Chapter Text
“When I grow up, I’m going to be a famous defense attorney, just like my father! Didn’t I tell you that already?”
Larry Butz ran a finger across his wrinkled nose. “Probably too busy playing with lost puppies to notice. Anyway! Want any of my kinder eggs?”
"Perhaps just one, out of curiousity. Though I fail to see how it qualifies as an 'egg' in anything but name."
"Fine!" Larry stuffed one egg into his stuffy friend's pants pocket. "See ya later! I'll be at the arcade if you wanna hang out!"
Miles Edgeworth, age nine, shook his head and sighed as his companion strutted down the sunny neighbourhood street. Every grown-up asked what you wanted to be, and every kid obliged. But when he dared answer that, with enthusiasm, suddenly he was the weird kid. The one who took everything too seriously. Why not take everything seriously? In his opinion, the problem with society today was that kids didn’t take everything seriously enough!
Still, Larry wanted to know why Miles was carrying a stack of books that weren’t assigned homework, and he answered. Shouldn’t that be enough? Heck, shouldn’t the fact he was carrying books about law specifically answer the question for him? Honestly, subtlety was an underappreciated art-form.
“Those books look kinda heavy, Edgeworth.” Phoenix Wright stood on his tiptoes, spiky head poking just above the tallest stack. “You sure you don’t want any help?”
“I can carry my own load just fine, Wright.”
“Not even one?”
“Well...” Oh darn it, how could Miles say no to those puppy-dog eyes? Besides, some of them were kinda heavy. “You can carry the legal transcripts from the Old Bailey in London--here, at the bottom, see? But be careful, it’s very old.”
“Sure thing!” Wright slipped his hands underneath, and slid the thick, three-volume wide book out. With a small grunt, he took the book out--or almost did, but got stuck.
“Here.” Miles bumped up the books with his left knee, and slid them a bit further towards the other boy. Their hands brushed, cool yet warm.
“Ah--!” Wright drew his hand back quickly with two books in-hand. They hid his face, yet not enough to disguise his red ears. Sunburn already? Summer vacation had just begun!
“Oh!” Wright said suddenly. “I took two books instead of one, didn’t I? Oops!”
“It’s all right. Let’s get going.”
The boys walked together down the sidewalk. A gentle breeze balanced the warmth and cold. Miles neither froze in his shorts, nor roasted in his button-up sweater. Best of all, pollen season had already come and gone, so the breeze didn’t even trigger his allergies! If only everyday could be like today...
“Hey, Edgeworth?” Wright piped up. “Can I ask a question?”
“I believe you’ve already asked a question by simply proposing it. If there’s something you want to know, you can go ahead and ask.”
“Yeah, well...you said you wanted to become a defense attorney like your dad, right? When we met?”
“Technically, we met the first day of school.”
“No, I mean--when we became friends. That classroom trial?”
“Ah, yes, I remember now. And yes, I told you, and Larry. As I repeated to him just now.”
“Oh yeah! I'll go meet up with him at the arcade in a bit! I still owe him a good rematch over the claw machine!" Wright wrinkled his nose and nodded fervently. "A, anyway, I was just wondering if, you know...it began cuz of me? Or if you’ve always wanted to be a lawyer? Something like that?”
“Whatever do you mean? Of course I’ve always wanted to be a defense attorney.” Miles looked to his ear-burned friend. “One of my earliest memories is father giving me a ‘legalese for kids’ book for my birthday, along with a book about Japanafornia’s legal history. That was all I’d asked for.”
He lifted his head. Memories of sitting in the gallery, watching his father speak with fire and passion before the judge, gently flooded in. He could already taste the burger and fries his father got him for lunch during recess, advising him to eat up quickly before they had to go back, but not too quickly (Uncle Eddie, of course, always shared his fries). While not every case stood out, Miles could still perfectly recall his father’s most persistent argument:
“It is our duty to society to stand for the weak and defenseless, regardless of innocence or guilt. I stand in court to carry out my duty, happily. Everyone deserves the chance for a fair trial, to speak their side of the story, to speak the truth.”
After it was over, regardless of who won or lost, his father would take Miles to the elevator and ask what he would like for supper that night. Sometimes, Uncle Eddie came along; other times, he parted with a hug to both.
“My great-great grandfather was a lawyer, too!” Wright blurted out. “He died before I was born. The year I was born, I think. I wish I’d gotten to meet him. Then we could all swap stories together.”
“Yes, it would be fascinating to hear. If you find anything about him, you’ll have to tell me.”
Wright pat the bottom of the Old Bailey transcripts. “For sure! It sounds like being a real-life signal samurai!”
Huh. Miles had never heard it described like that before. But it made sense, now that he thought of it. Perhaps that’s why he was drawn to the samurai shows. “I suppose it does. You have such a unique way of looking at things, Wright.”
“So do you, Edgeworth!”
Soon, the gate to Miles’ home came within sight. His father worked from home on the weekends, so his car was in the driveway. The lush greenery swayed in the breeze, the sun sparkled just off the top of the gate lights. A small shadow from overhead cast across the cement, just touching the tips of the boys' shoes.
“Well, here we are. I can handle my books the rest of the way.” Miles opened the wooden gate with his spare hand. “You can just stack them on top.”
“Sure thing.” Wright walked over to him, then stopped. “Say, Edgeworth? Is it possible to like boys and girls at the same time?”
“I don’t see why not.” Miles raised his book stack.
“Really? Wow! Okay!” Wright let out a small, flustered laugh as he handed the books over. “Is there anyone you like, then?”
“I like hanging out with you and Larry.”
“No, I mean...like-like? You know?”
“I just told you, didn’t I?”
“That’s not what I mean!”
“Never mind.” Miles sighed as he stepped back with the full stack of books. “Clearly, this is another self-contradictory social cue everyone expects me to understand.”
“No! I totally get it!" Wright's book-less arms waved as he laughed and rubbed his neck. "I meant, like...if you wanted to give a Valentine’s Day card to someone, and not cuz the teacher told you to get a card for everyone, just a card you wanted to give, who would it be to?”
“Isn’t it obvious? You. I like spending time with you. You’re my best friend. What else is there to it?”
“R, really?” Wright’s voice squawked. His cheeks flushed and eyes sparkled. “Thanks, Edgeworth!”
“What are you thanking me for? I haven’t gotten you anything yet.”
