Title: Tales of Law and Love
Author: General Luigi
Rating: T
Genre: Mainly romance, but it has other themes in it.
Status:
Part I: Complete
Part II: In progress
Pairings (will be updated in the future): Miles Edgeworth and Lana Skye, Mia Fey and Diego Armando (mentioned), Dick Gumshoe and Maggey Byrde (unspecified with Maggey; evident with Dick), Jake Marshall and Lana Skye (mentioned; no longer present), Jake Marshall and Angel Starr (mentioned)
Summary: Thanks to the SL-9 Incident, Lana has felt forced to break off her engagement to Miles. Both want things to go back to normal, but they must be cautious.

I intend to replace the current banner. Anyone who's interested in making the new banner should PM the final product to me. Only one will be the main banner, but others (assuming enough effort was put into them and they're not inappropriate) will be put below in a spoiler box with the old banner. I also made this request at my home forum, so the banner may end up being from someone over there.

Criteria:

• It must be drawn, not sprited.
• It must depict one of the more romantic scenes between Miles and Lana (e. g. the conversation between them in Chapter 14, one of the conversations in Chapter 17, the hug at the end of Chapter 20, the kiss in the Finale of Part I).
• It must be colored and shaded well.
• The scene must look realistic, much like one of the pictures from the games (like the hug Lana and Ema share at the end of Rise from the Ashes).
• You must put actual effort into it. I won't even display it with the old banner if it doesn't look professional.

This story contains spoilers for numerous cases throughout the Ace Attorney series. I would not recommend reading this story unless you are aware of the story behind every case in the Phoenix Wright games or do not care if parts get spoiled for you.
Also, though the romances and events in this story are not all drawn from flawless in-game evidence, posts questioning the likelihood of them will be ignored. Also, I assure you all I have done my research. If there is an inconsistency between the story and the games, it is there for a reason, and that reason will be cleared up later in the story.



The young prosecutor, Miles Edgeworth, entered his office. It had been two days since he won his “guilty” verdict against Joe Darke. It was an odd case. He knew that Darke was guilty, but some things just didn’t fit. For one thing, the evidence list was much shorter than a typical evidence list. To add to that, he had overheard many of the detectives talking about how some of the evidence presented in court was never found by them. To make the case seem even weirder, every detective on the case except Detective Goodman got dismissed or demoted. He suspected foul play, but the only thing that really mattered to him was that Darke got the verdict he deserved. Darke was awaiting trial at a higher court to determine his sentence—probably death.

Being a lawyer was an unsettling job. As a prosecutor, it was his job to prove every defendant guilty. So far, he had won every one of his cases. Admittedly, his first case was not technically “won,” but since no verdict was handed down, it was not counted as a loss, either. From time to time, during a difficult case, he would question if the defendant truly was guilty. Regardless, he did his job. He felt like a mercenary. His opinion on the case, his belief about the defendant’s guilt, and his thoughts about the evidence meant nothing. All that was important was that he proved the defendant guilty. It was what his mentor had taught him—all that mattered was winning the case. Seeing how some of the defense attorneys tried to prove their points, no matter how ridiculous, he believed von Karma’s teachings to be true. Even when defending people who were clearly guilty, they pushed their points. Miles found it hard to believe that his father was one of them.

He went to his bookcase and took out a book. The Idiot, by Fyodor Dostoyevsky. Though his bookcase contained mostly case files, there was still room for his own personal interests. On his way to the sofa, he noticed an envelope on his desk. His work was important, so he put the book down and sat down at his desk to open the envelope. He felt a slight bulge inside, making him think it was some form of evidence for an upcoming case. He opened it up and saw a letter inside. When he took the letter out, a ring fell out of its creases. He recognized the ring instantly, knowing then that the letter contained words he did not want to read. Swallowing his fear, he read the letter.


My Dear Miles,


I hope you can forgive me. It’s not your fault that this has happened. Something has happened that makes our marriage a bad choice. If I had any say in it, I would have never sent you this letter in the first place. Because of events that I cannot speak of, we must keep our relationship strictly professional. If you can be patient, I promise you this storm will subside. However, for now, it pains me to know that I must break off our engagement.





It had only been two weeks, yet it was already over. Lana Skye. She was a high-ranking detective, and likely to become the new Chief Detective once Chief Detective Damon Gant became Chief of Police. Dick Gumshoe, an incompetent detective that Miles often worked with, had introduced them. They became friends and quickly fell in love. She was the kindest lady he had ever met—so kind that she was willing to give him a chance despite his tendency to avoid making friends with anyone. With the exception of Gumshoe, no one had really given him that chance.

Two weeks ago, Miles proposed to Lana, and she accepted without hesitation. They intended to announce their engagement after the case was over, but they never got together to make the announcement, and now there was no announcement to make.

Miles could not understand why Lana would be unable to explain why their engagement was over. She was an honest lady, so he knew that she had no reason to keep a secret from him. Something else was wrong here. Someone must have been forcing her to keep quiet. All he could think about was the case, which had been codenamed SL-9. It was the only lead Miles had, so it made perfect sense to pursue it.

He remembered the name of someone who knew a lot of secrets: Redd White. If anyone had information on suspicious work in SL-9, it would be White. The problem was getting that information without White gaining some sort of power over him. His thoughts then turned to those who White had under his control. Marvin Grossberg was the first person who came to mind. He knew Grossberg had gained his wealth through White, which meant White probably had a hold on him. Grossberg himself probably had no way to defeat White, though, lest his secret be revealed.

That secret was Misty Fey, the “spirit medium” who identified Yanni Yogi as the culprit from the DL-6 Incident. However, Yogi was acquitted, which made the police distrust Fey. The police’s desperate course of action was kept a secret, though. When Grossberg sold that secret to White, White leaked it to the press so he could have a hold on Grossberg. Before long, the price White paid for that information was paid back. That made Grossberg a bad choice for information. As for Fey, she disappeared from the public eye. That was when it hit him: Fey. Misty Fey had two daughters, one of whom was a lawyer. Fey’s daughter, Mia, would have had a personal reason to hunt White.

Mia knew what it meant to be a defense attorney. She always trusted her clients, even if they were clearly guilty, just as Miles always believed the defendants to be guilty, even if almost everyone else believed they were innocent. The first time they met in court, the case ended in tragedy for both of them. Every subsequent meeting led to a “guilty” verdict. With that history, it was unlikely that Mia would have any reason to help Miles. Still, knowing her determination, he had a strong feeling that she was trying to find a way to defeat White.

Miles went to his bookcase and took out a phone book. He flipped through the pages and found the F section rather quickly. Seeing the number, he picked up the phone and dialed the number for Fey and Co. Law Offices. The phone was picked up on the third ring.

“Fey and Company Law Offices,” the familiar feminine voice said.

“Ms. Fey, this is Miles Edgeworth,” Miles responded.

“Mr. Edgeworth, why are you calling me?”

“Are you familiar with Redd White?”

There was a pause. That alone was all the evidence he needed.

“Yes…” Mia responded hesitantly. “I… I know about him.”

“I would like to ask a favor of you, then.”

“Mr. Edgeworth, I’m in no position to help you out.”

“This is not for professional reasons, Ms. Fey. I suspect White has a hold on someone I care about. I wanted you to search for a connection between him and the Joe Darke Killings.”

“Shouldn’t you have a detective do this? I’m not the kind of person to investigate Mr. White’s past.”

“Tsk, tsk, tsk. You say that, but you have a clear motive to investigate White’s actions.”

“What motive would I have to risk my own life investigating him?”

“DL-6.”

There was no answer.

“Your mother was employed by the police to channel the victim. However, the suspect she named was acquitted. The police kept your mother’s involvement in the case a secret from the public, but White discovered that secret and leaked it to the media. As a result, your mother went into hiding. Thus, you want to defeat White and clear your mother’s name.”

Mia remained silent for a while. Then, “Mr. Edgeworth, this isn’t something I can just dig out of my files. Besides, I’ve got a case right now. I don’t make much money as it is, and looking away from a case to help you would make it impossible for me to keep my office up and running.”

“I’m not asking you to divert time from your cases. When you’re not busy, I would like you to investigate White’s involvement in the case. If money is an issue, then I’ll pay you whatever you demand for the job.”

“It’s not just money, Mr. Edgeworth.”

“It’s the way I’ve defeated you every time in court, correct?”

Mia didn’t answer.

“You have a grudge against me because of your defeats in court. Ergo, you do not want to help me.”

Again, no answer.

“I’m not so greedy as to just seek out White for myself, Ms. Fey. If White is indeed connected to the case, then it’s Ms. Skye who is suffering more.”

“Ms. Skye?” Mia finally answered. “You mean Lana Skye?”

“Yes. She recently… told me there was something she could not speak of. She has never kept secrets from me before, so the only explanation I can think of is blackmail.”

“Why should you care?”

“Because she just recently broke off her engagement to me.”

“Hah! Do you really expect me to believe that?”

“If you don’t believe me, then go talk to Ms. Skye herself. She and I fell in love about a year ago and got engaged two weeks ago. However, just today, I got a letter from her with her ring.”

“I’ll think about it. If you’ve been telling the truth, I might help you. Of course, if something regarding SL-9 pops up in my current investigations, I’ll tell you.”

“Thank you, Ms. Fey.”

“I’m sorry, I just thought I heard you say ‘thank you,’” Mia said with a laugh. “What did you really say?”

“Think what you want of me. I do not find this amusing. If someone made light of Mr. Armando’s situation, I believe you would be offended, too.”

Mia sighed and then hung up. Miles did not know for certain that Mia would help him, but due to her past friendship with Lana, he believed Mia would help.

“I look forward to destroying whatever high-priced defense attorney you hire, Mr. White,” he said to no one. Miles had always wanted to strike down a criminal as powerful as White, and with Lana being blackmailed, that would make his victory all the sweeter.

---

Last edited by General Luigi on Wed Mar 04, 2009 4:24 am, edited 15 times in total.

The familiar, clumsy footsteps of Detective Gumshoe entered Miles’s ears even though the door was closed. From the direction of the sound, he concluded that Gumshoe had just gotten out of the elevator and was walking down the hallway toward his office. His current case was rather simple, albeit one he gladly took. A man was beaten to death by a small gang of college students. He knew the type: rich enough to get away with underage drinking and smoking, got whatever they wanted without question, bribed anyone who gave them trouble. Of course, those crimes were petty compared to what they were accused of now.

To make the case even easier, every last one of them had accused the others. The interrogation method for crimes in which a group of people was responsible was ingenious. By law, they did not have to answer. However, when they were presented evidence that only condemned their comrades, they typically accused them, thinking it would help get them out of trouble. Of course, since their comrades were doing the same with them, it was mere child’s play to convince the judge that they were all involved.

A knock sounded on the doors. Gumshoe, no doubt.

“Come in,” Miles answered. Gumshoe opened the door, holding a large envelope under his right arm.

“We got the report, Mr. Edgeworth,” the detective said, handing Miles the envelope. Miles opened the envelope and looked at the file. Each report contained a transcript of the culprits’ questioning sessions. Each transcript contained mainly the same thing: the perpetrators accusing their accomplices without confessing to their own involvement.

“Good job, Gumshoe,” Miles finally said. “Was any more evidence found?”

“We got search warrants on their houses, but we’ve got nothing new yet, pal.”

“If there is anything new, please tell me. I could still get the job done with what was already gathered, though.”

“And that’s why you’re a legend, pal. I’ve even started hearing some people saying you’ve been using fake evidence.”

“Tsk, just naysayers who can’t handle the truth. Evidence is just a weapon I use in court. I’m not the blacksmith who makes it; I’m just the knight who uses it. As long as the department gives me good evidence, I will win the case.”

“And I’ll make sure you get good evidence, pal. You’re the best we have. I don’t care if Detective Skye got the Chief Prosecutor spot—”

“What?!” Miles almost tore the report in half from the shock.

“Didn’t chief Gant tell you? Detective Skye became Chief Prosecutor.”

“I was never told. Tsk. I guess not all of the department trusts me the way you do.”

“Don’t take it personally, pal. Chief Gant and CP Skye worked together for years. It’s only natural that the Chief promote his partner in crime… er… you know what I mean… when he gets the spot of Police Chief.”

“Well, I suppose being surprised about it will do nothing. Gumshoe, if you don’t have anything else to give me, I’d like you to leave.”

“Uh… Okay.”

Gumshoe left. He meant well enough, but he was horribly incompetent. It was no wonder the poor sap never got any promotions—or raises. Still, given how blunt and cold Miles was, he had no friends on the force other than him, if one could call him a friend. At the least, Gumshoe was good for keeping him company when he needed it. Ever since Lana broke off their engagement, he was feeling incredibly lonely. It had only been a month, so it was understandable.

A sudden jolt coursed through the building, knocking Miles out of his chair and onto the floor.


Suddenly, he was in an elevator. It was dark, nearly impossible to see. He could only make out shadows.

“H-Help!” A voice cried. “I can’t breathe!”

“Quiet!” Miles’s father answered. “I said quiet! You’re not making this any easier!”

“I want to get out! Help! Get us out!”

“Don’t shout! You’ll just use up more oxygen!”

“I… I can’t breathe! You… you’re using up my air!”

“Wh-what!?”

“Stop breathing my air! I’ll… I’ll stop you!”

“Aaaah! Wh-what!? What are you…!?”

“Stop breathing my aaaair!”

No! Father! Miles cried in his head. He’s attacking Father!

Miles heard a clatter and saw a pistol at his feet. Desperate to stop the fight, he threw the pistol.

Get away…! Get away from my father!

BANG!

The pistol fired, the shot hurting Miles’s ears.

“Uuaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaargh!”


Miles was back in his office. He realized that he was curled up in a ball. Regaining his composure, he saw that nearly every file and book from his bookcase had been knocked loose by the quake. So began the tedious job of re-shelving the files and books.

So Lana was now the Chief Prosecutor. Given that she had no experience as a prosecutor, the rank seemed odd. Perhaps that was what Lana was promised in exchange for her secret? Or maybe White got her that promotion so she could make sure he was never incriminated. It would make sense. With the Chief Prosecutor under his control, White could prevent any incriminating evidence from being used against him.

However, getting Lana promoted to that rank would require the approval of Chief Gant or a commissioner. That meant that someone above Lana was also being controlled by White. Ultimately, the target was the same, though: Redd White.

The phone rang around the time Miles had put everything back. He climbed down the ladder and picked up the receiver.

“Prosecutor Edgeworth,” Miles said almost instantly after picking up.

“Mr. Edgeworth, it’s Mia.”

“Have you found anything?”

“Not yet, no. I just wanted to know if you knew anything about Rob Charleston.”

“He was beaten to death by a group of college boys who followed him to his house.”

Miles heard a gasp and a very quiet “Oh, no…” on the other end.

“So you trust the investigation?” Mia finally asked.

“I received the report shortly before that earthquake. I am forbidden to speak with anyone outside of the force on it. All I will say is that this is a case I know I will not lose.”

“We’ll see, Mr. Edgeworth.”

“Was there any reason for you to call other than taunting me?”

“I didn’t know you were going to be the prosecutor.”

“Even if I was not, I could not share information on the case with you. Is there anything else you need to tell me or ask me, or is that all?”

“I… suppose that’s all.”
Miles hung up. Mia’s interest in the case implied that she would be defending the scoundrels. That would be amusing. How would such a persistent attorney behave when her clients are obviously guilty? Still, Mia was a respectable lawyer. Her first case was also his first case, and she probably would have won had the defendant not died before a verdict could be reached. He knew better than to let his guard down against her.


The trial began two days later. Judge Noah Clous was presiding over this one, as usual. So much for a speedy trial. The gavel banged, signaling the beginning of the trial.

“Court is now in session for the trial of Richard Weston, Mark O’Malley, Garry Newton, and Joe Higgins,” the judge said.

“The prosecution is ready, Your Honor,” Miles said.

“The defense is ready, Your Honor,” Mia said.

“Very well,” the judge said. “Mr. Edgeworth, your opening statement?”

“On the night of March 17th, at around 10:56 PM, a section of the Del Cerro community was awakened by screaming. Eyewitness accounts state that a middle-aged man, Mr. Rob Charleston, was beaten to death in the sight of his house’s security lights. Two eyewitnesses confirmed the license number of the car Charleston’s assailants fled in. The car was traced to the Rancho Santa Fe neighborhood, where the owner, Mark O’Malley, who matched eyewitness descriptions, was arrested. In questioning, O’Malley accused the three other defendants of forcing him to drive them after Charleston, a statement the other three defendants denied. Each defendant accused his fellow defendants while denying his own involvement in the crime.”

Miles shook his head as if to pity the defendants’ recklessness.

“The evidence found at the scene, as well as eyewitness descriptions and the defendants’ own accusations of one another, will more than prove their guilt.”

“Very well, Mr. Edgeworth,” the judge said. “You may begin calling witnesses.”

“The prosecution calls the detective in charge of investigating the scene of the crime, Detective Dick Gumshoe, to the stand.”

Gumshoe walked up to the stand.

“Witness, state your name and profession to the court.”

“I’m Detective Dick Gumshoe, sir!” Gumshoe bellowed. “I’m the homicide detective who got put in charge of this case, sir!”

“Very good, Detective. Please tell the court the case’s basic details.”

“Yes, sir! First of all, the case started at the Great Goblet Tavern. People who saw the victim that night said he got into an argument with the defendants and left at 10:21. The defendants left less than a minute after he did.

“Moving on, the victim drove to his home in Del Cerro, arriving at 10:55 PM. Screams were heard not long after. When we arrived at the scene, we saw Mr. Rob Charleston lying against his fence, dead. Just about everyone who had seen it was willing to tell us what happened.”

“Thank you, Gumshoe,” Miles said. “Was there any evidence found at the scene of the crime?”

“One of the fenceposts had been pulled out of the ground and had blood on it. We also found Newton’s fingerprints on it.”

“The court accepts it into evidence,” the judge said. “Ms. Fey?”

“Detective, could you please tell us what you saw when you got there?” Mia asked.

“Sure thing, ma’am,” Gumshoe answered.

“For starters, I was off-duty when all this happened. When I went to the precinct the next morning, I was told to go to the scene and start looking around for clues. Anyway, the officers there had already gotten the place closed off to bystanders, and they were keeping an eye on the place all night. Like I said, a fencepost had been uprooted and had blood on it. The body had been taken away so it wouldn’t attract ants and things like that.”

“Is that all?” Mia asked.

“Well, you only asked for what I saw when I got there.”

“Your Honor, I’ll begin my cross-examination now.”

“Go on ahead,” the judge said.

“So, Detective, what were you doing when the crime occurred?” Mia asked Gumshoe.

“What any sensible guy does at 11 at night: sleeping!” Gumshoe responded.

“So you didn’t know what had happened until the next morning?”

“That’s right, ma’am.”

“Okay, then. Had the officers been gathering any clues before you got there?”

“No, ma’am. They were just there to keep gawkers away.”

“All night?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“And you’re sure no one gathered clues or rearranged the scene before you got there?”

“Objection!” Miles called. “The witness has already answered the question.”

“Objection sustained,” the judge said with a whack of his gavel.

“Fine,” Mia said with a sigh. She thought for a moment. “What about the fencepost? Didn’t you say the fencepost had one of my clients’ fingerprints on it?”

