She did.”

Phoenix blinked in shock. “Oh. I didn’t think you’d be so willing to admit that. So, you came over here at Fey’s request to pry information out of me?”

“This has nothing to do with your case. Mia only gave me the basics,” Miles replied. “I came here for you. She just stopped by my office and asked me to come. She’s worried about you.”

At that, Phoenix laughed. “Mia Fey is worried about me? Why? She dislikes me, and I—well, I mean, I don’t hate her. She’s just… intense. And scary. And a little intimidating. She’s a hell of a lawyer, though. I wish she were a prosecutor sometimes; I would love to work with her.”

Miles waited patiently for Phoenix to finish his rambling. “You’re deflecting again,” he remarked. “I’ve noticed you do that a lot. When someone asks you a question that you don’t want to answer, you go off on a tangent, probably to distract them so you don’t have to respond. That won’t work on me.”

Phoenix inhaled slowly. “Why should I,” he asked, leaning forward on his hands, “be concerned about what Mia Fey thinks is wrong with me?”

“Forget about Mia,” Miles said, meeting Phoenix’s gaze. “She’s not the only one worried about you; I am, too. You can focus on my concern instead, how about that? She told me about how you’ve been acting.”

“And how is that?”

“Really, Wright?” Miles replied in exasperation. “You want me to spell it out? To tell you something that we both already know? That resignation letter you’re attempting to write tells me enough.”

Phoenix froze, his expression blank. After a moment, a dark chuckle escaped his lips. “You can see it from over there, can you?”

“I could see the beginning of the letter from my spot near the ficus,” Miles explained. “As I approached your desk and took my current position, I was able to see the words more clearly. You practically pushed it into my sight. It’s like you wanted me to see it.”

“I didn’t,” Phoenix said, dragging the legal pad back to himself. He tore off the paper that had the word “resignation” written on it, crumpled it up, and tossed it into the trash can in one smooth motion. “There. Now you don’t have to see it.”

“Phoenix—Wright,” Miles sighed, leaning over the desk. “Why do you want to resign?”

“Because I’m tired, Edgeworth,” Phoenix replied. He looked as if he had aged twenty years. “I feel like something inside me has died. My life has been off the rails since December, and the current spotlight hasn’t helped. I’ve hurt many people while studying under that… that man.”

Phoenix turned away, breaking his gaze from Miles. He swiveled around in his desk chair and focused his attention out the window. “I became a prosecutor to save people,” he said quietly. “I wanted to help victims, to save them from the hell that I experienced. But now, after everything? I realize that I may have put many innocent people away under false convictions. I don’t deserve to be a prosecutor. I haven’t saved anyone.”

“Phoenix,” Miles said softly as he walked around the desk to approach him. Phoenix kept his focus out the window, his eyes distant. “That’s not–”

“I don’t want to talk about this anymore,” Phoenix interrupted. “You should leave.”

“Regardless, we need to talk. I haven’t seen you in two months and–”

“I’m not in the mood.”

“Oh.”

Phoenix’s words stung. Miles had thought they were making progress, especially after the kiss they shared during Phoenix’s verdict in the courtroom. Had he made a mistake? Had he acted too soon?

“It has nothing to do with you,” Phoenix said, as if he could read Miles’ mind. “Please don’t ever think that.”

“I just want you to talk with me.”

“I don’t feel like it.”

“Fine. We don’t have to talk today, but how about later? Perhaps over coffee?”

“Perhaps.”

“Can you at least look at me?”

Phoenix sighed and spun back around. “I don’t want to promise you anything, Edgeworth. I would feel like shit if I broke a promise to you.”

“Miles.”

“Hm?”

“Please call me Miles. Edgeworth is so stiff and formal, and it reminds me of my father.”

“Ah, of course,” Phoenix nodded. “Sorry about that. Looks like I hurt you again.”

Miles shook his head. “You didn’t. You haven’t. You never could.”

“You’re a much more optimistic man than I thought you’d be.”

“Hm, so I believe that now brings me up to shrewd, confusing, nosy, and optimistic.”

At that comment, Phoenix laughed, and Miles’ heart skipped a beat. At least he could make Phoenix happy, even if it were for a brief, fleeting moment. “That you are, Miles. That you are.”

Miles stepped back, giving Phoenix some space. “I’ll take my leave then. But Phoenix, I’m serious about meeting for coffee. We have a lot to discuss.”

“Tell you what, after this case, I’ll call you,” Phoenix said. His tone was casual, but Miles noticed a dullness beneath his eyes.

“Do you promise that?”

“Yes.”

“Okay,” Miles nodded. He took the scrap of paper with Phoenix’s office number written on it and flipped it over, using one of the pens on his desk to write on the back. He gently slid the paper to Phoenix. “That’s my phone number. Call me any time you want to talk, alright?”

Phoenix nodded, grabbing the paper and slipping it into his pocket. 

“Thank you, Miles.”

“Anytime.”

“Have a nice rest of your evening, okay? And stay out of trouble. It likes to find you disturbingly often.”

“Oh, I’m aware,” Miles replied as he headed to the door. “And if you need anything—”

“Yeah, yeah, I get the point.”

“Just looking out for you.”

“I appreciate it.”

“Goodbye, Phoenix.”

“Goodbye, Miles.”

Miles quietly shut the door to Phoenix’s office, the soft click echoing in the stillness of the corridor. Although his plans for a coffee date hadn’t been shut down, he couldn’t escape the feeling of melancholy creeping into his heart.

It was late. Much too late to be working, but that had never stopped him before.

Phoenix Wright sat in his darkened office, the only light coming from his small desk lamp and the moonlight streaming through the window behind him. He listened as the line on the other end of his phone rang—straight to voicemail. Again. He sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose.

“Franziska, please talk to me,” he said into the receiver once her voicemail box beeped. “I’m not mad at you; I promise. You had nothing to do with what he did. You were literally three. Can you please call me back? I’m getting worried about you. The only reason I know you’re still alive is that the Berlin office told me when I called. I just want to talk to you before—ah, never mind. Just call me, alright? On my personal phone.”

He hung up, knowing she was unlikely to respond. If he wanted to talk with his sister, he would have to find her himself, and he wasn't particularly keen on traveling to Germany at the moment.

He uncrumpled the wad of paper he had placed on top of his trash can—the same one Edgeworth had noticed earlier that day. Smoothing it out, he drew an “X” through the half-written resignation on the front and flipped it over. He wrote one small, simple sentence and signed his name. Rising from his desk, he positioned the note front and center, collected his briefcase and coat, and headed for the door. As he glanced around his office, taking it in for the last time, his mind drifted to Edgeworth. This decision would hurt him, but Edgeworth was smart enough to understand his words; he knew he’d understand. When Phoenix was ready, once he had his life together, he would return. Maybe then they could sit down over coffee and figure out what the hell they really were to each other.

He turned off the lights in his office and shut the door, officially ending the life of Prosecutor Wright. From the ashes of his fallen career, he would rise anew as simply Phoenix Wright. What kind of man he would become, he didn’t know, but deep in his heart, he hoped that Miles Edgeworth would be there when he returned, accepting him with open arms and the calm, logical demeanor that Phoenix had come to love him for.