“I mean--” Wright laughed. His laugh made Miles’ heart flutter, just a little bit. Was that what he meant by ‘like’? He didn’t like Larry the same way. Pah. Social cues.
“Anyway,” Miles said, “thank you for accompanying me. I appreciate it very much.”
“No problem! You sure you don’t want me to come in and read with you? Or get Larry to come down?”
“No, I prefer reading and studying alone. But I’ll meet up with you and Larry at the arcade at two-thirty.”
“Great! Don’t forget to bring your key chain!” The other boy waved. “See you later, Signal Red!”
“And you, too, Signal Blue.”
Miles turned, and walked towards the door, Wright’s footsteps echoing behind him.
“Miles!” The door opened, and there stood Miles’ father. “Welcome home! Oh! My! You're carrying too much! Let me take one!"
"It's all right, father. I can handle these from here."
"Then let me keep the door open for you." Father held the door, and stepped back. "Did you find everything okay?”
“I found exactly what I was looking for.” Miles stepped inside. “Phoenix Wright helped me carry some of these home.”
“My, that Phoenix Wright sure is a good friend, isn’t he? You know he’s welcome to come over any time he wants? Do his parents know that?”
“His mother does, yes." Miles walked across the living room. "I told him I prefer reading alone. I’ll meet up with him and Larry at the arcade later.”
“That’s good!” Father rubbed his brow. “You know, Miles, I’m glad you’re so passionate and dedicated to your studies, but you should make some time for play, you know? Even I get bored if I do nothing but work all day. I need to do something fun to shake my mind loose a little. I sometimes play minesweep.” He paused. “Okay, bad example. I sometimes play mahjong. After losing minesweep five times in a row.”
“I’m making time for play.” Miles set the books down on the coffee table. “Like I told you.”
“Of course, of course. And it’s always more fun with friends, right?”
“I suppose so. Phoenix Wright knows how to make the playground a lot more fun.”
Father smiled. “Phoenix Wright sounds like a good kid.”
“He is. In fact, his great-great grandfather was a defense attorney, too.”
“Was he, now? I’ll have to hear more about--oh, shoot! Excuse me, Miles! I’m letting the air in!”
“Go ahead, father.”
Miles sat, and cracked open a book.
His father closed the door.
...
“Me? I...I’m not quite sure.”
Miles spoke softly, clutching his sleeve, staring at his black, patented leather shoes. He stood above the freshly-filled grave, and tried not to look at the rain-streaked tombstone. Don’t think about whose funeral this is. Don’t think about who’s in that coffin. Don’t think about why I’m here now.
Don’t think about the hollow space in your chest, where your heart once lay. Don’t think about that elevator, until the trial.
Just...don’t think, at all. Act.
“It’s all right, Miles. You don’t have to know what you want to do just yet. I only asked so I know how to help. I can figure it out on my own. Us law students are quite smart, but clueless, eh?”
Bruni von Karma spoke with such a gentle assurance. Fourteen going on fifteen, and already, she was about to graduate in a few short months. Would Miles ever be as confident as she appeared to be? Ever be capable of holding himself together? He knew it wasn’t impossible. There was a time when he slept peacefully, when his stomach didn’t turn at the ping-ping of elevator doors. In theory, it wasn’t that long ago. His father had only been--gone--for a month now. The funeral had only just been properly arranged, after the investigation was over.
And yet, the memory of that time was fading fast.
“Little brother.” Franziska von Karma tugged at Miles’ sleeve. He gazed down. How much did she understand? Probably not much, but enough that he couldn’t convince her he was fine. “This is making you sad. Let’s go home.”
“In a minute, okay, Franziska?” Miles lifted his head, and blinked. He wanted to cry, yet no tears came. He wanted to scream, yet his throat was too tight. Most of all, he wanted to wake up back in his bed, the morning of his father’s trial, to the smell of pancakes from the kitchen, yet he’d woken up that morning in a much-too big bed to a nightmare where he’d been much-too small.
“Then I will stay with you until that minute is up!” Franziska insisted, patting the riding crop by her side.
“Ah, but Franny,” Bruni smiled and ‘booped’ the young girl’s nose, “when will you have time for your nap?”
“Naptime can wait! Our little brother--” Franziska yawned. “--cannot!”
Miles wished he was in a better mood to appreciate her loyalty. Yet all he could think was:
Do I deserve it?
At least Bruni knew how to talk to her. Miles had only known the pair for a month, and already, he could tell the older knew how to handle her better than he did. Almost like a mother. Part of him still felt embarrassed to have mistaken her for a boy when they first met--her cropped silver hair and suit had made it hard to tell at first glance. She’d gently laughed it off, and didn’t even act offended. Then she guided him around the mansion. She made everything look so...easy.
“Bruni. Franziska.”
Miles’ head shot up. The tall, gray-haired man approached them, stern-faced and steady-browed. The same man who had visited Miles in the hospital, the morning after--everything--and offered to have him stay with his family, until he’d found a home.
“Mr. Von Karma.” Miles bowed his head slightly. “Thank you for arranging this. It was quite the lovely ceremony, sir.”
“It is of little trouble to me at all. I wish to speak with you, before we leave. Bruni, take your sister to the limousine, and wait for us there.”
“But papa, I’m not...” Franziska yawned again, and rubbed her eyes as Bruni scooped her up.
“Miles will be all right,” Bruni assured her. “He’ll be safe with papa there.”
Von Karma almost reached up to his right shoulder, then stopped. “Indeed. We shall be there shortly. Oh, and Bruni? Don’t let your sister have any chocolate until after naptime.”
“See?” Bruni encouraged the already droopy-eyed girl as she walked off. “You’ll get to have chocolate after you nap!”
Miles almost called out to them, then stopped. No, he shouldn’t be a burden. Bruni already had one sibling to take care of. Franziska was too little to understand, nor should she. Besides, Manfred Von Karma was a prosecutor--not only that, but the God among prosecutors. What safer person could he be around than that?
“Miles Edgeworth.” Von Karma placed a hand upon his shoulder. “When we first met, I told you this arrangement would be temporary. That as soon as I found an opening for you, I would send you to an orphanage, or adoptive family.”
“I know, sir.” Miles did not dare ask if he had. Would it be imposing on his guardian’s generosity? As if he wasn’t grateful? Manfred von Karma was not cruel, but he was not gentle. If something was necessary, it was to be kept. If something was unnecessary, it was to be tossed out in the trash. Had Miles become ‘unnecessary’? Did von Karma know how he’d rescued the red key chain? He couldn’t have, unless he went searching through the nightstand drawer. But he wouldn’t, would he?