“Yeah, but I didn’t know that when I got there. Besides, we hadn’t tracked down all the suspects yet.”

“All right. Could you please testify to the court about tracking down my clients?”

“Sure thing, ma’am.

“Two of the people who saw the crime happen managed to catch the license number of the SUV the suspects drove off in. We traced the SUV’s license plate to the O’Malley residence in Rancho Santa Fe, where we questioned the family there. The son, Mark, matched eyewitness descriptions of one of the killers. We arrested him on the spot. He accused the other three killers of forcing him to drive them when we questioned him. He named them right away, and we arrested the three people he named. Each one of them accused the others without confessing to their own involvement.”

Mia opened her mouth to speak when Gumshoe continued.

“Oh, and one of the guys we arrested, Garry Newton—his fingerprints matched the ones we found on the fencepost. The guys who looked at the victim’s body also found the fingerprints of all the suspects on his clothes. According to the autopsy report, he had bruises all over, but he died when Newton hit him on the head with the fencepost, breaking his neck.”

After a pause, Mia asked, “Is there anything else the court needs to know?”

“That’s all, ma’am. The accusations and the fingerprints all pointed to the guys we arrested.”

“Ms. Fey, you may begin your cross-examination,” the judge said.

“Thank you, Your Honor,” Mia said.

“Detective, are there any transcripts of the descriptions the witnesses provided?” she asked.

“They’re in the report,” Gumshoe replied.

“You mean the one Mr. Edgeworth has?”

“That’s the one, ma’am.”

Miles, taking his cue, took out the report and flipped through the sections to the description of O’Malley, reading it aloud once he found it.

“He had short, bright blond hair, and one of his ears sparkled when light shone on it, suggesting an earring. He also had a goatee. That night, he was wearing a letterman’s jacket from Torrey Pines High School.”

The court started murmuring, other than the jacket, the description matched O’Malley perfectly. The judge banged his gavel, right on cue.

“While the Detective was questioning Mr. O’Malley’s parents, they said he had graduated with honors from Torrey Pines High School,” Miles continued.

“That does rather accurately describe Mr. O’Malley,” the judge commented. “Ms. Fey, your thoughts?”

“Is that really all that’s in the description, Mr. Edgeworth?” Mia asked.

“That is all, Ms. Fey,” Miles responded, sensing that Mia was about to play a new card.

“Don’t you find it odd that no one mentioned my client’s glasses?” Mia asked.

Miles shook his head, laughing confidently.

“Ms. Fey, have you forgotten that Mr. Charleston’s security lights were on? The glasses would have clearly reflected the light off of his glasses, making them obvious to even someone watching from two houses down.”

“Exactly,” Mia answered. “I find it odd that no one saw his glasses during the crime, especially since the descriptions mention his earring, which is much harder to spot. I surmise that it couldn’t have been Mr. O’Malley, or else they would have seen his glasses.”

“Objection!” Miles called again. “Ms. Fey, what proof do you have that he was wearing his glasses when the crime occurred?”

“Yeah, pal!” Gumshoe cut in. “Besides, when we first showed up, he wasn’t wearing his glasses! When we entered his room to arrest him, he had a contact lens case!”

“Objection!” Mia yelled. “Then why was he wearing glasses in detention?”

“Because he was held there for more than a day, pal! His contacts don’t last that long!”

“What if they’re extended wear contact lenses?”

“Your Honor,” Miles cut in, “the prosecution guarantees that those lenses were daily wear lenses. After all, they were in a seven-section case.”

The court murmured, followed by a whack of the judge’s gavel.

“Ms. Fey, do you have any further questions?” Miles asked, his confidence obvious.

“The defense… concedes that Mr. O’Malley matches the descriptions the witnesses provided,” Mia sighed. “However, I’m not done with my cross-examination just yet. Moving on to the issue of the fencepost… Where exactly were the fingerprints found?”

“There were fingerprints all over, ma’am,” Gumshoe said. “I’m guessing a lot of them came from when he was pulling it out of the ground. Still, we found a pair of handprints about a foot from the end that was in the dirt. That must have been where Newton held the post when he swung it.”

“And the blood?”

“Most of it was at the other end, but some of it trickled to the bottom.”

“How do you know that it—”

“Objection!” Miles cut in. “How the line of blood to the bottom was formed is trivial!”

“Objection sustained,” the judge said with the usual whack of his gavel.

“Objection!” Mia countered. “I was going to ask how they knew it was Mr. Charleston’s blood!”

“Sustained.”

“Tsk, tsk, tsk…” Miles chuckled. “Ms. Fey, the crime occurred half a week ago—more than enough time for the forensics department to run a DNA test. The blood did indeed belong to Mr. Charleston.”

“Fine,” Mia sighed. Miles could tell from looking at her that she was starting to see how hopeless her case was. “And were any other fingerprints found on the post?”

“Just Mr. Newton’s and Mr. Charleston’s, ma’am,” Gumshoe replied.

“Mr. Charleston’s prints?”

“It’s his fence, isn’t it? Why wouldn’t his prints be on it?”

“Ms. Fey,” Miles added, “I hope you are not implying that Mr. Charleston committed suicide to frame the defendants.”

“Not at all, Mr. Edgeworth,” Mia answered, as Miles knew she would. “I simply wanted to make sure nothing was overlooked, such as the possibility of an additional set of prints being on it.”

“Ms. Fey, if there was an additional set of prints, the department would have tracked down their owner, and that person would have been made a suspect—possibly even on trial here instead of the defendants.”

“If the defense has no further questions, I would like to relieve this witness from the stand,” Miles said to the judge.

“Ms. Fey?” the judge queried.

“The defense has no further questions for Detective Gumshoe, Your Honor,” Mia answered. Miles smiled. For once, Gumshoe had testified without forgetting an important fact or making a mistake.

“Mr. Gumshoe, I will make sure to tell the Chief about your flawless testimony,” Miles said.

“Thank you, Mr. Edgeworth!” Gumshoe exclaimed.

“Your Honor, the prosecution has now proven that the evidence points to the defendants. To remove any further doubt, the prosecution’s next witnesses will prove that the defendants were at the scene of the crime when it happened.”

“Very well,” the judge replied. “Your witness?”

“For its next witness, the prosecution calls Lucy Hinton to the stand.”

A middle-aged woman approached the stand.

“Please state your name and occupation to the court,” Miles demanded.

“I’m Lucy Hinton, and the only occupation I have is mother,” the witness replied.

“Your Honor, my witness was one of the people who called the police after witnessing the crime.”

“Very well,” the judge said. “Witness, you may begin your testimony.”

“Thank you, Your Honor,” Mrs. Hinton said.

“A bit before 11 PM, I heard screams coming from outside. When I got up, I saw four men beating up another man in Mr. Charleston’s front yard. I couldn’t bear to watch, so I turned away and instantly phoned the police. I didn’t want to see them kill him, so I just looked away the whole time. Before long, the screaming had stopped. One of my children had been awakened by the screaming. He ran into my room, and we both had a good cry.”

“I’m ready for my cross-examination now, Ms. Fey,” Mrs. Hinton said after finishing.

“Okay, then,” Mia replied. “I’m sorry to ask you to recall this, but what did you see before you turned away?”

“Four men beating up another man. I found out the next morning that the victim was poor Mr. Charleston.”

“What did the men look like?”

“One of them had blond hair and was wearing a red and yellow jacket, another had a bald (or maybe just shaved) head and was dressed mainly in black, and the other two had brown hair and were dressed in red and khaki.”

The gallery murmured at the description of the defendants, leading to a good whack of the judge’s gavel.

“Order!” he yelled. “Ms. Fey, please continue.”

“Gladly, Your Honor,” Mia answered. “Mrs. Hinton, could you please be a bit more specific about the time?”

“If I remembered, I would have told you. I know it was a bit before 11. I think it was 10:58, but none of the clocks in my house show the same time.”

“That’s odd, considering that the time of death was established at—”

“Objection!” Miles yelled. “Ms. Fey, my witness has said herself that she didn’t remember what the exact time was. Besides, even if she did remember, she also said that the clocks in her house never show the same time as one another. Either my witness remembered incorrectly, or the clock she remembered the time from was fast.”

“Objection sustained,” the judge said. Mia sighed, a slight scowl appearing on her face.

“Mrs. Hinton,” Mia started again, “when you called the police, what did you tell them?”

“I told them someone was getting beaten up by a group of young men,” Mrs. Hinton replied. “They told me to stay inside and said they’d be over as soon as possible.”

Mia sighed, closing her eyes to help her think. She twitched a little.

“Ms. Fey, do you have any further questions?” Miles asked.

“Mrs. Hinton, how can you describe the people you saw so well when you looked away almost instantly?” Mia asked.

“Oh!” Mrs. Hinton yelped. “Y-you think that’s a good description? I guess I just remembered it well. It was a murder, after all.”

“You remembered it well despite seeing it for only a few seconds?”

“Yes.”

“And nobody told you what other eyewitnesses described?”

“Not at all.”

“So you just used what little you remembered that night as a description?”

“Objection!” Miles interrupted. “Ms. Fey, I would prefer if you not badger my witness over something she is so certain of.”

“Objection sustained,” the judge said. “Ms. Fey, you will cease this line of questioning.”

“The defense has no further questions for this witness, then,” Mia said with a sigh. She was acting as though she was calm, but Miles could tell she had realized things were getting desperate.

“Your Honor, I would like to call my last witness—assuming there is nothing wrong with his testimony. After that, I will call the defendants to the stand—unless you would like to pass down the verdict right then and there.”

“Then please go ahead, Mr. Edgeworth,” the judge said.

“For its last witness, the prosecution calls Mr. Luka Shaklovity to the stand.”

A relatively old man walked to the stand, relieving Mrs. Hinton.

“Witness, please give the court your name and occupation.”

“I’m Luka Shaklovity,” the witness said. “As for my occupation, I am a bartender at the Great Goblet Tavern.”

“Your Honor, my witness was on duty the night the crime occurred.”

“Witness, please tell the court what happened leading up to the crime,” the judge said.

“Around 10:15, an argument broke out between Mr. Charleston and the defendants. Mr. Charleston left a few minutes later, saying he ‘would not tolerate people insulting his heritage’ or something like that. Less then a minute later, the defendants left. Three of them were clearly drunk, and the one who said he would drive was sober.”

“Ms. Fey, you may begin your cross-examination,” the judge said.

“Mr. Shaklovity, what exactly was the argument about?” Mia asked.

“The defendants started saying bad things about Mexicans, and Mr. Charleston started commenting on how much Mexican immigrants and descendants contributed to this city. The argument just kept escalating, three of the defendants too drunk to take Mr. Charleston’s arguments to heart.”

“Was Mr. Charleston Mexican?”

“I don’t know, ma’am; I’m a bartender, not a genealogist.”

“Your Honor,” Miles cut in, “Mr. Charleston’s grandmother was Mexican, so it makes sense that he would be offended by the defendants’ comments.”

“Okay, so Mr. Charleston had reasons to argue,” Mia said. “What about the defendants? All of them are under 21.”

“I thought that, Ms. Fey,” Shaklovity said. “I asked them for IDs, and they presented them. All the IDs said that they were over 21.”

“So how is it they were in the bar and drinking?”

“Objection!” Miles shouted. “Ms. Fey, all of the defendants said during questioning that their accomplices used fake IDs to get alcohol.”

“Is that so? Then we’ve got a contradiction here. Mr. Shaklovity, didn’t you say that the driver was sober?”

“I did say that, Ms. Fey,” Shaklovity said. “He had one drink of wine, but that was it. When he left, he didn’t show any signs of drunkenness.”

“Then why is he a suspect? My client would never kill someone in cold blood. This new fact suggests that it wasn’t my clients who killed Mr. Charleston.”

“Objection!” Miles yelled. “This trial is only to establish the defendants’ involvement in the murder of Mr. Charleston, not underage drinking.”

“Objection!” Mia countered. “Then what motive could Mr. O’Malley have for driving his friends to Mr. Charleston’s house and beating him to death?”

“Ah…” Shaklovity mumbled. “If I may? It is possible that the defendants shared their drinks with each other.”

“Objection! Then why did you say Mr. O’Malley was sober?”

“Because that is how he looked to me! He might have been badly drunk, but he was showing no signs of it. I’ve seen plenty of people drink too much and just fall asleep instead of mouthing off! He did look tired, at the least.”

“Well, Ms. Fey?” Miles asked. “Will that reason satisfy you?”

“No, it won’t, Mr. Edgeworth,” Mia answered. “It’s entirely possible that Mr. Shaklovity was the driver!”

“Objection!” Miles yelled. “Now it’s my turn to ask about motives, Ms. Fey. What motive could Mr. Shaklovity have for transporting the defendants to the crime scene? Besides, none of the defendants said anything about him in questioning, yet they were more than willing to accuse each other.”

At this point, the gallery’s murmurs had become easily audible. The judge finally responded with a solid whack of his gavel.

“Order!” he demanded. “Ms. Fey, do you have any evidence that could prove Mr. Shaklovity’s involvement in this crime?”

“The prosecution may have that evidence,” Mia answered. At this point, only the judge could not tell that she was grasping.

“Well, Ms. Fey, please go ahead, then,” Miles said, almost taunting her. “What evidence does the prosecution have that could incriminate Mr. Shaklovity?”
“Was Mr. O’Malley’s car checked for fingerprints?”
“It was, and the only fingerprints on the steering wheel belonged to the defendants and Mr. O’Malley’s parents.”

“Are you sure?”

“Ms. Fey, I think it’s obvious to everyone that you’re grasping. Concealing, fabricating, and altering evidence are crimes that would cost me my job. I am not so reckless as to take such a risk.”

“Ms. Fey,” the judge started, “the prosecution has made a clear point. Had this argument proceeded any further, I would have probably penalized you for a personal attack on the prosecution. Regardless, you have accused Mr. Shaklovity without establishing his involvement in the crime. For that, I have no choice but to penalize you.”

The gallery started up again, promptly being silenced by the judge’s gavel.

“Order!” he yelled over the conversations. “Ms. Fey, the prosecution’s case is becoming quite clear to me. I am more than ready to declare my verdict. Do you insist on any further questions?”

Mia breathed in deeply, trying to calm herself. She closed her eyes, apparently trying to find a flaw in Mr. Shaklovity’s testimony. Miles had never seen her so desperate in any one of their cases.

“Yes, Your Honor,” she said. “The defense would like to call a witness.”

“In that case, I will allow it. However! If nothing comes of this, you will be held in contempt of court, at which point I will pass down my verdict. Do you understand, Ms. Fey?”

“Yes, Your Honor.” Miles could not help but smile, not because he was amused by Mia’s grasping, but simply out of his respect for her determination. From his perspective, it was pure idiocy to take such a risk with clients who were obviously guilty. “The defense would like to call Mr. Mark O’Malley to the stand.”

“Does the prosecution have any objections?” the judge asked, turning to Miles.

“I respect Ms. Fey’s determination and faith in her clients. If Ms. Fey is willing to get herself penalized for her clients, then I see no reason to stop her.”

“Bailiff! Escort Mr. O’Malley to the stand!”

Mark took the stand, his face red with unease.

“Witness, state your name and occupation to the court,” the judge requested.

“I’m M-Mark O’Malley, Y… Y-Your Honor,” O’Malley replied, understandably quite nervous. “I’m a b-b-business… st-ssstudent at UCSD.”

“Are you okay, Mr. O’Malley?”

“Y-Yes, Your Honor.”

“Ms. Fey, I will allow only one testimony from your witness unless you can find a good reason to further prolong this trial. What do you want him to testify about?”

“I would like him to testify about the drive from the Great Goblet,” Mia replied.
“Witness, you heard her, did you not?”

“Y-Yes, Your Honor,” O’Malley answered.

O’Malley breathed in a few deep breaths. His face had lost some of its redness. “What Mr. Shaklovity said about the fake IDs is true. We all used fake IDs to get alcoholic beverages. We had promised each other that none of us would have more than one drink, but my friends all broke their promises. As a result, I had to do the driving. I didn’t know the way to my friends’ houses, so they told me where to go. Before I knew it, I had been tricked into going right to Mr. Charleston’s house. My friends got out of the car and attacked him before I could stop them. I tried to step in and convince them to leave him alone, but it was useless. When he was dead, I drove them home, not wanting them to get in trouble for something they did when they were drunk—not to mention I didn’t want to get accused of being one of the killers.”

The judge’s eyes were quite wide from the tale. “Ms. Fey, your cross-examination?”

“Gladly, Your Honor,” she said. “Mr. O’Malley, why didn’t you catch on to your friends’ trick?”

“Because I had no idea where their houses were,” he answered. “I just had to trust their directions.”

“And why didn’t you do anything when they didn’t listen to your pleas?”

“I was scared. I was worried they might turn on me if I tried to force them away from Mr. Charleston. They were too drunk to listen to logic.”

“So, you didn’t do anything to harm Mr. Charleston?”

“Nothing, Ms. Fey.”

“Okay, then,” Mia said. She sweated a little. “Mr. O’Malley, I’ve got one more question. You said you didn’t know the way to your friends’ houses, correct?”

“That’s right. That’s why I was fooled into taking them to Mr. Charleston’s house.”

“And what did you do after Mr. Charleston was dead?”

“I didn’t want my friends to get in trouble for something they did when they were drunk, so I drove them home.”

The gallery started jeering at O’Malley, partially silenced by the judge’s gavel. The banging continued.

“Order!” he demanded. “I said order!” When the court was finally quiet, he continued. “Ms. Fey, is there a problem? I don’t see why you’re asking your client about this.”

I guess it’s a good thing he’s a judge instead of a lawyer, Miles thought. “Your Honor, if I may explain Ms. Fey’s line of reasoning, the witness said he had no idea where his friends lived, yet he also said he drove them home after the murder. If he had no idea where his friends lived, he would have had significant trouble driving them home!”

“Yeah, get a clue, Your Honor!” a voice in the gallery cried. Similar jeers rose up, mostly deaf to the judge’s gavel.

“Order! Order! I said order!” the judge yelled, barely louder than the gallery’s noise. When the noise stopped, he continued. “Mr. O’Malley, please explain.”

“Th-They cooperated after they killed him,” O’Malley said, guilt bleeding from his face.

“Mr. O’Malley,” Mia continued, “I have some more questions for you: what did you do while your friends were attacking Mr. Charleston?”

“I begged them to leave him alone.”

“Did you use any physical means to stop the violence?”

“N-No, ma’am,” O’Malley said. His face showed signs that he was trying to see why Mia was asking her own client these questions. “I was too scared to pull my friends away.”

“Did you try to step between them and the victim to try to shield him?”

“No, ma'am, I was too scared that they’d start attacking me.”

“Your Honor,” Miles started, “the prosecution would like to remind the court that the fingerprints of all the defendants were found on Mr. Charleston’s body. Yet, if Mr. O’Malley used no physical means to drive his friends off or protect Mr. Charleston, he would not have left any fingerprints on Mr. Charleston’s body!”

The gallery started conversing again. The judge’s voice and gavel were becoming less and less effective with each uproar.

“Mr. O’Malley, the prosecution has a point,” the judge said after the court had quieted down. “Please explain.”

O’Malley was sweating bullets, his face as red as the Chinese flag. “I-I… I shoved Mr. Charleston a little during the argument at the bar,” he said.