“So far,” von Karma went on, “I have not found an opening for you.”
“Oh. I see.”
“If you would like, you may stay with my family just a little bit longer.”
“Oh! That’d be--I mean.” Miles turned away. “I wouldn’t want to impose.”
“It is of no imposition at all. Rather...it is my duty. That is, after all, the duty of a prosecutor: to defend the weak and defenseless.”
“So...like a defense attorney?”
“No! I--” Von Karma stopped, mid-scowl, and relaxed his face, with a sigh. “It is not exactly like a defense attorney. You could say our duties are two sides of the same coin. Yanni Yogi’s trial is coming up shortly. He’s the most likely suspect to have so cruelly taken your father from you. Would you rather see him behind bars, or free to orphan more children?”
“I--” Miles’ throat dried, and tightened. Yogi had to have killed his father. He was the only one who could. If not, then...that horrible nightmare--no. It was just a nightmare. That’s all it was. “I’d...want to know what happened. And see justice done. That’s...what you do, right?”
“Yes. Of course.” Von Karma let go of Miles’ shoulder. “Let us not be mistaken: I have no intention of replacing your father. I recognize that I never can, and never will. But I will not toss you to the wolves. You have my word on that.” He lifted a hand. “I will prepare you for Yogi’s trial, and stay by your side, through and beyond the very end, to separate the wolves from the sheep.”
Manfred von Karma seems a little scary, but I can trust him, I think. Father also spoke of our duty to help the weak and defenseless. He told me once that the prosecution and defense both work to seek the truth. If he wants to seek justice, like my father...maybe he’s not so bad?
“Thank you, sir.” Miles shook von Karma’s huge, cold hand. “I look forward to your help.”
“The pleasure is all mine.”
Their hands parted. Again, von Karma lifted a hand to his right shoulder.
“Is something wrong, sir?”
“Oh, no, nothing at all. Just a bit of rheumatoid arthritis. It is an inherited condition, I’m afraid.” Von Karma turned for the limousine, and drew his hands back. “Follow me.”
As the pair walked across the cemetery together, Miles glanced over his shoulder at his father’s grave. Father’s dead. He was murdered. He’s never coming back. And I'm going to put his killer behind bars.
Miles turned away, and clutched his right arm. His left hand curled into a tight fist.
They reached the limousine, the car door already open. Miles slid inside.
Manfred shut the door.
...
“Of course I plan to stick to this path. Why wouldn’t I, detective?”
The twenty-year-old prosecutor didn’t know whether to be insulted or amused by the good detective’s questions at the courthouse. His first trial--well, first officially-begun trial, anyway--and the burly man dared to ask if it was too much for him?
“Th, that’s not what I meant, sir!” Detective Gumshoe saluted him. “I just wanted to make sure you were okay!”
“Rest assured, I will be quite fine.” Miles crossed his arms and tapped his right shoulder. “I have yet to properly win, and so I have yet to formally lose. Terry Fawles’ cowardly suicide was his own fault, a reflection of his own weak character. It’s not as if I poisoned him. Why should I feel guilty?”
“And you shouldn’t, sir! You just...looked a little pale after...”
“Well, it was quite the shocking sight, wasn’t it? Besides, Mia Fey also paled at the sight, and I don’t see you questioning her competence, even though you should.” Miles turned up his nose. “Really, the young blood has no respect for their elders anymore, do they?”
“I mean...” Gumshoe scratched his neck. “You could’ve been nicer to her...”
“This is a courtroom, not a playground. I am under no obligation to be ‘nice’ to those who seek to defend criminals. Perhaps Terry Fawles was not as guilty as previously thought, but he was still guilty of attempted kidnapping and murder. That is not up for debate.” Miles smirked. “Really, what did Fey even plan to do? Argue he should be allowed to walk free? Need I remind you, he was ‘dating’ a fourteen-year-old girl, when he was nineteen. Isn’t that enough grounds for suspicion?”
“Well, I’m not saying he was a nice guy, but it’s not him I’m worried about.” Gumshoe gave him a sad smile. “I’m worried about you. Your first big case, and it all goes wrong so fast...”
“At least Fawles had the courtesy of administering justice to himself, if his lawyer was determined to deny me the right to do it to him.” Miles began to turn for the court doors.
“Prosecutor Edgeworth.”
“Yes?” Fine. Humour the idiot detective for a few minutes. If he’s determined to find a problem that isn’t there, let him find it. Be prepared to dismiss it.
“My office is open anytime you wanna talk, sir.”
“Of course I’ll need to talk with you. We do have to go over the evidence together, do we not?”
“I mean, if you want a friend.”
‘Friend’? Really, now? Friends were a distraction, an unnecessary part of the job. There was no room for personal feelings on the job. If this detective didn’t understand that, he’d be out of a job quite fast.
“I’m flattered you think of me as a ‘friend’, detective. However, our interactions are strictly professional, and it would be best if that is how they remained.”
“Okay, sir. I guess...” Gumshoe sighed. “I just wanted to thank you. For what you did for me last time.”
‘Last time’--ah. That. The trial that never was. The one where, somehow, Gumshoe ended up accused of murdering a prosecutor and suspect. And Miles pointed the finger towards the real culprit: a defense attorney. Naturally. Those creatures could never be trusted to truly care about justice. Why else would they defend criminals?
“It was of no consequence. I only cared to find the truth.”
“Well, it was that ‘care’ that saved me. I wouldn’t be here today, if it weren’t for you.” Miles looked over his shoulder. Gumshoe gave him a bright, sincere smile. “I hope you keep fighting for the truth, sir.”
“I plan to. Good day, Detective Gumshoe.”
Miles turned to the court doors.
“Here, let me!”
Gumshoe ran in front, and pushed it open.
“Thank you, detective.”
Miles raised his head, and marched out into the sunset.
Gumshoe closed the door.
...
“As for I...I, as residing prosecutor over this case, as someone with a duty to the public, and as a human being with a shred of decency, I argue that this man is a danger to the public, and deserves nothing less than the death penalty.”
Miles slammed his right hand upon the desk, glaring at the pale Joe Darke on the stand. “That, Your Honour, is my final request on this matter.”