“Oh, come on!” a new voice in the gallery yelled. Yet again, the gallery shook the court with its jeering. Regular yells of “Guilty!” flew from the gallery.

“That’s enough!” Miles bellowed. The court was instantly silent. “Your Honor, the prosecution respects Mr. O’Malley’s persistence, as well as the defense’s realization of the truth, yet there is a problem with his statement: his fingerprints were on Mr. Charleston’s hat! The positioning suggests that they were from a blow to his nose.” Miles demonstrated by pressing his palm against his nose, his fingers reaching up to the top of his head. At this point, O’Malley was no longer sweating bullets—he was practically sweating artillery shells. “Mr. O’Malley, there is no reason for your fingerprints to be on the victim’s hat if you simply shoved him.”

The judge slammed his gavel on his podium.

“I’ve had enough!” he bellowed. “This court sees no reason to further prolong this trial. The case is very clear to me, and I have no need to further look into it. This court finds the defendants, Richard Weston, Mark O’Malley, Garry Newton, and Joe Higgins, guilty. The accused will surrender to the court immediately, to be held pending trial at a higher court within a month from today’s date. That is all. This court is adjourned!”

The judge gave his gavel a final whack, putting an end to the trial. The gallery dispersed, phrases like “Finally!” and “About Time!” filling the courtroom. After the defendants had left, Miles approached Mia.

“Ms. Fey, if I—”

“Don’t start on me, Edgeworth,” she snapped. “It’s bad enough that I let my clients down; you don’t need to rub it in.”

“I was going to advise you not to take such serious risks when your clients’ guilt is obvious enough to rouse the entire gallery. I respect your determination, but determination alone does not win a case.”

“That sure sounds like rubbing it in. My clients were so insistent that they were innocent…”

“The guilty will always lie to protect themselves.”

“Was everything you said true?”

“Ms. Fey, I do not forge evidence.”

“I wasn’t accusing you, Mr. Edgeworth. It became clear to me that my clients were guilty once one of them took the stand. I… just wanted to see if there really was as much evidence against them as you claimed.” She sighed. “I really blew it.”

Mia walked off, leaving Miles in the courtroom.

“Mr. Edgeworth, you have heard the rumors, right?” the judge asked him.

“That I’ve been using illegal methods to obtain my verdicts? After SL-9, I can understand those suspicions. I was somewhat skeptical of the evidence in that case myself.”

“Why didn’t you question it?”

“I asked Chief Gant about the evidence, and he said it was real. Besides, as a prosecutor, my job is to use the evidence I’m given by the department.”

“I see. Well, I’m needed elsewhere.” The judge left.

Miles had asked about that case, yet Gant had said outright that the evidence was real. Lana said it was rude to suspect the police of breaking the bond of trust they share with the Prosecutor’s Office. Thinking about it, Miles realized she had not explicitly said that the evidence was not forged.

No matter, he thought. Forged evidence or not, Darke was clearly guilty. Besides, it’s not my place to question the evidence.

Miles left the courtroom, feeling much less pleased than he thought he would.

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Last edited by General Luigi on Sat Jun 21, 2008 3:06 pm, edited 4 times in total.

I like your story so far. The story is interesting and your writing is good. I look forward to more.

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Thank you. I tend to want reviews (or just simple responses) most when I'm starting the story; otherwise, I can't tell if people are interested in it or not.

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Of all the people on the case, it had to be Miles. Lana would have felt guilty giving that report to anyone, but it really hurt that she was giving him reason to distrust her. If Miles lost the case with such evidence, he would be crushed. If he was found out for using fabricated evidence, he would probably never trust her again. Until SL-9 was closed, though, Lana had no choice but to do whatever foul deed Gant requested of her. So far, he had only asked for evidence to be forged twice—once in SL-9, and once in the current case.

The case involved a raid on a warehouse. Thanks to an informant, the police found out that the warehouse was a front for a drug smuggling operation. The SWAT team raided the warehouse and confiscated all the drugs. However, one of the troopers had been killed during the raid. Two smugglers had been arrested, and the rest of them either fled or were killed in the fight. Naturally, the department wanted revenge. However, these smugglers were professionals; neither one was willing to accuse the other of anything. Gant chose a smuggler to target and created evidence to incriminate him. He could indeed have been guilty, but that did not justify the forgery. The killer could just as easily have been one of the smugglers who died in the fight, or one of the survivors who avoided capture.

Thanks to the SL-9 Incident, Lana had lost almost everything she cared about. When she saw Ema’s name on the jar fragments, as well as Marshall’s body skewered on Gant’s suit of armor, she panicked. With that scene, her sister would have easily been suspected. Desperate, she sought Gant’s help in rearranging the scene. He agreed to help, but for a price, one that became obvious with her promotion to Chief Prosecutor. Thanks to Gant, Joe Darke was convicted and executed. He was by all means the serial killer the force had been tracking, but that last murder might not have been his.

When Lana had been promoted to Chief Prosecutor, Gant sprung his trap. As Chief Prosecutor, she had authority over all cases that went to court. Gant wanted her to forge evidence and testimonies whenever he wanted her to. If she ever disobeyed, Gant would prove Ema’s guilt.

To deal with herself, Lana had to build a wall around herself. She became cold enough to freeze the sun. No one was her friend anymore. If anyone got close to her, her secret might slip. She had to forget about her relation to Ema. From then on, Ema was just a girl that she was raising—nothing more. She had even broken off her engagement to Miles Edgeworth, who had proposed to her around two weeks before SL-9. If she and Miles had gotten married, he would have had little trouble finding out the truth about Lana.

The one silver lining was that the case would be permanently closed in two years. When that day came, she would be free. She could be warm and kind again, she could treat her sister as family, and possibly even Miles.

“Skye!” a familiar voice called from beyond the doors to Lana’s office.

“Come in,” Lana answered, trying to contain her spite. Police Chief Gant entered the office.

Gant was an imposing figure. His personality was jolly enough to catch anyone off guard, his threatening frame enough to make even professional thugs scared. Behind that smiling mask of his, though, was a beast as horrible as Redd White. Thanks to the Chief’s ties to White, it was almost guaranteed that the slimeball would never get in trouble with the law. Whether Gant let White break the law due to blackmail or friendship was beyond her, but Lana knew that crime would always exist as long as Gant was there. Despite that, she was helpless. If she did anything to Gant, her sister would ultimately pay the price.

“What do you want?” Lana asked, her disdain evident enough for even Judge Clous to notice.

“Has the report been handed over?” the Chief asked.

“Yes.”

“And it was the right one?”

“No, I gave Mr. Edgeworth the forged one.”

Gant let out a loud laugh.

“Good one!” he managed to say between laughs. After that, he calmed down, waiting for all attention to be directly on him. Lana never understood why he would wait like that before speaking. “Now, Ms. Skye, you know we can’t just let the death of an officer go unsolved,” he finally said, his voice now devoid of jollity. “The department wants revenge.”

“Accusing someone who may be innocent is hardly what I’d call revenge,” Lana said dryly. “We attacked an innocent country twelve years ago, claiming it to be revenge for a terrorist attack two years earlier, and now half of the Middle East wants us all dead. Is that what you want, Chief? Do you want an entire mafia after our department?”

“What happened to you, Ms. Skye? You weren’t always this cold. I’d go for a swim with you if I wasn’t worried about you freezing all the water!” The chief laughed at his own joke until he saw that Lana did not care.

“What happened? You happened, Chief. You blackmailed me, and now I’m forced to do your bidding. If I had stayed the way I was, I wouldn’t have been able to live with myself for playing a part in your actions.”

“So it’s my fault? I’m not the one who rearranged a crime scene to save a relative.”

“The crime scene has nothing to do with it; it’s your blackmail. Had you left me alone after that, I could have avoided this change. I could be living a wonderful life with Mr. Edgeworth right now, but thanks to you, I broke two hearts.”

“I really don’t care about your life. I only care about three people: me, myself, and I. Everyone else is just a tool to me. Even you, Ms. Skye. Besides, you know that you’ll never have another chance with Worthy if you give me any trouble.”

“You have to die eventually. When that happens, I’ll be free.”

“You really think Worthy’s that patient?” Gant had started circling around Lana’s desk.

“We’ll just have to find out.”

“Now THAT’S loyalty!” Gant bellowed with a hearty laugh. “If only my own ex-wife was like that! It sure isn’t easy for a guy like me to find a wife!” He chuckled. Lana knew a joke was coming. “Maybe you’ll get attached to me someday!” He then laughed hard enough to be heard in the other offices.

In a very swift motion, Lana spun around in her chair, her legs extended, sending the dirtbag flying off his feet and onto his previously laughing stomach. She stood up, her feet a few inches from his head.

“Let me make something very clear to you, Chief,” she said, glaring daggers down at him. “I hate you. What you’ve done to me, my sister, my fiancée, and the entire system of justice for this district, is something I cannot forgive. To make things even worse, you make light of your heinous actions. When you die, the whole city will learn about your misdeeds, and you’ll be spoken of in the same breath as Redd White.”

Gant got up and dusted himself off—not that the floor had much dust on it to begin with. “I guess I’ll have to be more careful, then,” he said. “You’re too precious a tool for me to lose so soon.”

“Get out of my office.”

“Now that’s not very nice, Ms. Skye.”

“I said get out. Go butcher some scale on that organ of yours.”

As Gant left, it occurred to Lana that she would actually be trapped for more than just two years. Any case she forged evidence for would be a threat to her. Until Gant died, she would be trapped. Even then, she would be stuck until after the last case she ruined was permanently closed. All she could do was hope that Gant pushed his luck too far or got killed in an accident. It was odd. For the first time, Lana actually wished death upon someone.

There’s really only two ways I can get out of this mess, she thought. Either I die or he dies. If I kill Gant, he can’t force me to keep forging evidence, but I’d risk the death penalty, which would strip me of everything I want to see once this is over. If I die, it will be the same: Ema would be alone, Miles would be heartbroken… All I can do is wait for Gant to die on his own.

She almost cried. There was no way out. Gant was only 63; he still had at least ten years left. Given his health, it was probably closer to twenty. There was no way Miles would wait that long. That thought drove the tears out. Miles hated crime; even if Lana married him, confessing to him meant he would probably do everything in his power to incriminate her or Ema.

If she believed in an afterlife, she might have killed herself right then and there. Was there any way out? In her sadness, had she overlooked anything? Was there any way to rid herself of Gant’s control without killing anyone?

What if I got Gant dismissed? she asked herself. If he lost his position as Chief, he would no longer have anything to gain from my forging of evidence. That was it. That was how to free herself. The problem was how. How could she get the Chief, a man who used to be a legendary detective, dismissed? The only way was to make the commissioners doubt him. However, the only way to do that would be to expose the truth about SL-9, which would in turn expose her. The only other way was to make him a criminal. If he looked like a criminal, his credibility would sink, making any of his accusations unlikely to be believed. If Gant was incriminated, his hold over Lana would end. It was only a faint light of hope, but it was still hope.


When Lana got back to her condo, she was greeted by a familiar “Rahr.” A familiar dark Burmese cat rubbed up against Lana’s legs. She responded by bending down to pet her. Lana and Ema had two cats: the dark one was Barbara, who was a few years older than Ema. Lana had inherited Barbara after their parents died. The other, Katara, was three at the time. Ema had named that one after a character from an old show that she got interested in. Katara was also a Burmese, but she was smaller, in addition to having lighter fur. Ever since SL-9, those two cats had become Lana’s confidants—not that they understood what she was going through. Still, it helped to have someone to talk to, even if they weren’t listening.

Ema must have still been at her friend’s house. That allowed Lana to talk to the cats without anyone overhearing. She sat down in the armchair next to the bookcase. Barbara hopped up onto her lap and curled up. Lana started to pet her, looking toward the bookcase that lined the wall. All manner of things were there, ranging from the storybooks from when Ema was still very young, to history books, to knick-knacks and memories, to books on science, to books on law. A number of pictures were in the middle section, right above the atlases. Most were family photos from various points in time, or photos of the cats. One photo of a date with Miles was also there.

“What do you think, Barb?” she asked. “Do I stand a chance? Can I somehow defeat Gant before Miles gets tired of waiting? The fastest way to break his grip is confessing, but he might just deny his involvement in it.”

Katara wandered in.

“You’re right, Katara. I’ve stopped Gant from using fake evidence before.” She sighed. “If only I could produce evidence that he was breaking the law. Nothing gets you out of the Chief’s office like breaking the law.”

The phone on the end table next to Lana rang.

“Lana Skye,” she said into the receiver.

“Lana, it’s Mia. Do you mind if I come over?”

“Why?”

“There are some things I need to ask you.”

“Namely…?”

“It’s a sensitive issue; I can’t talk about it over the phone.”

Lana sighed. “I suppose you can come. Ema’s not going to be back for a while, so it’ll just be you, me, and the cats.”

“Actually, there will be another person coming.”

“Who?”

“Mr. Edgeworth.”

Lana felt her eyes widen.

“Why him?”

“I told you, it’s a sensitive issue. Anyway, we’ll see you there in a bit.”

Mia hung up before Lana could respond. Miles was coming. Even Judge Clous could figure out why. Miles probably planned on confronting her about her secret.

“If I leave, they’ll know I’m hiding something,” Lana said to the cats (more so to herself). “But if I stay and talk to them, they’re bound to ask, which means Miles will get me arrested.”

The doorbell rang.

“That was too fast,” Lana said to Katara. “Mia must have called from her car.”

She went to the door and opened it. Mia was standing there, but Miles was nowhere to be seen.

“Mia…” Lana greeted, fearful of what was coming.

“Mr. Edgeworth will be here in a few minutes. He always goes the speed limit, so it’s only natural that I got here first.”

“This is about…”

“It could be about nothing. While we’re waiting for Mr. Edgeworth, though, can I ask you a few things?”

“I suppose…”

Lana led Mia to the living room.

“You’re really worried, aren’t you?” Mia asked.

“Well, Miles is coming, so I know this can’t be just a social call.”

“So you know him personally?”

“I love him,” Lana said, knowing there was no hiding anything from Mia. Mia just laughed.

“So he wasn’t lying!” she said between laughs. “And you were engaged to him?”

“Only briefly. I… had to break it off pretty soon afterwards.”

Mia was serious now. “Engaged to Edgeworth…” she said to no one. “I can’t see why. Sure, he’s handsome, but he’s not exactly the friendly type.”

“Maybe not to you, but he was very kind to me and Ema. He didn’t have any friends on the force other than Gumshoe, and I sympathized with him. I lent him an ear, and we became friends. He may be harsh on the outside, but given what happened to him and who raised him, that’s no surprise.”

“Wasn’t his father his hero?”

“Yes, but after his father died, Manfred von Karma took him in and raised him along with his own daughters. Franziska was a harsh perfectionist like her father, and Therese was only the slightest bit better. When he returned to America, he was practically a von Karma in his own right.”

“No wonder he has so few friends…”

“Which is why I want to get to the truth behind this whole disaster,” a somewhat intimidating male voice said from the doorway. Lana turned and saw Miles, holding Katara in his arms.

“Mr. Edgeworth!” Mia said in a scolding voice. “Were you eavesdropping?”

“Not at all,” he answered, the bluntness in his voice proving that he was not lying. “I happened to see a certain someone wandering around in the parking lot when I arrived, and when I saw the door to Lana’s condominium open, I just decided to walk in, since I saw your car already in the lot.”

Lana felt her heart beating faster. Miles sat down on the sofa on the end opposite Mia, letting Katara go. However, Katara was more than content just curling up on his lap.

“So, Ms. Fey, would you like to hear more about how our lives became a romantic tragedy, or are you ready to get to the point?” Miles asked. Were Lana not so worried, she would have laughed. Mia sighed.

“I would like to learn more,” she said.

“To put it simply, I gained a lot of naysayers. You should remember, but I was only twenty when I first became a prosecutor. Age alone seems enough for people to distrust me. Of course, when I turned out to be one of the police department’s most powerful weapons, that made even more people resent me. Even though I did nothing illegal, almost no one in the police department trusted me. Lana tried to befriend me, and succeeded. Before long, we fell in love and started dating. After about six months, I proposed to her. It goes without saying that I was surprised when I found Lana’s ring in a letter she had left on my desk.”

Mia sighed again.

“You don’t believe us?” Lana asked.

“No, I believe it,” Mia replied. “I just have a little trouble accepting it. Imagine—a friend of mine getting engaged to Miles Edgeworth. If I wasn’t seeing proof right before my eyes, I wouldn’t believe it.”

“Anyway, the engagement ring alone is not what led to this, Lana,” Miles said. “It was your letter that made me suspicious. First, you said that if you had any say in the matter, you would never have broken off your engagement to me. You also mentioned that it was ‘because of events you cannot speak of.’ Naturally, my conclusion was that something had gone terribly wrong in your life. My first conclusion was that you were being blackmailed.”

“Please don’t ask me for the answers,” Lana said.

“I came here for that specific reason. Ms. Fey said she could help get the answers out of you, so she asked that I come along.”

“I’ll say only one thing. I am being blackmailed. If I told you anything more, I’d be putting myself and Ema in danger.”

“Ema’s involved?”

“Yes. I can’t tell you about this, though. If you knew the details, even the identity of my blackmailer, you’d start looking for clues, right?”

“Of course we would.”

“But my blackmailer’s too cautious. If he gets even the slightest hint that I’m trying to break free, he might strike. If you’re going to hunt him, you’ll have to do it without any help from me.”

“How can we hunt him without your help?” Mia cut in.

“Ms. Fey, you’ve been hunting White for years, correct?” Miles countered. “Detectives find clues without searching for a specific person. The task before us, though tedious, is quite simple: Lana is our only lead, so we search for anything connected to her. If we trace the clues to the right person, we will have our answer. As long as we don’t know who the blackmailer is, we can’t search for any specific person.”

“In the meantime,” Lana started, “I’ll be obeying my blackmailer’s every order. If I give any hint that I have the two of you hunting him, he might strike. I’ll be colder than the South Pole in July. I’ve given you a start. From here on out, though, you’re on your own.”

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Last edited by General Luigi on Fri Feb 06, 2009 4:17 pm, edited 3 times in total.

Nicely done again. You've certainly got me hooked. The plot is very interesting and you're a talented writer. I do have a couple of suggestions. It might be nice to see some more description during some of your scenes, but that could just be me. You also may want to try reformatting the story a bit so there's some more space between paragraphs (it can be a bit hard to read like this), but that's not an issue with the story itself. Keep up the good work!

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On Microsoft Word, where I have it saved, the paragraphs are indented. Also, you could always just read it at fanfiction.net--it's easier there.

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All Hell had broken loose after the trial of that smuggler. Miles now had to walk around with a patrolman thanks to a couple of attempts on his life. Thanks to his prosecution of Jorge Marino, he was blindsided by a fellow driver a few days after the trial. After slamming into the left side of Miles’s car, the driver pulled out a gun and tried to shoot him. Were it not for the fact that Miles was blindsided right in front of the police station, he probably would have been killed. He suffered fractures to his left leg and hip from the collision, placing him in a body cast and a wheelchair.