The man was clearly guilty. The facts spoke for themselves. He’d killed several people, all in pursuit of covering up an accident. Worst of all, he had killed a prosecutor, after almost killing a scared child. Any excuses Darke’s pathetic excuse of a defense attorney could use had quickly been ripped to shreds, one by one, in rapid succession, by Miles. He had to. What kind of man would he be if he allowed scum like that to go free?
“HOLD IT!”
Detective Angel Starr slammed her hands upon the stand. “Your Honour, we only have circumstantial evidence on Joe Darke, nothing more. You cannot go through with a ruling just yet. Give us a few more hours, more time--”
“More time to find an excuse?” Miles sneered. “More time to aid the ostensibly guilty? This man murdered one of your colleagues. Would you rather see his killer unpunished?”
“We don’t know if he actually killed him!”
“I have a list of evidence from Deputy Chief Damon Gant. Surely, that’s enough for you?”
Gant sat in the front row of the gallery, proudly tugging at his tie. Detective Lana Skye sat beside him, eyes downcast, one hand folded over the other. The poor woman’s sister was nearly killed by this madman. A police detective, of all people, should not be fighting on this man’s behalf. If Angel Starr didn’t see that, what business did she have calling herself one?
“Believe me, I want to see Neil Marshall’s killer behind bars, too.” Angel spoke with fire in her eyes. “And if you can’t confirm this man is his killer, then the real killer will walk free, an innocent condemned in his place. Is that really what you want, prosecutor?”
Miles narrowed his eyes. “If we let this matter go right now, then an actual killer will walk free, and slaughter more innocents. Is that really what you want, detective?”
Angel tossed her head back. "You say you have 'a list of evidence'? May I see that list?"
"I've already gone over it with the police."
"I don't seem to recall getting to look over it, but I did hear it was quite short." Angel sharpened her eyes. "I'd like to take a look, make sure it's not too short."
"Not every crime is a conspiracy, Detective Starr." Miles spoke tensely. "There is no grand mystery at play here. The facts of the case are quite simple and straightforward: Deputy Chief Gant, and Prosecutor Marshall, interviewed Joe Darke over his crimes--"
"Alleged crimes."
"--and he took off, ran, attacked Ema Skye, and killed Prosecutor Marshall. We have not one, but two, witnesses to account for this."
"Witnesses who saw the very moment Darke killed him? Oh, and that 'confession'? That one the lawyer over there told us about--"
"Detective." Miles wagged a finger at her. "That evidence list is short for a very good reason: because there's no need for it. Evidence is everything, after all, and we have all the evidence we need. We have the facts of the case, and two reputable witnesses. Surely, you're not going to take the word of some vicious criminal over that of your superiors? Really, now." He smirked. "The youth have no respect for the old guard anymore."
"I'm older than you, brat!" Angel snapped.
“If I may,” Darke’s lawyer interjected, “I would like to point to the extenuating circumstances at the time. Given the pressure Joe Darke was under, it might not be unreasonable to plead insanity--”
SLAM.
Miles slammed the desk hard enough for pain to shoot through his hand. But no matter. It didn’t burn half as much as hearing that asinine defense did. “We have gone through this already! Darke’s mental health records--”
“Which you presented without showing me first--”
“--showed no sign of mental illness! None whatsoever! Just reckless neuroses!"
"Regardless, this is still conjecture!" the lawyer protested. "All you have is circumstantial evidence! You have nothing to directly link my client to that murder!"
"Do I?" Miles could barely contain his excitement. He'd been careful, diligent, to not show his full deck all at once. Just like how Manfred von Karma had taught him: "A good prosecutor does not deal his hand too soon. He is patient, careful, lying in the dark, waiting to spring his greatest trap, like a hunter. If you lay that trap out too soon, your opponent will quickly disarm it. If, however, you lay out one small trap for your opponent, he will be so focused upon that, that he will not see the much greater one until it is too late."
The hardest part was always waiting. And now, that waiting had paid off.
"So." Miles spoke. "You believe this case is purely circumstantial, do you? That all I have is a series of unfortunate coincidences, and nothing more?"
"Precisely! So now, Your Honour, I believe we can--"
"Except," Miles smirked, "we have the murder weapon buried right in the victim's back."
The lawyer blinked and frowned. “Excuse me?”
"This," Miles pulled out a small plastic bag with the knife tip inside, "was found inside the victim's back. And this," he took out a second with a pocket knife, "matches the missing tip from Joe Darke's blade."
Joe Darke paled. The gallery buzzed and whispered. Now, he had the killer, right where he wanted. He would hang for this crime, Miles was certain of that.
“Wh-where did--” Darke whispered.
“Do you deny it?” Miles spoke icily, glaring at the wretched excuse of a human being.
“I--that’s not true! None of it’s true!”
"Are you still going to claim that, in the fact of overwhelming evidence? The knife even has your fingerprints all over it. And need I remind this court, that this man is also a serial murderer?"
"That--that's taken out of context!" Darke babbled. "I accidentally hit and ran over that lady, I admit it! But that's all! I just took off after, that's it! I have no idea what happened to the rest, but--"
"You confessed to Deputy Chief Gant."
"To the one death! Then he started putting words in my mouth and tricked me into--"
"--into what? Revealing the bottomless depths to which you'll sink, all to satisfy your homicidal desires?"
Darke kept shaking his word and mouthing 'no'. Of course he’d lie, so easily, just like that. Who did he think he was fooling? The guilty always lied, they never faced their just desserts with even a shred of dignity. Time and time again, Miles had seen it. Some had an absolute meltdown right in the middle of court; others pleaded for their innocence, sobbing, sniveling. If Darke thought he was the first or only criminal to try this little trick, it was time for him to wake up.
“My, my, Joe Darke.” Miles shrugged. “It would seem your whole life is one long string of unfortunate accidents and coincidences, now isn’t it? Until now, you’ve been incredibly lucky. Today, however,” he slammed his hand on the desk again, less hard, “your luck has run out, and will take you straight to the noose!”
As Darke began stammering once more, Miles lifted his head. “Your Honour. You’ve heard Deputy Chief Gant’s testimony, and Detective Skye’s. You’ve heard and seen the evidence for yourself. And, you know of Joe Darke’s true character. End this charade, now.”
The judge nodded. “Very well. If there are no further objections, we can pass ruling over this case now.”
Naturally, the pathetic lawyer pleaded:
“Give us just one more day! Please! Extend the trial just one more day! Give us enough time!”
The judge shook his head. “I’m sorry, but you have run out of extensions. Your client has run out of chances.” He slammed his gavel once more. “I hereby declare the defendant, Joe Darke...Guilty.”