His car was another story. The impact had torn the engine apart beyond repair. For the time being, Detective Gumshoe was driving Miles around in his own car—if it could be called a car. The piece of scrap metal served its purpose, but it was nothing he would have voluntarily driven. Gumshoe referred to it as his “hunk of junk car,” but in a way that made it clear that he was glad to have it. It was indeed a hunk of junk, too. Most of the paint had flecked off, much of the chassis was rusted, the right side view mirror was broken, the suspension was rusted together on the back wheels, the engine sputtered, the wipers stuck, the radio played more static than music (not that Miles cared for most of the music ever broadcasted on the local stations), the upholstery was torn and badly stained with who knew what, the car regularly stalled in wet or slightly cold weather, and one of the doors had trouble closing. Miles’s wheelchair was stored in the back seat. It would have been put in the trunk, but the trunk smelled like sour milk—far from a good smell to have on one’s wheelchair.

A new car—a rather comfortable and efficient sports car Miles had seen during his annual visit to Germany—was going to be imported for him in about a month, by which time he would be able to drive on his own. For the time being, though, Miles had to be driven to and from the Prosecutor’s Office in Gumshoe’s engine on wheels. In truth, Miles would have preferred just taking the bus, but the city’s bus system, like most of its public transit system, was pathetic for a city with over a million people—in fact, it was pathetic even for a city with ten thousand people. A lot of the prideful higher-ups were against having their “luxurious” reputation spoiled by something typically used by “lower” classes. Though the public transit system was not something he would typically use instead of a car, the lack thereof forced the city’s less wealthy residents to get cars, which, given the price of fuel, were so expensive in the long run that they ultimately cost more than the people’s homes.

Outsiders thought of San Diego as a lovely city, but that was only at face value. Like a lot of large cities in the United States, San Diego was better to visit than to live in. For a city of San Diego’s size, the city government was horribly corrupt. Given that Bluecorp’s headquarters was in San Diego, it made some sense, but even with Bluecorp, the government was too corrupt. Roads were rarely in top form, and many transportation projects focused only on the short run and were often finished so late that they were obsolete upon completion. The city’s dependence on cars also drove up the pollution to moderately harmful levels. Admittedly, given Los Angeles’s bad reputation in comparison, San Diego was not necessarily Hell, but it was far from Heaven.

“Somethin’ on your mind, Mr. Edgeworth?” Gumshoe asked, breaking the relative silence of the ride.

“Just how much this city has deteriorated since my childhood,” Miles answered.

“You don’t like it here?”

“For me, the city is tolerable, but not a place I would choose to live in were it not for my current job.”

“Well, I like this place. It’d be nice if there wasn’t as much crime, but then there’d be less jobs for us law people.”

“It’s a pity that our jobs depend on crime continuing, but then again, many important jobs depend on misfortune.”

“At least we’re not in Smog City, pal.”

“There is that to be thankful for. In my visits to Los Angeles, I would sooner call the city ‘Los Diablos’ than ‘Los Angeles.’”

“‘Los Diablos?’” Gumshoe asked, not familiar with the city’s second most common language.

“‘Los Angeles’ translates into ‘The Angels.’ ‘Los Diablos’ translates into ‘The Devils.’”

Gumshoe didn’t answer, probably thinking about the comment. Then, with a laugh, “I’ll have to remember that one.”

“I first heard that comment from your least favorite prosecutor.”
Gumshoe shuddered.

“At least you and Mr. Dzhugashvili agree on some things,” Miles added.

“Yeah, but that doesn’t mean I have to like him. The guy works us detectives into the ground.”

“He has his reasons, though.”

“He doesn’t trust us, pal! That’s why he always watches our investigations!”

“Given past faulty investigations that have resulted in innocent people getting arrested, I can understand why he is so insistent on thorough investigations.”

“Look, we make mistakes sometimes. As long as the right guy’s found in the end…”

“Gumshoe, you know that we have very strong prosecutors. In most cases, whoever is arrested is usually found guilty whether the investigation was thorough or not. I’ve seen plenty of cases in which I actually had my suspicions that the defendant was innocent. Need I bring up the Terry Fawles Incident?”

Gumshoe hung his head a little bit and sighed. “I see what you mean, pal. Did you really think he was innocent, though?”

“In all honesty, I don’t know. Ms. Hawthorne was definitely suspicious, but her motive was dubious at best.”

“She’s way too pretty to be a killer, pal!”

“‘Take nothing and no one at face value.’”

Gumshoe tensed up slightly at the quote.

The remainder of the car ride was quiet except for the sputtering of the engine and the occasional squeaking of the wheels. Gumshoe dropped Miles off at the Prosecutor’s Office, where he wheeled himself off after a brief good-bye.

While Miles was on the way to the main entrance, a silver car slowly pulled in. When it parked, a man in a long black coat—much like a greatcoat, but without the extra padding on the shoulders—and holding a cane in his right hand got out. The cane tapped on the pavement every now and then.

“Good morning, Mr. Edgeworth,” the man said.

“Good morning, Mr. Dzhugashvili,” Miles answered.

Ivan Dzhugashvili was like a lot of the city’s prosecutors in that he had some odd aspects about him—not the least of which was his appearance. He was similar in size and build to Miles, but he seemed taller to most people. His most notable features were his long coat and his beard. His beard was long and relatively ungroomed, reaching down to the top of his chest. His hair was another story, though—always fabulously groomed. His glasses rarely drew attention except when he fidgeted with them. Of course, his cane also left an impression on those who knew its true purpose.

One thing Dzhugashvili was known for was his direct involvement in the investigations for any cases he handled. He always made certain that every part of the crime scene was examined thoroughly, every person with even a remote connection to the case questioned, every piece of evidence examined in every possible method. “Take nothing and no one at face value,” he often said. Though his trial record was nothing impressive, he was a respectable man. Of course, most detectives who carried out investigations for him hated him—many referred to him as “Ivan the Terrible” behind his back. He was so thorough that many investigators were ready for a vacation after working with him; he wanted nothing overlooked.

Still, he didn’t care that the detectives despised him. In regards to his harshness, the ends justified the means. He was the only prosecutor Miles believed beyond a shadow of doubt to have never proven an innocent person guilty. He even went so far as to point out contradictions defense attorneys missed.

“Have you heard the latest about Borginia?” Dzhugashvili asked.

“Nothing new,” Miles answered.

“A bunch of radicals set off bombs in Pskov.”

“I thought the Borginians wanted independence, not punishment,” Miles said somewhat arrogantly.

“The representatives in Tartu denied involvement in the attacks, but I doubt Russia will believe it.”

“A false flag, perhaps?”

“Doubtful. Russia may not have an incredible government, but they would not stoop that low. Besides, as things stood before the bombings, most of Russia had little trouble with Borginia becoming independent. Besides, most of the land they’re asking for is in Estonia.”

“I meant by Russian opposition radicals—people in Russia who are against Borginian independence.”

“It’s possible when you put it that way.”

“By the way, Mr. Dzhugashvili, why are you here instead of at the crime scene?”

“I believe the investigation no longer needs my observation. Besides, I have something to discuss with the Chief Prosecutor.”

“If I may ask, what is it?”

“Some dubious evidence that was delivered to my office yesterday.”

“Do you think she’s responsible?”

“I doubt it; this particular evidence would cast suspicion on the prosecution’s claim. I kept a careful eye on the investigation, and I believe with the utmost certainty that our suspect is guilty. The evidence I was given has to be forged.”

“Who is the suspect for your case?”

“Aaron Space, a Bluecorp executive,” Dzhugashvili answered. “A connection was found between Space and the recent smuggling operation, and so far, no evidence has given us reason to not suspect him. For starters, Marino named Space as someone connected to the operation. When we investigated his house, we found numerous contracts with the smugglers, among other incriminating items.”

“Such as?”

“Files on the Kitaki family, a list of people known to be involved in the smuggling operations—need I continue? A safe room was also discovered in his house with a number of illegal weapons in it—as well as the same drugs from your case.”

“Why does he have files on the Kitakis?”

“We’ve found that they’re the main group behind smuggling operations in San Diego. If Space was involved in blackmailing them, then his cut of the drugs and drug money makes perfect sense.”

“What about the forged evidence?”

“A file on the Rivales family and their connection to the smugglers. The warehouse had evidence of the Kitakis’ involvement, but nothing even remotely incriminating the Rivaleses. Besides, the Rivales family has never been found to have had connections to smuggling. I would be astounded if the evidence was—”

Dzhugashvili was cut off by the Streltsy’s theme from Khovanshchina. He reached into his coat pocket and took out his cell phone. The phone was rather large and had a touch screen and stylus. It looked much more like a PDA than a phone.

“This is Dzhugashvili,” he answered. He paused to listen to the caller. “And has a conclusion been reached?” “You’re certain?” “Okay. Thanks, Katyushka.” “You couldn’t have called at a better time, actually. I was just about to talk to Ms. Skye about the matter.” “Excuse me?” “HE wanted you to stay quiet about it?” “I’ll make sure to bring him up in the conversation, then.” “Good-bye, Katyushka.”

“Your wife?” Miles asked as the elevator reached the twelfth floor.

“It was forged, and Chief Gant wanted the forgery kept under wraps.”

“Chief Gant?”

“This forgery situation is going from bad to worse. I think I’ll contact Fey and see if she’s found a connection between Gant and White or Space. If Gant’s the one behind the forgery, then Ms. Skye could not possibly be the conspirator. At the worst, she is an accomplice, though I doubt it, given her honesty.”

“Agreed. I trust Ms. Skye the same way I trust the investigators.”

“You only trust her because you love her.”

“You have it backwards, Mr. Dzhugashvili. I love her because I trust her.”

Dzhugashvili had no response to that. In truth, there really was no proper response to a statement like that. The elevator dinged at the twelfth floor. Miles wheeled himself out and to his office.

Purge those thoughts from your mind, Miles ordered himself. Lana would never forge evidence. She has done nothing but trustworthy work since the day she joined the force. She’s even helped expose forgeries within the department. There’s no way she would forge evidence herself.

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Last edited by General Luigi on Sat Feb 07, 2009 8:26 pm, edited 2 times in total.

Nice work! I quite like what you have going here. I thought the reference to the Kitaki family was a nice add in as well and your new format in is easier to read. I also think that the ending to this chapter is particularly good. With what I know about 1-5, I'm left with this feeling of sadness and foreboding for when Edgeworth finally finds out the truth and it works as a good hook. Keep up the good work.

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I've been planning Part II, which begins after Rise from the Ashes, on the side. It gives me a better sense of where to go with the rest of Part I. It goes without saying that there's still quite some time before Part II begins.

Anyway, thanks again. I just wish you weren't the only reader posting here.

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I just finished reading through the current parts up. Personally I think it's extremely well written. While I honestly don't ship Edgeworth/Lana I still love the way you have set everything up. The little mentions from Diego to the Terry Fawles case- and even going towards AJ, mentioning Borginia and The Kitaki/Rivales Family.

You really get a good taste of Edgeworth and his feelings from this whole event. Lana breaking up with him, suspecting Redd White (who essentially was known for the release of DL-6 information) and going as far as to team up with Young!Mia to find out who is forcing Lana to do such terrible deeds in his mind. Something I love a lot is that you keep the reader hanging on Edgeworth and his realizations. We, as the reader, know that Gant is behind everything that Lana is going through but Edgeworth, Mia, Gumshoe and everyone else has no clue.

I look forward to your next update. I'm sure it'll be as good as the last

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In truth, I'm not implying that they love each other in the games. In fact, I have yet to see much proof that Edgeworth has feelings for anyone. I wrote this story because they were a couple I viewed as possible (it's not as if there's any proof that they could not fall in love), and one that I could write a good story about.

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“Mr. White is not happy about this, Ms. Skye,” Chief Gant said, stating the obvious.

“What was I supposed to do?” Lana countered. “Force Dzhugashvili to present the file? We’re lucky he didn’t raise a big stink over it. I even had someone send the file to Grossberg so he could present it, just as you asked me to. He just barely avoided getting disbarred for it.”

“Really? What happened?”

“The instant Grossberg presented the forged file, Dzhugashvili called its legitimacy into question and called various members of the investigation team to the stand. Their testimony proved that the file was a fake. Grossberg was held in contempt of court and the trial ended with a guilty verdict. Dzhugashvili confronted me about the file again and told me he had even more reason to believe the forgery was an inside job now. After all, forged evidence that was given to him by someone within the department would not just magically appear in Grossberg’s office.”

“He needs to trust people more. I want you to fire him.”

“I’m not done, Chief. When he told me about the forgery, he said that he was almost certain that you were behind it. He also said that he will not hesitate to bring this matter before the commissioners if he learns about another forgery. If he does that, you and I are both in a huge mess.”

“Why does he think I’m the one behind the forgery?”

“His wife told him that you were the one who tried to cover it up. Before you fire her, think about it. If either one of them is dismissed without a good reason other than being a threat, we’ll soon go down with them.”

“I suppose you’re right,” Gant said with a bit of a sigh.

“Now that he suspects you, he’ll probably keep a close eye on you. If you’re going to try to keep me under your control, you’ll need to be a lot more cautious.”

“Ms. Skye, are you trying to counterattack?”

“Not at all. I have just as much to lose from this as you do. However, I think we’ll have to avoid tampering with any case that the Dzhugashvilis handle from now on; they’ll spot the forgery in an instant.”

“You’re right about that. Still, I owe Mr. White an explanation.”

“Tell him the prosecutor on the case spotted the forgery on his own.”

“And you think he’ll buy that?” Gant asked, partially laughing, partially worried about what White would do to him. Lana made a mental note to remember that moment when her tormentor showed fear.

“I don’t know exactly what hold he has over you, but you’re not one to set off a mine unless you’re sure you won’t get caught in the blast. I’m sure he knows he has as much control over you as you have over me.”

“That doesn’t change what happened. He’ll probably think we’ve turned on him.”

“What do you mean ‘we?’ He has no direct hold on me.”

“But I do. You’re the one who got us into this mess, so find a way to get out of it.”

“How am I the one responsible? You’re the one who requested the forgery and then asked me to send it to Grossberg when Dzhugashvili refused to use it.”

The telephone rang. Gant picked it up.

“Police Chief Gant,” he said into the receiver. There was a pause. “I was just discussing the matter with the Chief Prosecutor.” “No, Dzhugashvili spotted the forgery completely on his own.” “Why would I betray you? If I betrayed you, I’d be ruined.” “No, please don’t.” “I can’t get rid of them.” “Because they know the forgery was an inside job! If I get rid of them, they’ll expose everything, including your involvement in this!” “They’re too smart for you. They’ve probably got a plan.” “No, I’m not protecting them! I’ve got even more to lose than you do if our involvement’s publicized!” “Look, I had the evidence sent to Grossberg so he could use it to win the case!” “I know that!” “I told you, Dzhugashvili did this all on his own!” “Thank you, Mr. White.”

Gant hung up. He was covered in sweat. Lana felt herself smiling.

“What are you smiling at?” he demanded.

“It’s nice to see the torturer become the tortured every now and then,” she answered.

“Cursed man! Why does he do this to me?!”

“The same reason you’re blackmailing me—personal gain.”

I’d sure like to know what sort of hold White has over Gant, Lana thought.

“You can leave, Skye. White let us off with a warning.”

“Gladly,” Lana answered.



Lana was about to get into her car when Jake stopped her.

“Can we talk?” he asked.

“Depends on what about and how long,” Lana answered.

“What happened to you? You used to be the nicest gal I knew, n’ now you’re colder ’n a desert night in the middle o’ January.”

“Nothing happened. People change, Officer Marshall.”

“You better not be thinkin’ I’ll buy that. There’s no way you’d change so much just like that.”

“What do you want me to say? ‘I changed because I spent too much time with Mr. Edgeworth?’”

“Never said you were spendin’ too much time with the boy. I’m thinkin’ he’s the reason you changed, though. He dumped you, didn’t he?”

“How I behave at work has nothing do with my feelings for Mr. Edgeworth.”

“’Tain’t just work, Lana. My Madonna says you’ve been like this everywhere.”

“One: please don’t refer to me by my first name when I’m on the clock. Two: don’t pry into my personal life. It’s nothing you should care about.”

Jake said something in response, but Lana didn’t pay attention. Instead, she just got into her car and walked off.

She and Jake had dated about two years ago, and it lasted for a year. In reality, it was little more than a mutual physical attraction. However, she did not realize it at the time. She had Angel Starr to thank for uncovering the truth, though. Starr was able to lure Jake into a rather passionate affair with her. Lana herself had been insistent on limiting just how passionate her relationship with Jake was, so it was only natural that he sought another outlet.

Lana thought she really loved him, but when she happened to overhear Starr mentioning Jake when showing off her never-decreasing list of boyfriends, she interrogated Jake. He was pretty good at lying, but there was more than enough evidence that he was in an affair with Starr. That was the end of their relationship. Lana concluded from how quickly she got past her feelings for Jake that those feelings were not actually love.

Almost the entire department reacted to the breakup—except for Miles. When he was on the clock, Miles focused on only his work; he cared nothing about what went on among the ranks unless it was relevant to a case he was handling. Gumshoe seemed attached to him, though, and Lana learned through him that Miles was not necessarily a bad person—he just had a passion for his work. Sure enough, he and Lana became good friends after Gumshoe proposed that they meet on their own time.

Jake had tried a few times to win Lana back, but when she fell in love with Miles, the attempts stopped rather abruptly. Besides, Jake had his Angel. Even if those two were willing to share their lovers, Lana was not.



Lana managed to return home without anyone noticing—save Katara, who almost always tried to go outside whenever the front door was opened. The only other place accessible to her was the balcony, which had a screen put up around it to prevent accidents. Ema was lying on her stomach on the living room floor, reading her chemistry textbook with the usual enthusiasm. Her pink-shaded glasses were over her eyes, which were eagerly looking at a diagram of a large molecule (large for a molecule, anyway). Her headphones were over her ears, which explained why she didn’t hear the door open.

Katara, having yet again failed to escape, walked over to Ema and curled up on top of the textbook in the usual Burmese fashion.

“Hey!” Ema cried, pretending to be upset at the cat’s behavior. “I was reading that, you know.” The cat didn’t move. She just looked up at Ema as if to say “Why pay attention to that when you can pay attention to me?” Ema lifted Katara up and placed her aside, noticing Lana.

“Oh! Lana, you’re home!” Every part of her face seemed to smile. It had been long enough for her to know not to hug her older sister anymore, but she still smiled. Had it just been Miles Lana had to close herself off to, the SL-9 Incident would not have made her life so torturous. Building a wall between herself and her sister, though, was living Hell. Ema had an innocence about her that was impossible for adults to not notice, from her childish eyes to her adorable voice to her bright smile. Whenever Lana had company over, they would comment on how cute Ema was.

Oftentimes, Lana felt more like Ema’s mother than her sister. For almost ten years, Lana had been handling all the tasks their parents handled: cooking, cleaning, driving, paying taxes, buying food and clothes, taking care of the cats (even though there was only one when their parents were alive), and, of course, raising Ema. Lana had had to mature faster than most Americans her age. In a matter of months, she had to learn how to keep their house running. Ultimately, they had to move to a condo, though. Lana was competent, but she was just a secretary when their parents died—not nearly a high enough income to pay the property taxes on the house they once lived in and keep herself and Ema happy and healthy.

“I’ve been trying to figure out how electric Pokémon use electricity,” Ema started, repeatedly staring at the cat next to her, “but Katara keeps getting in the way.”

Naturally, Lana thought. Ever since she was introduced to the show, Ema had been determined to scientifically explain how Pokémon were capable of using their attacks. She had gotten an A+ on a school project that explained how Fire Pokémon could breathe fire. It was mainly theoretical, but it made sense. That report was her pride and joy. A copy of it was in the bookshelf, easy to spot since it was the only binder on the shelf. Lana had been incredibly proud—not to mention amazed—at all the effort she had put into it.

“Have you done your homework already?” Lana asked.

“Yeah, it’s all done,” Ema replied.

“Prove it.” It was uncommon, but when Ema was really excited about something, she would lie about doing her homework. She seemed rather eager to study electric attacks, so it was feasible that she had lied.

Ema got up and walked over to her backpack, taking out her binder and showing the assignment list. Then she proceeded to show Lana all of the assignments on the list—complete.

“There’s your proof, Sis,” Ema said, a slight smirk on her face from having disproved Lana’s suspicion. She put the binder back, returned to the textbook (after getting Katara off of it again), and resumed work on her “studies.”

Lana shrugged and walked over to the bookshelf, taking out a book to read. Soon enough, Barbara came and curled up on Lana’s lap. The day had calmed down, and it stayed a quiet one. After what had happened at work, Lana was relieved that no other dangers awaited her. Living in the shadow of a terrible secret had a way of making one value the peaceful, boring days in which nothing significant happened.

---

That was an excellent chapter. I'm really happy that you delved into Lana's and Ema's relationship some as it plays such a big role in the fifth case (and is very sweet). You did a wonderful job really getting into Lana's head in this chapter. Also, Ema's looking into the scientific explanation for pokemon amused me quite a bit and really helped to give a nice grasp of Ema's character. I look forward to more. :)

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Though Lana and Miles are without a doubt the protagonists, I knew I would have to make Ema a major character. To be honest, I was thinking right from when I started the portion with her just how I could establish her character properly. With regards to her personality, I consider Ema (the younger Ema, anyway) to be among the cutest characters in the series--and I imagine Lana considered Ema to be cute, too. I wanted to make sure readers could get a good sense of that. Of course, working with someone else's characters can be annoying at times, too.

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Great story!

Also I myself am a x fan.

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The gavel rang out, beginning yet another trial. John Grozny, another one of White’s people, had been arrested—this time for murder. He was rather clever (the detective in charge of the investigation almost arrested the wrong person), but ultimately, thanks to information provided by Mia Fey, he became a suspect, and a search of his house revealed decisive evidence of his involvement in the murder.

“Court is now in session for the trial of Mr. John Grozny,” the judge said. It was the same judge Miles usually had to convince of the defendant’s guilt.

“The prosecution is ready, Your Honor,” Miles said.

“The defense is ready, Your Honor,” the defense attorney said. Miles had never faced Alice Payne in court before, but a fellow prosecutor—her father—had mentioned her more than enough.

Hopefully, this lady is a tougher attorney than her father, Miles thought. It had been a while since he had a good challenge.

“Mr. Edgeworth, your opening statement?” Judge Clous requested.

“Bluecorp—a powerful company that specializes in information,” Miles began. “It is only natural that the employees know a large amount of secrets. John Grozny, the defendant, is an executive in said company. Like most executives, he is suspected of backroom dealings and blackmail. If someone—say, someone whose reputation was hurt by the company—managed to get her hands on a file revealing that truth, then that person would become a threat to Mr. Grozny.

“Ms. Ann Thrax, a woman suffering from a chronic illness who could not afford the proper medical care thanks to Bluecorp’s revelation that she was an illegal immigrant, managed to obtain such a file. It goes without saying that she probably planned on blackmailing the company to pay for her medical care—or possibly just for revenge.

“The defendant’s home was searched, and evidence of his involvement in the crime has been found. The prosecution stands to prove that Mr. Grozny killed Ms. Thrax in order to protect the secrets she had come across.”

“The court acknowledges the prosecution," the judge said. “Please call your first witness, Mr. Edgeworth.”

“The prosecution calls the detective in charge of the overall investigation, Detective Bruce Goodman, to the stand.”

A calm-looking man in a white trench coat approached the stand.

“Witness, please state your name and occupation,” Miles requested.

“Detective Bruce Goodman,” the detective replied. “I was put in charge of the overall investigation of this case.”

“Please testify to the court about the defendant’s arrest,” the judge said.

“Yes, Your Honor,” Goodman said. “After receiving a lead from a third party, we were given a warrant to search the defendant’s house. During the search, we found some evidence that implicated him in the murder and also established that the victim had at one point possessed a damaging file on Bluecorp. The file established his motive. In addition, his alibi could not be confirmed by any credible sources. So, we arrested him.”

“Well, that certainly throws suspicion on him,” the judge commented. “Ms. Payne, please begin your cross-examination.”

“Understood, Your Honor,” Payne answered. She thought for a moment. She had most likely picked up on some of the traps in the testimony.

“What exactly happened during the arrest?” she asked the detective. “You seemed rather vague about it in your testimony.”

“Oh, well, his wife and son happened to be there when we searched his house. It really hurt to have to arrest Mr. Grozny in front of them.”

“How old is his son?”

“Objection!” Miles interrupted. “The witness has answered the question.”

“Objection sustained,” the judge said.”

After thinking for a moment, Payne decided to press a more dangerous part of the testimony. “Detective, you said my client’s alibi could not be confirmed by any credible sources. What sources were there and how did you come to decide their testimony was not credible?”

“The only source was Mr. Redd White, the CEO of Bluecorp. He said that Mr. Grozny was in a meeting with him. There was no proof, though.”

“And how exactly does that make his testimony impermissible? I can’t prove that I had toast for breakfast, but that doesn’t mean I’m lying!”

“Objection!” Miles interrupted. “Ms. Payne, did you even listen to the detective’s statement? Unless you have evidence proving that the defendant was in a meeting, your argument is nothing more than conjecture. In addition, the fact that Mr. Grozny is a valued employee of Mr. White costs him his credibility as a witness. Could we please continue?”

“Of course we can’t!” she replied. “Just because someone is connected to the defendant doesn’t mean they’re not a credible witness! White might be able to prove that my client was in a meeting with him! He could be a decisive witness!”

“Objection!” Miles shouted. “Ms. Payne, ‘might’ and ‘could be’ are not going to suffice for a court of law. If you want Mr. White to be called to the witness stand, you will have to provide solid evidence that his testimony is credible.” Miles had heard that Payne had been denied the right to testify in a case against her boyfriend because of her relationship with him. He was found guilty—a guarantee whenever Manfred von Karma is the prosecutor. He could have brought that up, but it might have been considered a personal attack on the defense.

Payne sighed. She thought again, then, sensing a trap ahead, asked another question. “Detective, about the file that ‘established his motive…’ How exactly is it connected to the crime? It could just have been an incriminating file that happened to be at my client’s house during the search. What proof do you have that it’s at all related to the murder?”

Goodman jumped a little at Payne’s sudden change in tone. “Well, it… is… a file that incriminates Mr. Grozny. If it was stolen, then he’d definitely try to get it back—by any means necessary.”

“But what proof is there that it was stolen?”

“Ah!” Goodman jumped again. He started rubbing his nose, something he often did when trying to think.

“Ms. Payne…” Miles started, his calm voice the complete opposite of Goodman’s flustered yelps, “the forensics department examined the file at my request. I can safely say that this file was stolen by the victim. After all, her fingerprints were found on it. Ergo, the file is strongly connected to this case!”

“Erh!” Payne yelped. She seemed to fall backwards, hitting the back of her head on the wall behind her. She then bent her head forward and rubbed the area that was hit.

“Are you quite done, Ms. Payne?” Miles asked, already knowing the answer.

“I’m not done yet.” Payne looked back at the detective. She seemed hesitant, as though she knew that whatever she asked was going to spring another trap.

“Detective, who’s this ‘third party’ who gave you a lead?” she asked.

“Defense attorney Mia Fey,” Goodman replied.

“For those who are unaware,” Miles cut in, “Ms. Fey has been looking into Bluecorp and its connection to crime in this district. She shared her files on Grozny with the police—much of the data in the file found in the defendant’s house matched what Ms. Fey had uncovered in her files.”

Payne sighed. “Okay…” She cringed. Miles knew what was next, and apparently, she had a good sense of the future, too. “About this…” She paused and took a deep breath, letting it out slowly before continuing. “About this ‘evidence that implicated him in the murder…’ Just what is this evidence, and how does it implicate my client?”

“Well,” Goodman started, “a very nice Blackhawk revolver was found mounted on the wall in his living room. Since the bullet found in the victim was a .38 Special, we examined the gun, even though Mr. Grozny said it was just a decoration. Sure enough, it had been fired recently. The ballistic markings on the bullet matched the gun.”

“Oh my!” Judge Clous exclaimed. “You mean the defendant’s gun was the one that committed the crime?”

“Objection!” Payne cried. “Detective, what kind of idiot would kill someone with a gun and then put that weapon on display in his living room? If I were the killer, I would have disposed of the weapon as soon as I got the chance!”

“Objection!” Miles countered. “Ms. Payne, perhaps you should put that attorney’s badge of yours on display in your living room. The bullet that killed the victim was a .38 Special whose ballistic markings matched those of the defendant’s ‘decoration.’ Regardless of how odd it is to hide the murder weapon in plain sight, the fact remains that this is what was done. If you’re going to deny that, I suggest you present some evidence.”

“Fingerprints,” Payne said, rubbing her forehead with her left thumb and index finger in thought. “Whose fingerprints were on the gun?”

“No fingerprints were found on the gun,” Miles answered. “It goes without saying that if one is going to hide the murder weapon, one might as well wipe off any fingerprints on it. Now, shall we move on? If the defense has no further questions, I would like to move on. Now that the defendant’s motive has been established, in addition to the conclusive evidence against him, the prosecution will now establish that Mr. Grozny indeed had an opportunity to kill Ms. Thrax.”

“Well, Ms. Payne?” the judge asked. “Anything else you need to know?”

“The defense would like to hear more about the Mr. Grozny’s family.”

“Mr. Edgeworth? Any objections?”

“The family is a dead end,” Miles replied. “I will allow testimony about them if the defense allows the defendant to testify about the night of the crime afterwards.”

“Well, Ms. Payne?”

Payne didn’t answer. She rubbed her forehead with her left index finger, trying to think. Miles had made it apparent through his request that he believed the defendant’s testimony would ultimately benefit the prosecution. In addition, he had also indicated through his proposal that he didn’t see the testimony she requested as a threat to his case. She was most likely just trying to figure out if Miles was bluffing or he really was that confident.

Of course, the “safe” course was just as dangerous for the defense. After all, the crime scene had yielded some rather conclusive evidence that Grozny was there when the crime was committed.

“The defense accepts the prosecution’s terms,” Payne finally answered.

“Very well,” Miles said. “Your Honor, I would like to temporarily relieve Detective Goodman from the stand. The prosecution would like to call a witness who can easily prove that the defendant was the only person in the family who had the opportunity to kill the victim.”

“Request granted,” the judge said. “Call your witness, Mr. Edgeworth.”

“The prosecution calls Mrs. Anastasia Grozny to the stand. Her testimony will prove beyond all doubt that she and her son did not have an opportunity to commit the crime.”

A woman in her thirties approached the stand.

“Witness, please state your name and occupation,” Miles requested.

“Anastasia Grozny. I’m the manager of the Gatewater Hotel in La Jolla.”

“Oh, my!” the judge cut in. “I remember that hotel. I sometimes stay there just to have their room service!”

“Could we please proceed with the testimony, Your Honor?” Miles asked.

“Of course. Witness, please testify about what you and your son were doing at the time of the crime.”

“Okay,” Mrs. Grozny said. She seemed hesitant. It was understandable, considering that she was testifying in her husband’s trial. “Our son, Peter, is in a chorus. He had a concert that night, so I had to drive him. I had promised him I’d attend, so I was there until the concert was over. John said he had a few reports to file, so he couldn’t come. So you see, my son and I both have an alibi.”

“Indeed you do, Mrs. Grozny,” the judge said. “Ms. Payne, you may cross-examine the witness.”

“Mrs. Grozny, what chorus is Peter in?” Payne asked, obviously hoping to get an answer that she could prove to be false.

“The North Coast Singers,” Mrs. Grozny answered. “I still have a program from their concert that night. Mr. Edgeworth asked me to bring it as proof of our alibi.”

“Your Honor, this is the program from that concert,” Miles said, handing the judge a green booklet. “If you look at the roster for Giocoso, you will see that Peter Grozny is indeed a member.”

“Hmm… You’re right,” the judge said. “This does indeed prove that the witness’s son was at the concert.”

“Objection!” Payne cut in, as Miles knew she would. “All that proves is that the witness’s son is in Giocoso! It does not prove that he was at the concert!”

“Objection!” Miles countered. “Ms. Payne, I will admit that the program does not conclusively confirm the witness’s alibi, but it does establish how unlikely it is that the witness’s son was the killer. After all, each singer’s grade is shown in the program. Does the defense truly intend to accuse a second-grader of murder?”

The gallery started jeering at Payne. The judge banged his gavel, silencing them.

“I never said that the witness’s son was the killer,” Payne said. “The defense concedes that Peter Grozny is unlikely to have been the killer. However, this does not clear the witness herself!”

“Then please continue with your cross-examination, Ms. Payne,” Miles said.

“Mrs. Grozny,” Payne started, returning to the witness, “how many cars does your family own?”

“Two,” Mrs. Grozny replied. “I use one to go to work, and John uses the other for his job.”

“What about your son?”

“Objection!” Miles cut in. “What does this have to do with the case? I can understand asking about the number of cars, but asking about where the witness’s son goes after school?”

“Objection sustained,” the judge said. “Ms. Payne, please stick to the case itself.”

Payne sighed. She then continued. “You said your husband ‘had a few reports to file,’ correct?”

“What about it?” Mrs. Grozny asked.

“What were those reports?”

“I have no idea, Ms. Payne.”

“You have no idea? I’d think they’d have to be pretty important for—”

“Objection!” Miles interrupted. “Have you forgotten what the defendant is on trial for, Ms. Payne? He simply said that to give himself an opportunity to commit the crime he is accused of. Or perhaps you have proof that the defendant did indeed file reports?”

Payne sighed again and pressed her hand against her forehead. “I have no proof,” she said. “Going back to the alibi aspect, there’s no decisive proof that you and your son had an alibi. Yes, the concert you claim to have attended is real, but there’s no proof you were at it. What proves beyond all doubt that you were there?”

“Tsk, tsk, tsk,” Miles chuckled. “Of course there’s proof. One thing Mrs. Grozny told me about the concert was that it was filmed by a few people in the audience. I had Detective Goodman track a few of them down and get copies of their videos. Both Mrs. Grozny and her son were caught in this one quite well.” Miles took a video out of the bag behind his desk and put it on his desk.

The bailiff, catching the cue, went out and brought in a television set. The video was put in, and Miles fast-forwarded to a part in which both Mrs. Grozny and her son were visible. The gallery started murmuring, quickly being silenced by the judge’s gavel.

“Well done, Mr. Edgeworth,” the judge said. “You never seem to miss a spot in your investigations.”

“I make sure to be prepared,” Miles said, taking a bow.

“Ms. Payne, any further questions?” the judge asked.

“I’d like to take a look at this video,” she answered.

How predictable, Miles thought. He knew that by holding the video back, he would be able to trick the defense into thinking there was a problem with it.

After some time and some untrained singing voices, Payne placed her left elbow on her desk and grasped her forehead with her hand. She had apparently realized that it was a trap.

“Will that be all with the video, Ms. Payne?” Miles asked, sure of the answer.

“The defense has no further questions for this witness,” she answered, removing her hand from her forehead.

“Then, as per the deal, you will allow your client to take the stand and testify.”

“Before we do that, however,” the judge added, “we will take a ten minute recess.”



“Sir, why didn’t you tell me about the fingerprints on the file?” Goodman asked Miles in the Prosecution Lobby.

“I didn’t think it was necessary,” Miles answered. “Besides, it made for a good trap for Ms. Payne.”

“A trap, sir?”

“Defense attorneys will use every weapon at their disposal to prove their clients not guilty. Thus, we sometimes need to harm their credibility.”

“Well, uh…” Goodman let the thought trail off. He had no suitable response. “Uh… How do you think the defendant will behave, sir?”

“He will no doubt lie to protect himself. If Ms. Payne fails to point out those lies, I will do so myself, getting her a sizable penalty in the process.”



The judge’s gavel began what would no doubt be the final phase of the trial.

“Bailiff, please escort the defendant to the stand,” the judge ordered. The bailiff led Mr. Grozny to the stand and stood next to him in case he tried to flee.

“Mr. Grozny,” Miles started, “I would like you to testify to the court about the night of the crime. Just what were you doing at the time?”

“I was filing some reports, just as my wife testified. Peter and Ana were at the concert, so I had the house to myself. After I was done with the reports, I watched a little TV. Then my family returned. I never left the house at all.”

Miles chuckled. He knew the defendant was lying.

“Please begin the cross-examination, Ms. Payne,” the judge requested.

“I’m sorry to ask you about something that your company might consider classified, but it’s critical to your case,” Payne said. “What were the reports about?”

“They were on the scandal involving Aaron Space,” Mr. Grozny answered. “I had been tasked with cleaning up the mess he had made with the company’s money.”

“Where’s your proof?” Payne asked.

“The reports have probably been filed away in the company’s HQ.”

“Please amend your testimony about the reports, Mr. Grozny,” Payne said.

“Okay. The reports were on Aaron Space’s crimes.”

“Objection!” Payne shouted. “Mr. Grozny, don’t lie to me. I’m supposed to be on your side, but I can only defend you if you tell the truth.”

“What?”

“I spoke with Detective Goodman during the investigation. He said the reports in your office about Space were dated almost a month ago. What were you doing filing old reports?”

The gallery started up, silenced by the judge’s gavel. “Mr. Edgeworth, your thoughts?” the judge asked.

“You don’t need them; it’s obvious what I think,” Miles said, his arms crossed.

“Defendant, what do you have to say about this contradiction?”

“I’m pleading the fifth,” Mr. Grozny said.

The gallery started up again, silenced by the gavel.

“In that case,” Miles started, “the prosecution would like to present decisive evidence of the defendant’s location when the crime was committed.”

“What’s your evidence?” the judge asked.

“A doorknob.” Miles took out a cut-out portion of a wooden door. The lock below the doorknob was very severely damaged—it looked as though something hard had smashed it.

“A doorknob?”

“Not just any doorknob, though. This doorknob is from the victim’s front door—and it is teeming with the defendant’s fingerprints.”

“Objection!” Payne cut in. “That only proves my client has been to the victim’s house.”

“Objection!” Miles countered. “Don’t tell me you can’t see the damage that was done to the lock. This was clearly a break-in. Yes, the defendant attempted to break into the victim’s house and steal the incriminating file. However, the victim was home. When she saw the defendant, she panicked, making herself known. Mr. Grozny, fearing he would be turned in to the police, shot her.”

The judge closed his eyes. “Yes, it’s becoming very clear to me now.” He banged his gavel. “This court sees no reason to further prolong this trial. The case is very clear to me, and I have no need to further look into it.”