Darke cried out and fell to his knees, face buried in his hands, shoulders trembling. Really, why should he be surprised? He had to have known what the outcome would be. But still, he’d decided the risk was worth it. Did he truly think that Gant wouldn't care about his own colleague getting murdered? That attacking that poor girl wouldn’t give Lana the ammo she needed?
Today, he’d learned his lesson. It would, perhaps, be the final lesson he would ever learn.
“Your sentence will be decided by a higher court at a later date.” The judge’s voice rang out. “Until then--”
“NO!” Darke leaped to his feet. “Please, sir! I didn't do it! I didn't kill that prosecutor! I swear I never laid a hand to him!”
He was still pleading that? Even after all the testimony, all the evidence? His ruling had been passed, he only now had to wait for the sentence.
“Sir, maybe we can work for jail time instead?” The lawyer suggested.
“No.” Miles’ voice rang out. “Your Honour. I strongly recommend the death penalty for this man. He has taken many innocent lives already. Do not leave any room for one more.”
“No, no, no!” Darke stumbled towards Miles (the court bailiff held him back, and cuffed his wrists). “I don’t know what that cop thinks he saw, but it wasn't me, I tell you! Please! Believe me! I didn't kill him! I’m innocent, please, don’t do this! I don’t want to die, I never laid a hand on him! Please help me! Please!”
What was this feeling, in Miles’ gut? An unnecessary one. Doubt. Of course it’d be natural for it to be there. That’s what the criminals wanted. That doubt was what allowed Yogi to go free. It was what allowed countless criminals to walk free.
And he would not allow it to fester.
Miles slammed his hand once more. “Face your punishment with dignity! You signed your own death warrant the moment you shed blood the first time! Accept your blood-stained signature, and do not dare to erase it!”
The stunned whispers behind had long ceased to bother him. If everyone wanted to dub him a ‘demon’ for matching evil in equal measure, so be it. At least he had the courage to do what was necessary, for the sake of everyone who’d ever lost a loved one so cruelly. What was the last good thing any of them had done for society? Drop a penny in a charity box?
“Of course,” Miles smirked, “you’re more than welcome to choose death at your own leisure. It would save the government a lot of trouble.”
Darke fell to his knees sobbing. The bailiff forced him up, and led him off.
Miles raised his head, and began to get his papers together. He felt the eye of every gallery attendant bore into him as their footsteps passed by. Very well, let them stare. It wasn’t everyday most people got to see a ‘demon’ in action.
“Little Worthy!”
Miles grit his teeth, and turned to the clapping police officer. Gant and Lana approached him at the prosecutor’s bench. “You know, I got to admit, I thought most of those tabloid stories about you were pure bunkum!” Gant tugged at a silver strand of hair dangling in front of his face. “I almost didn’t think you’d have the guts to take on this case. But!” He clapped again. “I have never been more happy to be so wrong in my entire life! You swam through fire without getting burned!”
“It felt more like swimming through pure sewage, if I may be perfectly honest.” Miles shut his briefcase. “I’m just glad to see justice done. With luck, Joe Darke will be guaranteed the death penalty, and this sorry chapter will be no more than a tragic memory.”
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Jake Marshall step down from the gallery last. The other man’s eyes briefly met his, then he turned, and left. He didn’t look satisfied. Why wasn’t he? He knew who killed his brother, and saw that killer get justice served. He wouldn’t have to live with never knowing what truly happened, never blame himself for it, never lose sleep over it. Maybe he wouldn’t be ‘happy’ that his brother got killed, but surely he had to be relieved to see the end?
Well, perhaps it was a bit overwhelming to take in at once. Perhaps Jake just needed time to step back, and process this trial. Yes. In time, he would accept it, and properly thank Miles for all he’d done. After he calmed down, and thought it through.
“You know,” Lana spoke up, “a case officially closes after a certain amount of time. Be it through evidence transferal, or the statute of limitations. But that’s only official. It stays with you long after. Whether the criminal is sent to prison, or set free, everyone still has to deal with the aftermath for the rest of their lives.”
Miles lowered his eyes. “I understand that, perfectly well.” He did not dare share his nightmares with Lana or Gant, nor his own haunting battle between not knowing if it was a nightmare, or, worse, a memory. And especially not the uniquely awful nights where he couldn’t get his racing mind, and wondered if it would still follow him if he chose death.
“That,” Lana said, “is exactly why we chose you. I see now we were right to trust you with this case. We could never have gotten Darke put away without your dedication.” She stroked her hand and looked away. “We thank you, wholeheartedly.”
“In truth,” Miles said, “I could not have built my case against Darke without your cooperation. The prosecution and the police force must go hand-in-hand to see justice done. And today, we truly came together.”
Gant grabbed Miles’ hand, and shook it, hard, with both of his own. “Looks like our Little Worthy is all grown up! Manny will be proud to hear this!”
“I’m sure he’ll be even more pleased to hear you call him ‘Manny’.” Of course, he wouldn’t. He’d go red in the face and sputter. It was the quickest way to tell whom he was on the phone with.
“Hahaha!” Gant parted and clapped once more. “Who knows, maybe he’ll finally take me up on my invitation to go swimming! You know, I should talk to the police force about using our new budget expansion to install a new pool. Thank goodness for tax dollars!”
He chuckled and strutted off. Lana did not quite look so proud. Actually, she looked as though she expected Darke to burst through the doors any second.
“Is something the matter, Detective Skye?”
“Oh, no, it’s--nothing. We should get going. It’s been a long day.” Lana began to walk towards the court doors. Miles walked beside her. “I can see Manfred von Karma raised you well.”
“He did, and I’m honoured to have been his pupil.” Miles raised his head. Their footsteps echoed across the near-empty courtroom. “I look forward to many more years keeping society safe, and clean. And I shall do so perfectly.”
Gant held the door open for the pair. “So what do you say we go swimming?”
“I have to report back to Mr. Von Karma, actually,” Miles said swiftly.
“And I have to check in on Ema,” Lana said.
Gant shrugged. “Oh, well. Suit yourselves.”
They stepped out together. Gant shut the door.
...
“Of course I’m still a prosecutor! But to be shown up by a mere amateur!?”
The twenty-four-year old Miles seethed as he paced across Manfred von Karma’s office. The older man said nothing, he merely sat behind his desk, hands curled over the top of his cane. Honestly, he’d have preferred getting lectured over his mentor just sitting, and watching, and judging, without uttering a single word!