“Objection!” Payne interrupted. “The doorknob only proves my client broke into the house! There’s no proof that he did that when the victim was being killed!”

“Objection!” Miles shouted. “Actually, there is proof,” he said more calmly, knowing the end was near. “The victim’s blood was found on this.” Miles took a briefcase out of his bag. The case was not damaged at all, but it had a bloodstain on it. “What makes this important is that the defendant’s fingerprints are on it. Specifically, they are on top of the bloodstain.” He slammed his right hand against his desk. “Ergo, the defendant was at the scene of the crime after the murder was committed!”

“Objection!” Payne countered. “That doesn’t prove—”

“Objection!” Miles interrupted. “Doesn’t prove that he was there when the crime was committed? Do you know how close the victim’s house is to a police station? One block! The police were there in less than a minute! If the defendant had broken in after the crime was committed, he would have been arrested on the spot! He had no time to break in and flee without being noticed by the police!”

The whack of the judge’s gavel echoed through the courtroom, silencing the gallery, which had been getting noisier ever since Payne objected to the doorknob. “That’s enough!” the judge barked. “Ms. Payne, I commend you for your effort, but I see no reason to doubt the prosecution’s case. I will give you one last chance to turn this case around. If what you do does not bring to light anything important that the prosecution cannot counter, I will render my verdict right then and there.”

Payne thought. It was all too obvious what she was thinking. What is there to prove? What can turn this case around?

“Mr. Edgeworth,” Payne finally started, “you said the police were there in less than a minute, right?”

Miles held his hands open and shook his head. “I know what you’re going to ask. ‘How could my client have fled in that time?’ It’s simple.” Miles started wagging his left index finger. “The briefcase was found very close to the door. All he had to do was shoot the victim and steal the file.”

“Exactly. Where was the file? I imagine my client would have needed more than a minute to search the victim’s house for a file.”

“Tsk, tsk, tsk,” Miles chuckled. “I’m so sorry, but I forgot to mention one other thing the file clears up: the defendant’s opportunity. You see, the victim’s blood was found on the file. Now, where exactly was the victim shot?”

“Ack!” Payne fell backwards and hit the back of her head on the wall behind her.

“The front door,” Miles answered. “Therefore, the defendant needed only a matter of seconds to steal the file. It was just bad luck for him that the victim was home. If she had only been out at the moment, no one would have died.”

“Indeed,” the judge said. “Ms. Payne, it appears your objection has fallen flat. Therefore, I am prepared to hand down my verdict. This court finds the defendant, Mr. John Grozny, guilty. The accused will surrender to the court immediately, to be held pending trial at a higher court within a month from today's date. That is all. The court is adjourned!”



When Miles left the courthouse, he saw Gumshoe waiting for him.

“How’d it go, sir?” Gumshoe asked.

“Guilty, as always,” Miles replied.

“Man, you’re the best, pal. You’re such a good prosecutor that people are starting rumors about you.”

“I’ve heard a few of them. They say I’m more merciless than Genghis Khan.”

“Who’s that again?”

“A ruthless leader, a vicious warrior, and a mighty conqueror. He led the Mongols and expanded their empire across much of Eurasia. The empire collapsed shortly after he died, however.”

“Wow. That must mean you’re pretty good.”

“A good prosecutor, yes. I’ve gotten a lot of enemies from being so good, though. Some have taken to calling me ‘The Demon Prosecutor.’”

“Well, don’t let it get you down, sir.”

“It may offend me as a person,” Miles started, “but as a prosecutor, it is nothing short of a compliment. You know you’re good when people falsely accuse you of playing dirty to reach the top.”

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Last edited by General Luigi on Mon Feb 09, 2009 4:22 pm, edited 2 times in total.

Very nice work! I loved how you included Payne's daughter and the allusions you made to the forging evidence issue. You are doing an excellent job tying this into the canon timeline, particularly with the subtle references to 1-5. The story is very good so far. Keep it up!

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Lana picked up Katara in her arms a few seconds after entering their condo. She struggled a bit, but after Lana pushed the door shut with one of her legs, the little cat calmed down. Ema came trotting up shortly after Lana placed Katara on the floor.

“Can I have my presents now?” Ema asked excitedly.

“Have you done your homework?” Lana asked in response.

Ema’s bright smile turned into a begging frown. “Aw, Sis, it’s my birthday! Can’t homework wait?”

“It may be your birthday, but it’s also Monday. And I think your response answers my question.”

“I promise I’ll finish it before tomorrow!”

“I don’t want you staying up late to finish your homework. Once it’s done, you can have your presents.”

With a sigh, Ema walked off to her backpack, intentionally dragging her feet to emphasize how disappointed she was. Lana managed to maintain the indifferent face she had had almost six months to master, although on the inside, she was saddened by her sister’s reaction.

Lana walked off to her room. Barbara was curled up on the bed. Lana lay down on the side that Barbara had not taken. Almost instantly, Barbara got up and curled up on Lana’s chest. Had the cat curled up any closer to her neck, she would have been worried about choking. With her right hand, Lana started petting Barbara while she removed her muffler with her left hand. She was at home, so she didn’t feel odd taking it off.

The muffler had a somewhat special meaning to her. She had first gotten it when she began law school, and it had been a part of her everyday wardrobe ever since. About two years later, she met Mia, who absolutely loved the muffler and got one of her own—albeit a different color (she had said she hated how she looked in red). When Lana was dating Miles, he commented a few times on how well it contrasted her usually stiff outfits—a rarity for a fair number of San Diegan women these days, considering the climate.

She was starting to question whether or not she should keep living in San Diego. The mostly warm weather made her preferred way of dressing a bad choice, yet she always felt uncomfortable showing too much skin—even though she knew plenty of women who didn’t hesitate to show off more. The muffler was useful in that regard, too; it made her feel as if she was more covered up than she really was. Of course, another reason for wanting to leave San Diego was the fact that she and Ema were prone to nosebleeds during the summer due to the dry weather. There was also the horrible traffic, the pitiful public transit, the unchecked development of land, and much more. How much they disliked San Diego was the starting topic of the first conversation she had with Miles. The memory surfaced, although it had probably been warped a little, considering that it was not fresh.



Lana and Mr. Edgeworth had been sitting on that bench together for a few minutes without saying anything. Both were waiting for the other to pick a topic.

This is getting nowhere fast, Lana thought.

“Nice weather today,” Lana said in a pitiful attempt at small talk. Weather was a cop-out, but when nothing else came to mind, it served its purpose. It was overcast, so she figured there would be some witty comeback from Edgeworth.

“Agreed,” Edgeworth said.

Lana chuckled. “You’re the first person I’ve met who likes clouds.”

“Too much sunlight bothers me; it reflects off of everything and makes it a pain to go outside.”

“Same here. The sunlight is one of the reasons I want to leave this city.”

“The others being?”

“Traffic and bad public transit, for starters.”

“Some of the worst traffic in the country,” Edgeworth said. “Nothing compared to Los Angeles, but still not something I enjoy driving in.”

“The dryness is also a pain. Every summer, Ema and I get nosebleed after nosebleed.”

“Ema?”

“My little sister. I’ve had to keep an eye on her ever since our parents died.”

Edgeworth was silent.

“You’re not sorry?” Lana asked, a tad offended.

“It’s not my fault that your parents are dead, so there’s no need for me to apologize. It’s not nice to hear about such things, though.”

Lana sighed. Well, at least he cared. He just… didn’t show it in the way most people did.



There was much more they had talked about that day, but that was the only part Lana remembered well enough. It was amazing that such a difficult start ended up leading to love. Miles’s “father” had given him quite a suit of armor, but underneath it was a very passionate man with a great respect for the wisdom of others—and a great disrespect for the stupidity of others. He was a very kind person once one got to know him. Even Gumshoe had managed to become friends with him despite his own stupidity—although the friendship was rather… special. On the surface, it looked as if Miles couldn’t stand him.

“All done, sis!” Ema chirped from the doorway. She came in with her notebook to prove she had done her homework.

“So be it,” Lana said, lightly pushing Barbara off. When she got up, Barbara curled up on the warm spot she had left behind.

Lana walked over to her closet and took out Ema’s presents, struggling—although successfully—to maintain an indifferent expression. When Ema got the first present, she hastily tore the wrapping paper right off. A book on chemical reactions. The second present was a set of chemicals—with a note—typed by Lana—attached to the box that warned Ema to use them outside and to avoid making any messes. Punishment for disobeying would be a one-week ban from all electronic devices except when necessary for doing homework. The third gift was a bunch of containers—flasks, test tubes, beakers, graduated cylinders, and the like.

When Ema was done opening the presents, she ran up to Lana and gave her a hug and a “Thank you, Lana,” although the hug was not returned.

“What’s wrong?” Ema asked, noticing that Lana’s arms were not around her.

“I just don’t feel like a hug,” Lana lied. Truth be told, she could use a hug to cheer her up, but she couldn’t get one. She had to break off from Ema—it was the only way to keep her from getting involved in SL-9 again.

“Please?” Ema begged, her innocent eyes wide open and trying to look Lana in the eye. She avoided her sister’s gaze until Ema sighed sadly and returned her eyes to their normal position. “Why can’t you just give me one as a birthday present?”

“I said I didn’t feel like a hug.” Ema let go. Lana could tell from the look in her eyes that she was about to cry. Ema took her presents and ran off to her own room before the tears could come out.

I was hoping it wouldn’t come to this, Lana thought, picking up the wrapping paper strewn on the floor. Why couldn’t she have just taken her presents and left without pushing for love? The answer was obvious enough for even Judge Clous to notice: Ema loved her sister. And yet Lana could do nothing; as long as the shadow of SL-9 loomed over her head, she had to build a wall around herself—even if it meant alienating the people she loved.

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Last edited by General Luigi on Thu Jun 26, 2008 3:36 pm, edited 1 time in total.

Aw... excellent chapter. This was a particularly emotional chapter and you handled it quite well. The only issue I have (and is probably more just a matter of character interpretations) is Miles' reaction to Lana talking about her parents' deaths. Yes, he often doesn't react like most people, but he is always formal in his behavior unless truly rattled by something and apologizing after hearing about someone's misfortune is simply the cultural standard so I think he would offer a short, rather curt apology. I agree that he would likely have trouble truly sharing her feelings and expressing his own, but a simple apology followed by some discomfort between the two (and since he cares for her a great deal perhaps an attempt to reach out to more emotionally and comfort her even if he can't quite do it). Other then that, nicely handled. :)

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Thank you, Ms. Fey. Also, to everyone: if you speak fluent German, I'd like to enlist your help in the next chapter.

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The next chapter is ready. I'll post it once I hear back from henryjustice, who was kind enough to provide a German translation for the dialogue, about a few details.

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Thanks to henryjustice for providing me with a translation of the dialogue into German.



Beglückt darf nun dich, o Heimat, ich schauen
und grüßen froh deine lieblichen Auen;
nun laß ich ruhn den Wanderstab,
weil Gott getreu ich gepilgert hab.

A familiar chorus from Tannhäuser echoed through the halls of Manfred von Karma’s Dresden mansion. The opera was Miles’s personal favorite (next to Mazeppa, but in this house, praising “Russian cacophonies” was a greater taboo than tracking mud on the perfectly-made rugs that lined the center of the entry hall). Although the mansion itself had the appearance and interior of a Baroque palace, it was actually completely machine-made only five years ago. Every last millimeter of the structure had been done perfectly. There was not one flaw in the sculpting of the gargoyles on the balcony, the placement of the red bricks, the carving of intricate designs into the walls and ceiling.

Durch Sühn und Buß hab ich versöhnt
den Herren, dem mein Herze frönt,
der meine Reu mit Segen krönt,
den Herren, dem mein Lied ertönt,

The tapping of von Karma’s cane on the floor above him reached Miles’s ears. It was at a very precise tempo. The slow speed and perfect timing of the landing was proof that the cane itself was just for show—no one who actually needed a cane for walking would use it with such perfection. Miles stood still and waited for the sound to pass. He never liked visiting his “father.” He had been invited over for Christmas and only accepted because he felt like visiting Germany again.

Von Karma himself was a terrifying man once one got to know him. Everything he did was so perfect and precise that he did not seem human. When anything caused a problem with his life, he would completely and utterly destroy it. Even Franziska and Therese, his own daughters, expressed difficulty in staying on his microscopic good side. A less-known fact was that he had a deep-running grudge against all things Russian. He was born and raised in East Germany under the red shadow of the Soviet Union. His parents both despised the Soviets—his father “disappeared” in 1967. All he knew about Germany’s true history was told to him by his parents—both of whom had strongly supported the Führer from the beginning—after all, the family had prospered greatly under him.

den Herren, dem mein Lied ertönt!

The orchestra joined the chorus, producing a marvelous accompaniment. The best part was next. Were no one else around, Miles would have sung along. It wasn’t a behavior that went along with his outward personality, but it was something he liked to do when he was alone; it reminded him of his real father, who would often sing along when listening to opera in the car—if he knew the libretto, that is. However, since he knew von Karma would explode at him if he joined in, Miles simply sang along in his mind.

Der Gnade Heil ist dem Büßer beshieden,
er geht einst ein in der Seligen Frieden;
vor Höll und Tod ist ihm nicht bang,
drum preis ich Gott mein Lebelang.

Miles’s mental singing was interrupted when he heard the sound of Franziska’s high heels muffled by the soft rug. Knowing better than to stand in her way, Miles stepped to one side—just in time, too, apparently, as Franziska’s whip hit the spot where he was standing a moment ago with a loud whack.

“Franziska!” von Karma yelled from wherever he was. “Du übertönst die Musik!”

Halleluja!
Halleluja
in Ewigkeit!
in Ewigkeit!

“Nach dir,” Miles said softly to Franziska, motioning for her to go ahead. It was a rule at von Karma’s mansion. When you’re on German soil, you speak German.

“Es ist unhöflich, sich in den Weg zu stellen, Miles Edgeworth,” Franziska responded at the same volume with her usual superior tone of voice. She would almost always tell her victims why she whipped them, literally adding insult to injury.

“Deswegen trat ich zur Seite, als ich dich kommen hörte.” Miles was tempted to add “und jetzt versperrst du den Weg,” but he knew that that would be answered with the whip.

“Ruhe!” von Karma shouted. Miles thought they were speaking quietly, but apparently they were not quiet enough. Miles simply motioned for Franziska to pass, which she did. Miles then went to his room to get his coat and snow boots. After putting them on, he went to the garden. He wouldn’t have to worry about disturbing his “father” there, even if it was below freezing out there. Besides, dinner would be ready soon, so he didn’t expect to be out there for long.

A light blanket of snow—about half an inch or so—covered the plants. The brick path was completely devoid of snow, however. All of the snow from the path had been made into a snowman by Therese’s daughter, Birgit. The snowman was rather plain, however, as von Karma had not allowed his granddaughter to use branches from the plants or pebbles from the planters as body parts. As such, much of the body was carefully crafted from the snow.

“Miles Edgeworth,” a male voice said. “Bist du es?” Miles turned his head. It was Tobias Becker, Therese’s husband.

“Es ist lange her gewesen, Herr Becker,” Miles said.

“Hah! Ich sehe, dein Akzent ist derselbe, der er mal war.”

Miles did not respond. It was true that he had a horrible accent when speaking German, but he did not like being reminded of that fact.

“Entschuldigung,” Becker said.

“Was machst du draußen? Es friert unten.” Miles would have thought he would be the only one outside. However, there was Becker, out in the cold.

“Im Vergleich drinnen mit Graf Perfekt zu sein, würde ich liebe frieren.”

Of course, Miles thought. Von Karma got along with Becker about as well as he got along with Miles’s real father. Becker was a lowly factory worker while von Karma was the world’s best—and wealthiest—prosecutor. Both of them did not hesitate to play off of the other’s weaknesses. Von Karma frequently accused Becker of marrying Therese just to get a part of the von Karma family fortune. Becker, on the other hand, would often say that von Karma would place a wealthy alcoholic above a low-born visionary. Of course, their conflicting personalities only worsened the conflict. Becker was lighthearted and kind while von Karma was cold and serious. Fortunately, their arguments were always verbal only. Becker had no interest in violence, and von Karma said he would not waste his perfect cane on someone so worthless.

“Vater, Herr Edgeworth!” a voice called from the door to the mansion. Miles looked over and saw a little girl standing in the doorway—Birgit. “Es ist Essenszeit!”

Miles walked in after Becker and followed him to the dining hall. A white tablecloth covered the long table. The table was much longer than necessary; only six people were over including von Karma himself, yet there was enough room for at least twenty people. Von Karma was standing at his end of the table, waiting for everyone else to arrive. Though he was not a polite man, he observed perfect table manners. When everyone was at their seat, he motioned for everyone to sit down.

“Guten appetit,” von Karma said before serving himself. Everyone else started serving themselves, as well.

“So, Herr Edgeworth,” Therese started, “Ich höre, du hast eine Verlobte?” She had probably heard about the engagement from Franziska.

“Hatte,” Miles corrected. “Etwas kam zur Sprache, also mussten wir unsere Verlobung für die Zeit abbrechen.” No need to go into detail.

“Wer?”

“Eine Frau namens Lana Skye.”

“Lana?” von Karma cut in. “Das ist ein komischer Name.” Miles mentally braced himself for a tirade about Russians.

“Es ist die Kurzform von Swetlana,” Miles replied.

Von Karma pounded the table with his left fist, startling everyone there except Miles, who knew it was coming.

“Eine Russin?!” he bellowed.

“Nur von der Abstammung,” Miles responded, taking special care not to raise his voice and further upset his host. It was true that Lana was of Russian descent, but she was born and raised in the US.

“Hah! ‘Nur von der Abstammung?’” Von Karma snapped his fingers. “Therese wurde in Amerika geboren, und bis jetzt ist ihre Abstammung deutlich in ihrem Benehmen wiedergespiegelt!”

“Herr von Karma, obwohl du mein Mentor für Anklage bist, kannst du mir nicht lehren, wie ich mein Leben lebe.” Considering that Lana’s mother had defected and her father was a third-generation American, Miles did not see how Lana’s descent made her dangerous. Still, it was better just to try to change the subject than get into an argument. “Ich bin nicht interessiert, über die Frau, die ich liebe, zu streiten, also wechsle bitte das Thema.”

“Pah! Was weißt du schon über Liebe?!” von Karma demanded, trying to push into an argument.

“Genug, um zu wissen, wenn ich verliebt bin,” Miles answered, maintaining a calm tone. This was getting ridiculous. First it was about Lana being Russian, then it changed to Miles’s knowledge of love (or lack thereof).

“Alle Russinen sind dieselben—verführen gestandene Männer, bis sie so hilflos verlockt von ihnen sind, dass sie alles tun.” Great. Now he was spewing out fallacies. No matter; von Karma had no proof that Russian women were the way he pictured them.

“Vater, hör bitte auf,” Therese requested, trying to mimic the calm in Miles’s voice, but clearly somewhat upset at her father’s behavior.

“Ich würde gerne das Thema wechseln und einfach essen,” Miles added. “Kein Streit wird ändern, was ich über Lana denke.”

“Akzeptiert,” Therese said.

“Mutter, was ist eine Russin?” Birgit asked, her curiosity and ignorance making her unaware of how much that worsened von Karma’s mood. Her grandfather was the first to respond.