No, not quite true. He’d said “I heard about the Fey girl’s trial”, the moment Miles walked in, and that was all it took to set him off. Not like he’d need much effort, though. Not after that humiliating farce of a trial and defeat.
“I had the perfect case, the perfect suspect, the perfect witnesses!” Miles rambled on. “And this bumbling idiot dares to unravel that!? Does he not understand what’s at stake, not just for I, or him, but the entire country? For society itself? Phoenix Wright is little more than a bumbling amateur who just got lucky! One day, he’s going to defend a guilty man, and then he’s going to learn the hard way why I do what I do. And when that happens, I am going to crush him to dust beneath my heel! And I shall do so perfectly!”
“And yet, it was he who caught the guilty party, not you.”
Miles abruptly stopped, mid-march. He spun towards the desk. “Well, of course--that was just luck. That’s all. I’d have caught the true guilty party myself eventually. I’d have sent Redd White to prison.”
“But it was not you who did it, now was it?”
Miles flinched. He clutched his arm and scowled.
“I am proud to have raised you to victory myself. To perfection itself. But,” von Karma tapped his cane, “look at the mirror. Tell me exactly how you appear.”
Miles turned to the giant mirror towards the back. Indeed, he was somewhat...flustered. “My fists are clenched, as is my jaw. My eyes are simmering. My back is straight but rigid.”
“Tell me, is that the body language of one who is calm and collected? One who is ready to stand trial and condemn the guilty?”
Miles’ shoulders slumped. “No, sir. It betrays...too much emotion. Too many...feelings.”
As Manfred began his standard lecture on personal feelings, Miles’ mind stirred. Now that his anger simmered, he could hear those ‘feelings’ bubble up in his mind. He’d almost gotten two innocent people convicted in a row. One of whom was the younger sister of the deceased--someone who had lost a beloved family member, to such a cruel act of violence.
The other of whom was...him. Phoenix Wright. His childhood best friend. A vestigial organ from the last time he was truly happy. Really. Of all the lawyers he could’ve gone up against. Of all the people who could’ve been arrested. Why did it have to be him? Worst of all, the actual culprit had almost gotten away, right under Miles’ nose. And he’d have gotten away because of Miles’ tactics, not in spite of them.
Because the police brought the accused to Miles. They’d never steered him wrong. After all, the police and the prosecution were so tightly knit together: the former performed a thorough investigation and found and arrested the guilty party, and thus provided the latter the tools to build their case. Miles could not simply point the finger at the first person at the scene, he needed the police to do that for him. They’d never arrest an innocent person, based solely on hearsay. They always got the right person, from corroborated testimony, and the evidence to back it up. Until now, when they didn’t. When they’d arrested two innocents in a row, based on...
Well. Hearsay.
“You know I can tell when you’re not concentrating.”
“Hmm?” Miles lifted his head, and turned to von Karma.
“You’re not seriously thinking of backing down now, are you? This case may be over, but there will always be more to follow. You may have lost the battle, but you will win the war. Or are you going to allow a mere novice to tear you down? If that is your plan,” von Karma snapped his fingers, “then leave, and never return. If you would allow one loss to define your entire career, your entire trajectory, you have no right to the von Karma creed. None whatsoever!”
If only Miles could command himself so easily as him. If only he had his mentor’s certainty. “Of course not, sir. It’s just...hard. Rather, it’s hard to not feel as though I’ve lost everything.”
“Everything, you say?” Von Karma sounded amused. “You still have a career, for now. You still have a roof over your head, for now. And you still have my tutelage, for now. You have not truly lost everything, unless you choose to throw it away.”
Miles bit back a harsh breath. He appreciated everything von Karma had done for him, everything he had given back at a time when he needed it so desperately. But he could not bring himself to admit the truth: he knew what it was to lose everything, and he had yet to gain any of it back. He’d found a new purpose and career and family, but none of it would ever repair the gaping hole in his heart. If it was enough to do even that much, he’d be able to sit through an earthquake in peace, he’d use the elevator without thinking twice, and he wouldn’t still be plagued by the same damnable nightmare.
“So long as you still have purpose and meaning, so long as you still know who you are, you have not, in fact, lost everything. If, however, you choose to wallow in self-pity, then you will lose everything. And you will have none to blame but yourself.” Von Karma thudded his cane. “Hold onto your pride. Let that, and that alone, be the only feeling you allow into your work. Cast aside your unnecessary unease and uncertainty. Remember who you are and what you fight for. And do not allow a cocky amateur like that to ever best you again. Then, you may yet gain everything back--but only if you seize it! With perfection!”
Miles slowly lifted his head. Perhaps von Karma was right. He’d only lost one trial to Phoenix. It had to be a lucky shot (rather, “unlucky”, for himself). Why despair now? “Thank you for your guidance, sir. I shall keep your words in mind always.”
Von Karma stood, and walked across the room, past Miles. Briefly, he clutched his right shoulder, then kept going, not looking back. “Sir,” he followed after, “about karaoke night--”
“I will not be attending. I have some unfinished business to attend.” Von Karma opened the door. “As do you.”
Miles nodded. “I look forward to working with you again sir.”
“As do I.”
Miles stepped out. Von Karma shut the door.
...
“Yes, I’m...the prisoner.”
Miles spoke hesitantly as the guard came to unlock his cell door. “Are you here with my release papers?”
“Got ‘em all sorted out right here. All that’s left is for you to sign ‘em. We can do it out here.”
Miles held his breath, and glanced across the cell. That tiny, tiny cell he thought he’d stay in for the rest of his life. Or at least, up until he was transferred to another prison, possibly death row.
But instead...thanks to that man...
I’m free, because of him. Last night, that nightmare didn’t come back...
Miles stared at his hands. He curled his fingers in and out. He clasped his red sleeve, touched his cool skin. Was this real? Was this just one, long, cruel nightmare? No, it couldn’t be. He could read the words on the release papers. He skin didn’t feel numb to the touch. He could make actual words, sentences, on his own, instead of them remaining trapped in his throat.
“Mr. Edgeworth, sir?”
“Hmm?” Miles’ head snapped up. “Oh, sorry. I haven’t quite woken up yet. I just wanted to ask--” He stopped. Dare he? “Manfred von Karma isn’t...here...is he?”
“He was sent here just last night.”
So. He’s been here. All along. And he didn’t have the nerve to utter a word to me.