“Russen sind grausame Menschen die uns Deutschen für Jahrhu—”

“Vater, das ist genug!” Therese interrupted. “Lass und einfach das Thema wechseln.”

“Aber was ist ein Russe?” Birgit insisted.

“I werde dir mehr erzählen, nachdem wir entschuldigt sind,” Therese told her daughter. “Aber sei jetzt bitte geduldig. Dein Großvater mag Russen nicht, also sollten wir nicht über sie reden, wenn er in der Nähe ist.”

That’s an understatement, Miles thought. He began eating, hoping that that would be enough to tell von Karma that he was done arguing.

Von Karma glared at Miles, but decided he wasn’t going to win and began eating. Everyone else took the hint and began eating, as well. Occasionally, Birgit was reprimanded for putting her hands below the table or other minor breaches of dining etiquette. Other than that, the dinner table remained silent until everyone was excused.

“Herr Edgeworth,” von Karma called before Miles could leave the dining hall.

“Ja?”

“Erwähne Russland nicht nochmal in diesem Haus. Ich würde dir auch sehr empfehlen, Swetlana zu vergessen.”

I knew he would bring up Lana, Miles thought.

“Ich werde Russland nicht mehr erwähnen,” Miles started, “aber meine Romanze geht dich nichts an.”

“Bah. So stolz wie eh und je.” Von Karma shook his head.

Well, I’ve learned from the master, Miles thought.

“Offen gesagt, I hatte genug von deinem Stolz gehabt,” von Karma continued. “Lerne, bescheiden zu sein oder verlasse mein Haus.”

“Wenn du mit 'lerne, bescheiden zu sein' meinst, Lana fallen zu lassen, dann erscheint es mir, dass ich nicht mehr willkommen bin.”

“Vater, hör auf, dies anzusprechen,” Therese said. Miles and von Karma had been so focused on each other that neither had noticed her. “Ich mag Russland auch nicht, aber du hast nicht das Recht, dich in Herrn Edgeworths Leben einzumischen.”

“Du auch, Therese?” von Karma growled, turning to his daughter.

“Therese, ich brauche hier deine Unterstützung nicht,” Miles said. “Es scheint mir, dass unser Gastgeber mich nicht mehr willkommen sieht.” Miles extended his hand for von Karma. “Danke sehr für the Bewirtung, Herr von Karma,” Miles said. “Ich entschuldige mich, nicht ein besserer Gast gewesen zu sein.”

Von Karma refused Miles’s hand and simply crossed his arms. “Versuch nicht, ritterlich daherzukommen,” he sneered. “Du hast mich schon beleidigt. Nimm einfach deinen Kram und hau ab.”

“So ist es. Bis wir uns wieder treffen.” Miles walked away to the room he was staying in and started packing his belongings. He had had a feeling he would get into an argument with von Karma, so he had been prepared. He took a piece of paper with a phone number out of his pocket and called the number.

“Hallo, Hotel Taschenbergpalast?” he said into his cell phone. “Ist die Kronprinzensuite noch verfügbar?”

---

Last edited by General Luigi on Wed May 28, 2008 3:13 pm, edited 1 time in total.

I think you did a good job with the chapter. You handed the characters very well and I think that the back story you created for Manfred was very interesting, so nice work. :) The only big difficulty I had was with the inclusion of German. I understand why you did it and I actually really like that you put it in there as it gives the chapter a feeling of authenticity, but at times I had trouble following the dialogue. Some parts I could imply the meaning from the stories context, but at other times I had far more trouble doing so. Perhaps you might want to include translations in parenthesis or something similar, so that the chapter becomes easier to follow without losing it's overall feel. Just a suggestion though. Nice work!

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I think I'll include a translated version in a spoiler box. I'm posting from a friend's house, though, so it won't be added until I get home.

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Done. The translation is in the spoiler box.

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When Lana returned to her office from her lunch break, she saw that there was an envelope on her desk. As she got closer, she recognized the handwriting as belonging to Miles.

Probably a thank-you note, she thought. After sitting down, she opened the envelope and read the letter inside.

My dearest Lana,

Thank you for the tea. It pleases me to know that you still care about me.

With love,
Miles

Lana had dropped off some expensive whole leaf black tea in Miles’s office before work as a birthday present—she knew how much of a tea connoisseur he was. It didn’t exactly say “I love you,” but the short letter she had left with it did. It was little more than a way of showing Miles that she had not forgotten about him and that she looked forward to her freedom—and, hopefully, their wedding.

There was a knock on the door of the office. Before Lana could allow the person to come in, the door was opened. Gant walked in. Lana put away the letter from Miles.

“What innocent person do you want condemned this time?” she asked, making sure to emphasize in her tone of voice how much she hated him.

“Oh, no, no, no,” Gant said, his hands clasped and a jolly smile on his face concealing the fiendish mind behind it. “This isn’t about forging evidence. This is about you, Lana.”

“Don’t call me by my first name,” Lana said through gritted teeth. “You don’t deserve that honor.”

“Fine. Skye, the detectives want you to stop participating in the investigations. They say you make them nervous.”

“It’s only natural; their salary’s at stake if they miss anything. But then again, you want them to miss some things, don’t you?”

“Now, now, I don’t mess with every case, Ms. Skye. I just make sure White doesn’t get in a mess.”

“It seems more and more people are becoming threats to him.”

Gant laughed. “Well, some of them are threats to me—or you.”

“Why would you ever help me? I have nothing on you.”

“Because if you got in trouble, I’d lose my best tool!”

“Hah. You could just make someone else’s innocent sister look like a killer.”

Gant laughed loudly. He was then silent. “Now, Ms. Skye, you and I both know your little sister is the reason—”

At that moment, Gant was struck hard in the face by a well-thrown pen holder—complete with pens.

“My sister is INNOCENT!” Lana exploded, standing up so her body language could better express her rage. “You only played along with the scene so you could control me! You and I both know Darke killed Marshall!” Lana stopped to breathe. She realized her hands were shaking, her breath intense and oozing hatred.

Gant’s left hand was on his nose. He reached into his coat pocket and took out a bag of tissues. Lana noticed that his nose was bleeding. No matter. He deserved much worse than that.

She had no proof that Gant had framed Ema, but she couldn't believe that her sister would kill someone, even by accident. She hoped that by pressing him, she could get more answers. Someone had framed Ema, possibly inadvertently, but no evidence existed that explained who had done it or how. Perhaps Darke had shoved Marshall into the sword and then been knocked out somehow when Ema struggled. Perhaps Gant knew. Still, it was futile to try to draw the answers out of him.

“I used to be a kind woman who never wished death on anyone,” Lana said, rage still overflowing from every word. “After what you did to me and Ema, I am no longer that person. I sometimes sit here thinking about ways to kill you without implicating anyone.”

“Too bad you can’t,” Gant gloated. “Until the day I die, you’ll be doing every little thing I want. Now, about the investigations…”

“I won’t participate in them anymore.”

“Good girl.”

Lana glared at him with such intensity that even Miles’s glares looked weak in comparison. “Now get out,” she spat. “Soil your own office with your foul blood.”

After Gant left, Lana collapsed into her chair. No matter how much she insulted him, no matter how many ways she harmed him, he still came out on top. The feeling of powerlessness was so familiar by now that she had almost grown used to it; like the hellish traffic that plagued Interstate 5, it was an unwelcome part of her life. Her mind again drifted toward the torment of feeling weak and helpless as her fate was dictated by the actions of others. She had almost no control over her own life.

Realizing that she was entering a painful area of thought, Lana attempted to divert her mind toward the few things in her life that were absolute and good. Miles still loved her. That much was a fact. He was still painstakingly navigating the darkness contained within SL-9.

No, even that was not absolute. What if Miles discovered the truth? Even knowing that Lana had lied to him, given him falsified evidence, helped him prove innocent people guilty, even knowing that, would he still love her? And what about Ema? What terrible fate would await her if Miles learned the truth? Lana could not believe that Ema would kill Marshall, even by accident. It had to be Darke. But how could she possibly prove that? It was impossible.

She had met a composer who tended to make references to light and darkness, how they are two sides of the same coin. In staying within the grasp of SL-9’s shadows, she was under the control of a fiendish man, yet in allowing such shame to befall her, her precious sister, Ema, would be safe. The light that Gant kept locked up and concealed would burn right through her heart if it was ever unleashed. Though she would be free from Gant’s dungeon, Ema would be believed to be a murderer, and Miles would surely abandon his love for her and never look back. The light would shine so brightly for all who saw it that few, if any, would see all there was to see. Lana was the only one who knew the truth and had any cause to reveal it all. There was no way that anyone would believe her, though. Gant would incriminate Ema in an instant if his light was unleashed, blinding people to the truth that she was framed, the truth that Lana only forged evidence to hide a lie. Some lies could not be defeated by the truth alone.

No wonder Miles held onto his pride so tightly. He knew how torturous it was to feel weak, to be unaware of one’s own path. He had his doubts about his way of prosecuting, but he kept them under lock and key. As long as he looked only at his job, to prove people guilty, and took it at face value, he would at least know what he had to do. That was what Lana was trying to imitate. In looking only at what was before her, she could tolerate her situation. If she ever thought about how her actions hurt Miles or Ema, though, she started to feel weak.

Still, that was the path she had chosen. The kind lady who always looked out for others, listened to them when they had problems, went out of her way to help them, and worked tirelessly to ensure no innocent people were arrested, was dead. It was possible that she could have stayed that way, but that meant others would take an interest in her problems—an interest that would threaten Ema’s future. She also didn’t want to deal with the torment of turning away help when it was offered. For Ema, and for herself, the old Lana had chosen death over a life of pity and helplessness.

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Last edited by General Luigi on Thu Jun 05, 2008 5:30 pm, edited 1 time in total.

I really like this chapter. Poor Lana. I could really feel her pain and confusion as she tries to deal with her horror at her own actions and her feelings for Miles which are complicated by those actions. The only thing that bothers me is Lana accusing Gant of framing Ema. She believed that Ema had committed the crime in a moment of fear and confusion which was why she agreed to be under Gant's thumb ("When I saw what had happened, I thought she... did it.") In the game, she seemed honestly shocked to discover that she had not been the first person there because she was positive that she had been there first. She went to Gant for help after she found Ema so she could accuse him of being a power hungry monster with a God complex for blackmailing her, but she didn't seem to have any knowledge that Gant had framed Ema. The bloody vase piece shocked her when she found out about it because she was positive that she wiped all the pieces available ("In the Chief's safe? But how...?"). Gant helped cover up the crime, but Lana believed that she had been the first on the scene and that she saw an accurate view of events. Besides, it wasn't even really about Ema being charged with the crime but more simply protecting her from the knowledge of what had happened.

Phoenix: But what she did was justifiable self-defense! She wouldn't have been charged with anything...
Lana: That's not the point. She was traumatized that day, all because of that creep! That's why I couldn't forgive him.

It was only after that she went to Gant for help just as he'd suspected she would. Perhaps I'm remembering wrong. Anyway, it was a very good chapter.

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Thanks for pointing that out. I'll edit the chapter.

Edit: Edited.

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Miles cautiously inched his car into a parking space. The roar of the traffic on Interstate 5 invaded his ears the instant he got out. When he opened the passenger-side front door, Pess hopped out and sat down, waiting for Miles to attach the leash to his collar.

Pess was the result of Miles’s first experiment in having a pet. He felt a tad lonely when he first moved to the US to begin prosecuting, so he adopted Pess from a shelter to have a companion. His previous owner had moved to the UK and didn’t want him to go through quarantine, so he left Pess at the shelter. Though Pess was generally a good companion from the start, Miles took special care to train him to exhibit more preferable behaviors, such as sitting still in the car, obeying vocal commands, and waiting for him to attach a leash to his collar. Ever since then, the young black Eurasier had been Miles’s close friend and bridge to nature.

A few days ago, he had received a call from Mia. Her manner of speaking told him that the information she intended to share was sensitive. Specifically, she had started the topic asking about Chief Gant’s health. When Miles got suspicious of her reason for asking, she just said that his White hair seemed unhealthy to her and that she wanted to know if it was the stress of his job that caused it. She then asked if Miles had ever been to De Anza Cove. Simply put, she wanted to meet Miles at De Anza Cove to talk about a connection between Gant and White.

The meeting point was a fair distance from where Miles had parked. He had decided ahead of time that he would arrive fifteen minutes early so that he could walk to De Anza Cove with Pess—they both needed the exercise. Upon attaching the leash and locking the car, Miles looked to Pess.

“Let’s go,” he said. Pess started walking. After the leash was no longer touching the ground in any area, Miles walked in the same direction. De Anza Cove was a small section of Mission Bay Park, a large park on the coast a short drive north of downtown. The legendary Sea World was much better known than the park that almost completely surrounded it. Miles had no fondness of theme parks; they were too noisy, too messy, too crowded, and the majority of the attractions did not appeal to him. The Skytower was the only part of the theme park he could see, though, pointing up to the heavens, a pod on the outside of the tower climbing up to the top and then back to the ground while rotating, giving everyone inside a view of the surrounding area.

“Sit,” Miles said when they approached an intersection. Miles caught up and waited alongside his canine friend for the signal to change and let them cross. A car pulled up to the red light. The windows were down and some infernal rap was blaring. Pess’s ears moved, trying to muffle the sound of what some so laughably called music.

A moment later, a second car, also with the windows down, came to the light and stopped next to the rap driver. Miles could hear The Battle of Poltava out that car’s windows. The first driver turned up his volume. The second driver responded in kind. The rap driver turned up his volume again until Poltava was almost completely drowned out. A moment later, Poltava reached an incredibly loud portion, almost entirely overpowering the rap. The rap driver, defeated, turned his volume down and closed his windows. Miles looked over, amused. He noticed that the second driver appeared to be laughing as he lowered his own volume.

After the two drivers drove off, the signal changed, allowing Miles and Pess to cross.

“Let’s go,” he said. Pess started walking, Miles following. The remainder of the walk was relatively uneventful. Someone asked to pet Pess and was allowed a little time to do so, a veritable armada of gulls circled over a picnicking family, and a slacking patrolman on duty became rigid upon noticing Miles.

When they arrived at the arranged meeting spot, Mia was not there, which was understandable—he was a bit early, after all. He took a seat at a picnic table and commanded Pess to lie down in the grass next to the table, putting the loop of the leash around his left wrist. After a minute of passing the time by watching the gulls scavenge through the litter, he noticed Mia approaching. He set the indifferent expression on his face in stone. He failed to see why so many men on the force considered her obnoxious breasts to be attractive.

Thank God it’s too cold for immodest outfits, Miles thought as she got closer. Though many men considered her beautiful, Miles found her body almost repulsive. Still, she was on his side, and that was all that really mattered in this situation.

“Who’s your friend?” Mia asked once she got within earshot, indicating Pess.

“His name’s Pess,” Miles responded.

“Can I pet him?”

“Be my guest.”

Mia reached down from her side of the table and stroked Pess’s back. He looked up briefly to see who was petting him, then relaxed again.

“Shall we get down to business?” Miles asked.

“Sure,” Mia replied. She put her elbows on the table and leaned toward Miles. “I didn’t find anything conclusive about Lana, but one of White’s people sold some information to me. On a defense attorney’s pay, it wasn’t cheap, either. You see, Chief Gant has a long history of forging evidence.”

“Excuse me?” Miles interrupted. “The Chief is not in charge of evidence.”

“When he was a detective, he would forge evidence. The tendency died down once he started working with Lana, but one of White’s people found out about the forgeries. Ever since then, Gant has been working for White, paying him money, protecting his employees, and more.”

So Dzhugashvili was on to something, Miles thought.

“Why would the Chief forge evidence?” he asked. “I know he’s selfish, but that seems too risky for him. He’s always careful to have all his bases covered.”

“No one ever found decisive evidence. Well, okay, White found some, but my point is that no one has ever been able to prove that Gant forged evidence. He was careful not to leave a trail.”

“Lana would have caught him when she was working with him.”

“Which is why he stopped after they started working together. He came pretty close to being ruined by White, but somehow, he managed to get back on White’s good side after SL-9.”

“Let me guess: you think White got a hold of Lana at that point.”

“Yes. If Lana is under White’s control, then she has to allow forged evide—”

“Stop right there, Ms. Fey. Lana would never do such a thing, even if she was being blackmailed.”

“What if it was to protect Ema? She did say that Ema was in danger.”

“I’ll believe it when she says it herself.”

“I’m not saying Lana is forging evidence, but given what White is having Gant do, it is possible.”

“Until you find proof that Lana is involved in the forgeries, please don’t suggest it again. I don’t want to hear such terrible words about her from anyone. She knows the importance of only presenting the truth, and I trust her.” Miles noticed Mia’s pupils had wandered upwards. “Do you have something more to say, Ms. Fey? Perhaps about how I prosecute?” She seemed to jerk back. “I do not interfere with evidence; I am simply the person who presents it. Unless you have anything else to say, this conversation is over.”

“One last topic,” Mia said. “Do you know anyone named Phoenix Wright?”

Miles’s mood changed. It had been almost fifteen years since they last saw each other. Back then, he had wanted to be a defense attorney like his father. Nothing but a childish dream of a misguided cause. The only kind of person worse than a criminal was the kind that tried to get one off the hook. What would Wright think of Miles now?

It doesn’t matter, he thought. My path is right before my eyes, and I have no reason to look back or hesitate.

“You know him, don’t you?” Mia asked.

“We were friends in elementary school. I forget how we became friends, though. We went our separate ways after my father died. A better question is how do you know him?”

“He’s working for my law firm. He passed the bar exam a couple of days ago. I’ll probably let him start defending in a few months.” She smiled. “Who knows? Maybe you’ll meet in court.”

“If he thinks I’m the same person I was in grade school, he would probably be better off not seeing me again.”

“What do you mean?”

Miles glared at her, although not as harshly as he usually did. “Ms. Fey, I appreciate what you are doing for me and Lana, but that does not give you any right to pry into a past I would rather forget.”

“Sorry…”

Miles turned to Pess and stood up. Pess felt the leash moving and did the same.

“Let’s go,” Miles said to Pess. Then to Mia, “Thank you for the information.”

Without another word, Miles and Pess walked back to the parking lot to leave. So Wright was a defense attorney. He most likely wanted to find out why Miles had changed. During the time they were friends in elementary school, Wright had a tendency to pry into other people’s secrets when he thought that the secrets were hurting them. He usually ended up just making the situation worse, though. No doubt Wright would push endlessly for Miles to tell him all about his father’s death and why he became a prosecutor. Someone as naïve as him would never understand; it would have been better for him if he avoided the world of law altogether.

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Last edited by General Luigi on Tue Jun 10, 2008 6:53 pm, edited 1 time in total.

The chapter was excellent. I really like how you pulled Phoenix into the story which gives the fic another connection to the canon story line as well as adding another layer of complexity to it. The only thing I'd caution you on (If you intend to stay within canon. If you intend to pull away from it then disregard this) is having Edgeworth find out about Gant and Lana's forging activities before 1-5. Edgeworth is clearly shocked at hearing that the SL-9 evidence was fake and even starts to deny it for Lana before she speaks up because he was so sure her answer would be no. He was certain that Lana wouldn't forge evidence. His beliefs about Gant are harder to read (he seems to clearly dislike him though so you could spin that as Edgeworth's suspicions about Gant), but he doesn't really seemed to have known anything about it. You are still safe in this chapter (Edgeworth vehemently denies the possibility of Lana's involvement), but you do seem to be walking a thin line if you intend to stay within the canon story line. Anyway, nice work! Keep it up.