But what COULD I say to him? Everything. Nothing. “Was all of it a lie?” It had to be, wasn’t it? Why, then, did he arrange for my father’s funeral? Why did he take me in? Why did he guide me down this path at all? Was it all to lead up to this moment? Well, perhaps not him getting arrested. No...he was hoping I’d take the fall, for his misdeeds. His cowardly, selfish acts. His...murder. Of my father. All this time. I lost sleep over the fear I might’ve killed him. I almost sacrificed my freedom believing I’d killed him. That I didn’t deserve to walk free. And it was all because of HIM.
And if he was doing it to set me up to fall, then...was that also the purpose behind his teachings? His true purpose?
“Do you want to talk to him, sir?”
“No.” Miles forced out a short, tight breath. “That won’t be necessary. I believe I heard exactly what I needed to hear yesterday.”
“You and your father are my curse. Your father shamed me with a penalty on my record. And you...you left a scar on my shoulder that would never fade.”
He despised my father and I, all this time...it didn’t have to happen. We could’ve made it out safe, and alive. Yanni Yogi wouldn’t have had to suffer. I wouldn’t have had to suffer. And my father--
Miles swallowed a tight lump and reached for the pen. The sooner he got out, the better.
“By the way,” the guard spoke, “Phoenix Wright called, and asked me to send his regrets.”
“His...regrets?” Just a signature here, initial there...
“Yes. He had to go say goodbye to Maya Fey, that’s why he can’t be here.”
“Maya Fey? Goodbye?” Miles set the pen down. “Where is she going? I could pay for her trip.”
“Couldn’t say. If I had to guess, it might have something to do with that spirit medium business.”
“Ah, yes. Her mother was Misty Fey, wasn’t she...” Miles still didn't believe in spirit mediums. He couldn't. Not after that cruel trick Misty Fey had pulled. But it wasn't her his heart ached for. It was Maya Fey. Miles was not the only one whose life was ruined by that man’s actions. One of them had a lost a father; the other, a mother.
If only they had time, to talk, to apologize.
“Well, I suppose I’ll have to speak with either of them when I get out.” Not yet, at least. Not while Miles was still getting used to this odd lightness. It was like feeling better after throwing up: sheer, blessed relief, mixed with an unpleasant ickiness, hoping the worst was over yet fearing it would return.
Still. If learning the truth silenced that nightmare...perhaps there is hope for me after all? Maybe, it’s possible I won’t be trapped by my fear for very long. I could still recover. Just...one step at a time. That’s all.
“All right.” The guard arranged the papers. “Everything’s in order. This way, Mr. Edgeworth.”
Miles stood, and followed the guard out, not looking back.
Behind him, the guard slid the cell door shut.
...
“Father. It’s me. Your son.”
Miles stood at the snowy grave, beneath the cautiously blue skies. He wrapped his arms around himself, and stared at the bold, engraved stone lettering. Just as striking now as it was the day of his funeral. Gregory Edgeworth remained dead, unchanging.
While Miles...
“I’m...sorry, for not visiting sooner.” Miles spoke quietly. “I didn’t think I had the right. But I always did. I was just...too blind, and too foolish, to see it.”
“No, you’re not.”
Wright’s gentle voice, and touch, lifted some of his burden. He raised his head. “I’ve told you of Phoenix Wright, many times. Today, our relationship is...complicated. We’re somewhere between friends, between lovers. We haven’t been this way for very long. But...”
He slid his fingers between Wright’s hand. “I think it suits us just fine.”
Wright awkwardly waved at the grave. “Hi, Mr. Edgeworth! I hope I meet your standards! Sorry about the time Larry and I wrote 'wash me' on your car! We thought it was Ms. Hsu's car!” He rubbed the back of his neck and laughed.
What a silly man. I love him so much...father should be here, to see us together like this. He should be here, to give Wright his blessing, to tell me what I should do now...
“Wright.” Miles spoke quietly. “I need some space. Just for a minute.”
“All right.” Wright let go. “I’ll wait by the gate. Okay?”
Miles shared a weary smile with Wright, who kept looking back at him as he walked off. He turned to the grave, knelt, and ran a gloved hand across the snow-laced stone. “Father.” The words caught in his throat. His lip trembled, yet somehow, he got the words out:
“The truth is, I don’t know who I am anymore. I’m not sure if I can even remember who I was. But...it’s too late for me to go back, isn’t it? I have to stick to this path, don’t I?” He gripped the stone. “Did you ever have doubts like this, too? Days where you wondered if you’d made the right choices for yourself or not? Did you...die with regrets?”
Miles drew in a slow, heavy breath. He allowed the tears to fall down his cheeks, slow, gentle, yet piercing. “Of course I know you can’t hear me. When we die, that’s it. We are born from oblivion, we return to oblivion. There is nothing past this, and we must make the best of what exists now. I don’t know why I’m even talking to you, if I know you can’t hear me. Why I’m just talking to stone, and dirt, and not a person. Perhaps...perhaps, it’s because stone and dirt are easier to talk to than people. But...”
Miles slowly stood. “But regardless. You had no time for regrets when you raised me, did you? You just had to keep going. Perhaps that’s what I need to do as well. If I don’t know who I am, or my purpose, today...then the only way I can know the answer to either tomorrow, is to keep going.”
He let out a slow, uneasy breath, and slowly turned back to Wright. He furrowed his brow, and smiled gently. Wright knew me, back before DL-6. But he knew a different version of me. He knows both versions of me, and he loves them both.
As Miles walked up to Wright, the latter said:
“How are you feeling?”
“Uneasy. Uncertain.”
“Unnecessary?”
Miles chuckled. “Definitely not.” He gave Wright a small peck on the cheek, then wrapped his arms around the other man’s shoulders. He inhaled the other man’s pine-scented shampoo, mud-covered jacket, and leftover frozen tulips, then let go.
“So!” Wright opened the gate. “Where do we go from here?”
Miles glanced up at the sky. No snow. Yet. “I think...we can wander around for a little while. But not for long. I’d rather we not get lost.”
“Oh! In that case, I’ve gotta show you the ramen shack Maya and I go--went--to.” Wright stepped out. “When she comes back, we should all go together! Then she can show you how to make a proper ramen burger!”
“What, you haven’t shown me already?” Miles followed after.
“I mean, we’ve still gotta talk about the pickles...”
Wright, with Miles’ hand over his, shut the gate.
...
“Wright. I’m the presiding prosecutor over this case. You know we can’t talk.”
Miles paced around his bedroom, then sat on the bed, on the phone with Wright. He stopped, and admired the bedroom. Red, silky covers. Canopy neither too large nor too small. Mattress nice and soft. Gas fireplace currently off. Certainly many decor steps above his bedroom at the von Karmas’ (at least according to Wright, when he showed the photos--the man was determined to put his liberal arts education to good use!).
“I know, I know,” Wright said apologetically on the other line. “I just wanted to check back with you, see how you’re doing. This is your boss on the line, after all.”
“I know, and that’s why I need to take it. Whether she’s guilty or innocent, she would want me to perform my due diligence.” Truth be told, Miles couldn’t wrap his mind around Chief Prosecutor Lana Skye, of all people, murdering anyone, especially not a police detective. Perhaps the police weren’t quite as perfect as he’d once believed. But they wouldn’t arrest her without good reason. They’d believed Miles was guilty, based on the little evidence at the time, but...well, it all worked out in the end, didn’t it?
“I get it. I guess I’m just nervous. It’ll be my first time defending without a Fey there to help me. They’ve both pulled me through, even when it seemed like all hope was lost. Heck, Maya solved DL-6 before I did!”
“She did? Perhaps she’s missed her true calling as a detective.” Miles smirked. “I’m sure she’d be better than our dear Gumshoe. Still, your tenacity got you just as far. I expect you to fight hard, with all you’ve got, as my opponent. I’d be insulted if you didn’t.”
“As long as you fight fair!”
“Do I ever not?”
“...uh, no comment?”
Miles chuckled, then sighed. “Regardless, it may be best for us to put our relationship on hold, until after the trial.”
“Fair enough. Figured you’d say that.”
“Although, I’d be open to discussing future developments.” Wait, did those words just slip out? Damn it, he should’ve held them back! Miles cleared his throat. “After the trial! After.”
“Okay, okay!”
Damn. ‘Future developments’. After six weeks of between-dating. Already. Was this too fast? Maybe not. Maybe it was the right time to see if they were ready to leave the between stages. If Miles was ready for...
Why shouldn’t he? It was expected, in relationships like this, was it not? But then again, he hadn’t heard of a relationship exactly like this one. What would it mean, to step beyond this? If there was anyone he felt ready to explore the idea with, it was Phoenix Wright. He’d kissed exactly one boy before, at law school, and it was...all right. It was like kissing a wall. His reaction at the time was “That’s it? This is what people lose their minds over?”. Now, he got it.
“But back to the topic,” Wright said. “Are you sure you’re ready to go back to court?”
“I have to be. If no one else will take this case on, I must. Chief Lana Skye would be insulted if I didn’t.”
“That’s...not really what I asked. I mean, are you sure it isn’t too soon, given...?”
“My trial was last year, Wright, not yesterday.”
“It was eight weeks ago. Still not that long. You’re sure that’s not too soon?”
“...of course not.” Miles could not hide his anxiety around Wright. The two had occasionally stopped by the courthouse, just to see how well he held up. Thankfully, he never lost control of himself as he did during an earthquake. But one glance inside the building, and his heart would seize in his chest, and he’d suddenly be brought back to those three, agonizing days. To the moment he’d confessed his ‘guilt’. The moment Manfred von Karma roared his own. Then Wright would squeeze his shoulder, and he’d feel better, though uneasy.
“Well, no matter what happens, I know you’ll try your best. I know you won’t send an innocent person to jail, and I know you won’t back down without a fight. You’ve always cared about fighting for justice. You’re like a hero, you know?”
Oh God, where did Wright hear the rumours about him again? A tabloid aimed at children? “Wright, don’t flatter me that much. There are no heroes in court, only defense attorneys and prosecutors.”
“Yeah, but--you’re not like them! You’re nothing like Man--” Wright stopped. “You know what I mean.”
“I do.” Miles thought back to that silly trophy handed to him in the police station, the ridiculous broken sword and shield. The names on the bottom, of previous recipients. The most frequent one, ‘Manfred von Karma’.
“One more thing, then I’ll hang up.”
“Yes, Wright?”
Wright paused for a long time, then asked:
“Why didn’t you tell me about the prosecutors’ award ceremony?”
“Why would I? You’re a defense attorney. You don’t seem to hold prosecutors in high regard.”
“Yeah, but--you’re different!”
“How so?”
“You’re actually good!”
“‘Good’ as in talented? I suppose I won’t argue there.”
“No, but--well...I’d have come with, you know? I’d cheer you on.”
Exactly why Miles didn’t invite him. “As of late, it’s not really an accomplishment I feel deserves ‘cheering’. Besides, you know how I feel about the mundanity of awards.”
“You know the path you’ve walked, you don’t need anyone else to tell you, right?”
“Precisely. And this trial’s path should speak for itself.”
This trial...I will finally be able to identify the path I’ve walked for myself. And no one else will get to tell me.
“Okay. Then...good luck, Edgeworth.”
“Best of luck to you, too, Wright. Oh, and one more thing--don’t eat Angel Starr’s boxed lunches.”
“Already made a note!”
Miles hung up, then stood, and walked towards the bedroom door. Might as well get ready for bed early.
He shut the door.
...
“Prosecutor Miles Edgeworth reporting for duty.”
The bailiff nodded, and guided Miles towards the courtroom lobby. He held his head high, as his footsteps echoed on the marble tiling. Memories of eight weeks ago buzzed through his mind. He couldn’t rely on Wright to keep himself together. He had to do so himself.
As they approached the lobby, Miles’ stomach tightened, and lurched. His heart began to speed up. Suddenly, he was back for his father’s final day in court. Back for Yogi’s trial. Back for his own.
This was a mistake. Wright was, well, correct. This was too soon, I never--
Then he turned his head, and saw Wright talking to the Skyes.
I can do this. That man will not lead me astray, nor will I lead him astray. My mistake was treating him as an enemy to justice. But even if he is my ‘enemy’, he is not an evil one. He and I can find the truth together.
Chief Skye. Whether you are innocent or guilty. I will find the truth. And I will see justice done. If it is to you, so be it. If it is to another, so be it.
The bailiff reached for the door.
“Excuse me, sir.” Miles reached for it.
“My apologies, Prosecutor Edgeworth.”
Miles held his head high, and drew in a slow, deep breath.
I am Prosecutor Miles Edgeworth. And I am ready for my day in court.
Miles opened the door.