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Well, I'm getting pretty close to the end of Part I, anyway. After the next chapter, we'll be seeing some of the in-game cases.

Also, on a different note, I've been considering revising Chapter 1 to make Mia seem more in-character. Your thoughts?

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Revisions are often a good idea in fics. I actually hadn't thought that Mia was particularly out of character, but I'd be interesting in seeing what you changed.

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The Prosecution Lobby was relatively quiet. Some man in a purple suit—a witness—was sitting on the sofa, looking at Lana. The fact that he looked away whenever he noticed she was glaring at him told her that he probably found her attractive.

“Chief, why are you here?” a high-pitched, nasally voice asked. Lana turned her head to see the source: Winston Payne. Payne was known for his inability to push a point through. When the defendant was guilty, he usually got his verdict, but he did sometimes give in to his cowardly side and let a defense attorney’s arguments slide, especially if his opponent was someone with a strong voice, such as Marvin Grossberg. Whenever that man yelled “Objection!” it literally shook the courtroom. Payne, on the other hand, had a timid voice that rarely expressed any confidence.

“I’ve been given permission to do as I please today,” Lana replied. “I thought to see how you’d handle this case, since I’m no longer allowed to assist investigations.”

“This one will be child’s play,” Payne said confidently. “I am the Rookie Killer, after all.”

“It’s over!” a breaking voice from behind the wall cried. “My life, everything, it’s all over!”

“Hee hee hee…” Payne laughed. “Sounds like the defendant knows his fate.”

“Death! Despair! Ohhhh! I’m gonna do it, I’m gonna die!!!”

What a pathetic man, Lana thought.

The rest of the defendant’s crying was relatively inaudible.

“Mr. Payne, it’s time,” a bailiff said, entering the lobby.

“I’ll be watching from the gallery,” Lana said.



A whack of the judge’s gavel silenced the gallery.

“The court is now in session for the trial of Mr. Larry Butz,” the judge said.

“The prosecution is ready, Your Honor,” Payne said.

“The, um, defense is ready, Your Honor,” the defense attorney said. Mia had said that this man was her student. He expressed the nervousness typical of a rookie.

The judge cleared his throat. “Mr. Wright?” he asked. “This is your first trial, is it not?”

“Y-Yes, Your Honor,” Wright managed to say. “I’m, um, a little nervous.”

“Your conduct during this trial will decide the fate of your client. Murder is a serious charge. For your client’s sake, I hope you can control your nerves.”

“Thank… thank you, Your Honor.”

The judge seemed to think for a moment. “Mr. Wright, given the circumstances, I think we should have a test to ascertain your readiness.”

This isn’t like him, Lana thought. Judge Clous is usually too busy making heads and tails of the case to bother with the attorneys.

“Yes, Your Honor.” Wright slumped a little. It was hard to make out from her seat in the gallery, but Lana could have sworn she saw sweat running down his cheeks.

“The test will consist of a few simple questions. Answer them clearly and concisely. Please state the name of the defendant in this case.”

“The defendant? Well, that’s Larry Butz, Your Honor.”

“Correct,” the judge said with a nod. “Just keep your wits about you and you’ll do fine. Next question: This is a murder trial. Tell me, what’s the victim’s name?”

Wright grasped his chin after a moment, then slumped into a cold sweat again. He had apparently forgotten that one. Typical rookie.

“Phoenix!” Mia interrupted, addressing her apprentice. “Are you absolutely SURE you’re up to this? You don’t even know the victim’s name!?”

Wright muttered something. Mia said something in response. Lana couldn’t make out the conversation. After a moment, Wright took out the Court Record and looked at the case report.

“Let’s hear your answer,” the judge said, a tad impatient.

“Um…” Wright paused, still searching. “the victim’s name is Cindy Stone.”

“Correct. Now, tell me, what was the cause of death? She died because she was…?”

“She was struck once, by a blunt object.”

“Correct. You’ve answered all my questions. I see no reason why we shouldn’t proceed. You seem much more relaxed, Mr. Wright. Good for you.”

“Thank you, Your Honor,” Wright said before slumping again.

“Well then…” the judge turned to face Payne. “First, a question for the prosecution. Mr. Payne?”

“Yes, Your Honor?” Payne asked.

“As Mr. Wright just told us, the victim was struck with a blunt object. Would you explain to the court just what that ‘object’ was?”

“The murder weapon was this statue of ‘The Thinker.’” Payne was holding a figurine made to look like The Thinker. “It was found lying on the floor, next to the victim.”

“I see… the court accepts it into evidence.”

Mia said something to Wright. A moment later, the judge banged his gavel.

“Mr. Payne, the prosecution may call its first witness,” he said.

“The prosecution calls the defendant, Mr. Butz, to the stand.”

Wright turned to Mia and said something. Mia said a few things in response. Wright began sweating as Butz was escorted to the stand. Payne cleared his throat.

“Mr. Butz,” he said. “Is it not true that the victim had recently dumped you?”

“Hey, watch it, buddy!” Butz screamed. “We were great together! We were Romeo and Juliet, Cleopatra and Mark Anthony!”

Not the best examples of good couples, Lana thought, rubbing her ears from Butz's high-pitched scream. She noticed that Wright seemed to think the same thing.

“I wasn’t dumped!” Butz continued. “She just wasn’t taking my phone calls. Or seeing me… Ever. WHAT’S IT TO YOU, ANYWAY!?”

“Mr. Butz,” Payne started, apparently unabashed by the defendant’s screeching, “what you describe is generally what we mean by ‘dumped.’ In fact, she had completely abandoned you… and was seeing other men! She had just returned from overseas with one of them the day before the murder!”

“Whaddaya mean, ‘one of them’!?” Butz shouted. “Lies! All of it, lies! I don’t believe a word of it!”

“Your Honor, the victim’s passport,” Payne said, holding up a US passport. “According to this, she was in Paris until the day before she died.”

The bailiff handed the passport to the judge, who examined it. He appeared to look at all of the visas before closing it and handing it to Wright.

“Hmm…” the judge muttered. “Indeed, she appears to have returned the day before the murder.”

“Dude… no way…” Butz managed to say.

“The victim was a model, but did not have a large income. It appears that she had several ‘Sugar Daddies.’”

Butz was almost inaudible.

Not a lifestyle I’d choose to have, Lana thought.

“Yes,” Payne said in response to Butz’s little squeak of a question. “Older men, who gave her money and gifts. She took their money and used it to support her lifestyle.”

“Duuude!” Butz exclaimed, shocked.

“We can clearly see what kind of woman this Ms. Stone was. Tell me, Mr. Butz, what do you think of her now?”

Mia said something to Wright as Butz seemingly pondered the question. Wright slammed his desk with both hands just as his client opened his mouth to speak.

“My client had no idea the victim was seeing other men!” he argued. “That question is irrelevant to this case!” Wright’s way of pointing at the person he was speaking to reminded Lana of Mia.

Like mentor, like student, she thought.

“Oof!” Payne blurted out. He winced.

“Dude!” Butz exploded. “Nick! Whaddaya mean, ‘irrelevant’!? That cheatin’ she-dog! I’m gonna die. I’m just gonna drop dead! Yeah, and when I meet her in the afterlife, I’m going to get to the bottom of this!”

The judge banged his gavel before the gallery could start up. “Let’s continue with the trial, shall we?” he requested.

“I believe the accused’s motive is clear to everyone,” Payne said.

“Yes, quite.”

The whole time, Wright was sweating grapeshot.

“Next question!” Payne exclaimed. “You went to the victim’s apartment on the day of the murder, did you not?”

Butz swallowed, but didn’t say anything. He was sweating almost as much as his lawyer.

“Well, did you, or did you not?” Payne insisted.

“Heh?” Butz responded. “Heh heh. Well, maybe I did, and maybe I didn’t!”

Wright slammed his desk, then grasped his chin, then pointed at Butz. A signal, no doubt.

“Er…” Butz mumbled. “Yeah! Yeah! I was there! I went!”

“Looks like this one’s an easy verdict,” someone near Lana said. The judge’s gavel broke up the small commotion.

“Order!” the judge demanded. “Well, Mr. Butz?”

“Dude, chill! She wasn’t home, man… So, like, I didn’t see her.”

“Objection!” Payne screeched. “Your Honor, the defendant is lying.”

“Lying?” the judge asked.

“The prosecution would like to call a witness who can prove Mr. Butz is lying.”

“Well, that simplifies matters. Who is your witness?”

“The man who found the victim’s body. Just before making the gruesome discovery, he saw the defendant fleeing the scene of the crime!”

“It’s over now…” the same voice from the gallery said. “The Rookie Killer’s killed another rookie.”

The judge whacked his gavel. “Order! Order in the court! Mr. Payne, the prosecution may call its witness.”

“Yes, Your Honor,” Payne said. “On the day of the murder, my witness was selling newspapers at the victim’s building. Please bring Mr. Frank Sahwit to the stand!”

The man in purple from earlier took the stand. He had his hands clasped together, moving with his arms. He looked like some sort of sleazy salesman who wanted to con his customers out of their money.

“Mr. Sahwit, you sell newspaper subscriptions, is this correct?” Payne asked.

“Oh, oh yes!” Sahwit answered. “Newspapers, yes!” He sounded like some rookie thief trying to create an alibi.

“Mr. Sahwit, you may proceed with your testimony,” the judge said. “Please tell the court what you saw on the day of the murder.”

“I was going door-to-door, selling subscriptions when I saw a man fleeing an apartment. I thought he must be in a hurry because he left the door half-open behind him. Thinking it strange, I looked inside the apartment. Then I saw her lying there… A woman… not moving… dead! I quailed in fright and found myself unable to go inside. I thought to call the police immediately! However, the phone in her apartment wasn’t working. I went to a nearby park and found a public phone. I remember the time exactly: It was 1:00 PM. The man who ran was, without a doubt, the defendant sitting right over there.”

The judge mumbled. Wright slumped and began sweating. His suit would probably need some washing after the trial was over.

“Incidentally,” the judge started, “why wasn’t the phone in the victim’s apartment working?”

“Your Honor, at the time of the murder, there was a blackout in the building,” Payne said.

“Aren’t phones supposed to work during a blackout?”

“Yes, Your Honor. However, some cordless phones do not function normally. The phone that Mr. Sahwit used was one of those. Your Honor…” Payne opened a file folder and removed an envelope. “I have a record of the blackout, for your perusal.”

“Now, Mr. Wright…”

“Yes!” Wright barked. “Er… yes, Your Honor?”

“You may begin your cross-examination.”

“C-Cross examination, Your Honor?”

Idiot, Lana thought. A defense attorney who doesn’t even know how to cross-examine? Mia must be slipping…

Mia said something to Wright. Wright said something back. Mia replied.

“Lies!” Lana heard Wright say. “What?!” The rest was inaudible. Wright jumped a bit after hearing something from Mia. Wright asked something. Mia responded with a bit of a briefing.
Wright looked at the testimony’s transcript. He grasped his chin with one hand. He then looked at the Court Record. He dug out the autopsy report and looked at it.

“Objection!” he shouted, pointing at Sahwit. “You found the body at 1:00 PM. You’re sure?”

“Yes,” Sahwit said. “It was 1:00 PM, for certain.”

Wright slammed his desk. “Frankly, I find that hard to believe. Your statement directly contradicts the autopsy report.” Wright held the report in his left hand, occasionally flicking it with his right. “The autopsy notes the time of death at sometime after 4 PM. There was nobody to… er…” He put the report away. “no ‘body’ to find at 1:00 PM! How do you explain this three-hour gap?”

Wright had a confident smile on his face, his hands on his hips. Sahwit started moving a little faster. He appeared to be sweating. “Oh, that!” he managed to say. “Oh, er…”

“Objection!” Payne interrupted. “This is trivial! The witness merely forgot the time!”

The judge shook his head. “After his testimony, I find that hard to believe. Mr. Sahwit, why were you so certain that you found the body at 1:00 PM?”

“I… er… well, I…” he stuttered. He had some sort of secret. “Gee, that’s a really good question!”

Mia said something to Wright.

“Wait!” Sahwit said. “I remember now!”

“Would you care to give your testimony again?” the judge asked.

“You see, when I found the body, I heard the time. There was a voice saying the time… It was probably coming from the television. Oh, but it was three hours off, wasn’t it? I guess the victim must have been watching a video of a taped program! That’s why I thought it was 1:00 PM! Terribly sorry about the misunderstanding…”

“Hmm… I see. You heard a voice saying the time on a taped program. Mr. Wright, you may cross-examine the witness.”

Mia said something to Wright. Wright said something in response. He was then handed the transcript. He needed almost no time to find a weak point.

“Objection!” he yelled, again pointing at the witness. “Hold it right there! The prosecution has said there was a blackout at the time of the discovery!” He took out the report and flicked it a few times. “And this record proves it!”

Sahwit got nervous again. Wright pointed accusingly at the witness.

“You couldn’t have heard a television… or a video!”

“Gah!!!” Sahwit yelped, his toupee jumping. “I… well… urk!”

“The defense has a point,” the judge said, nodding. “Do you have an explanation for this, Mr. Sahwit?”

“No, I… I find it quite puzzling myself! Quite!” He paused. “Aah! W-wait! I remember now!”

“Mr. Sahwit? The court would prefer to hear an accurate testimony from the very beginning. These constant corrections are harming your credibility. That, and you seem rather… distraught.”

Sahwit’s toupee jumped again. “M-my apologies, Your Honor! It… er, it must have been the shock of finding the body!”

“Very well, Mr. Sahwit. Let’s hear your testimony once more please.”

“Actually, I didn’t ‘hear’ the time… I ‘saw’ it! There was a table clock in the apartment, wasn’t there! Yeah, the murder weapon! The killer used it to hit the victim! That must have been what I saw.”

“You saw a clock? I guess that would explain it. The defense may cross-examine the witness.”

“Gladly,” Wright said. He was handed the testimony. “Objection!” he yelled again, pointing at Sahwit. “Wait just a moment!” He slammed his desk. “The murder weapon wasn’t a clock. It was this statue! Now how is this supposed to be a clock?”

“Whaa!?” Sahwit yelped. His toupee jumped. He began shaking his fist at Wright. “Y-you with your ‘objections,’ and your ‘evidence’… Just who do you think you are!?”

“Just answer the question, Mr. Sahwit.”

“Hey, I… I saw it there, okay! That’s a clock!”

“Your Honor!” Payne cut in. He was sweating. “If I may…”

“Yes, Mr. Payne?” the judge asked.

“As the witness stated, this statue is indeed a clock. The neck is a switch. You just tilt it, and it says the time out loud. As it doesn’t look like a clock, I submitted it as a statue. My apologies.”

“I see. So the murder weapon was a table clock after all. Well, Mr. Wright? It appears that the witness’s testimony was correct. This is a clock. Do you have any problems with his testimony now?”

“Your Honor,” Wright started, “there is a gaping hole in the witness’s testimony! The only way he could have known the weapon was a clock is to hold it in his hand.” He held the testimony and flicked it a few times. “Yet the witness testified that he never entered the apartment!” He slammed his desk. “Clearly, a contradiction!”

“Hmm… indeed!”

“The witness knew it was a clock, because he…” He paused, pointing at Sahwit. “You’re lying! You were inside the apartment on the day of the murder!”

“Oh yeah?” Sahwit insisted. “Prove it! Prove I went in there!”

Wright slammed his desk again. “I’ll do better than that! I can prove you were the one who killed her! You struck her with the clock, and the shock of the blow triggered the clock’s voice! That was the sound you heard!”

“Yeah, he has to be the killer!” someone in the gallery yelled. The judge’s gavel stopped him from continuing.

“Order in the court!” Judge Clous demanded. “Intriguing. Please continue, Mr. Wright.”

“Yes, Your Honor,” Wright said. “Mr. Sahwit. The sound must have left quite an impression on you. Understandable, since the murder weapon spoke just as you hit the victim! That voice was burned into your mind. That’s why you were so certain about the time!”

“Objection!” Payne shrieked. “W-w-what’s the meaning of this? This is all baseless conjecture!”

“Baseless…?” Wright countered. “Just look at the witness’s face!”

Sahwit mumbled something.

“Would the witness care to elaborate?” the judge asked. “Did you strike the victim with the clock?”

Looks like we have our killer, Lana thought. I had a feeling Butz was innocent. Why would he kill someone he loved?

“That… that day… I… I never!” Sahwit was losing it. “Look… I… the clock… I heard, no! I mean, I saw… Saw… nggg!” He grabbed his toupee and screamed as he hurled it at Wright’s face. It slid off. Wright was not amused. “Shutupshutupshutup! I hate you! I-it was him, I tell you! I saw him! H-he killed her and he should burn! Burn! Give him death!”

“Give it a rest, slimeball!” someone in the gallery jeered. The judge silenced the gallery.

“Order!” he shouted. “Order in the court I say!”

“Your Honor, a-a moment please!” Payne squeaked. “There isn’t a shred of evidence supporting the defense’s claims!”

“Mr. Wright!”

“Your Honor?” Wright asked.

“You claim the sound the witness heard came from the clock… Do you have any evidence?”

“Yes, Your Honor. The sound Mr. Sahwit heard was definitely this clock. A fact which is clear if you simply…” he paused. “Let’s sound the clock now, here in this court. Your Honor, may I have the clock? I ask the court to listen very carefully…”

“I think it’s 8:25,” the clock said after Wright tilted its neck.

“That certainly is a strange way to announce the time,” the judge said.

“Well, he is ‘The Thinker,’ after all.”

“So, we’ve heard the clock. What are your conclusions, Mr. Wright?”

“Mr. Payne… can you tell me what time it is now?”

Payne checked his watch. “It’s 11:25… Ack!”

“As you can see, this clock is exactly three hours slow! Precisely the discrepancy between what Mr. Sahwit heard and the actual time of death! So, Mr. Sahwit… Try to talk your way out of this one!”

Sahwit’s heavy breathing stopped for a moment. “…Hah!” he laughed. “Hah hah! You forgot one thing!”

Wright started sweating.

“While it may seem like that clock IS running three hours slow… It proves nothing! How do you know it was running three hours slow on the day of the murder! If you can’t prove that, you don’t have a case!”

Wright slumped over, sweating.

Come on, Wright! Lana thought. That’s child’s play!

“Mr. Wright?” the judge called. “It seems you lack the critical evidence to support your claim.”

“Yes, Your Honor,” Wright said, defeated.

“This means I cannot let you indict the witness. Unfortunately…” he banged his gavel. “This ends the cross-examination of Mr. Frank Sahwit.”

“I come all the way down here to testify, and look what happens!” Sahwit shouted. “They treat me like a criminal! A criminal! You lawyers are all slime!”

Wright slammed his desk. He didn’t say anything, though.

“Not so fast, Mr. Sahwit!” Mia yelled.

“Mia!” Wright yelped. “I mean, Chief!”

“Listen up, Wright!” she said. The rest was inaudible. They talked for a bit.

“Wait!” Wright chirped. “Maybe I can prove it!”

“Well, Mr. Wright?” the judge asked. “You say the clock was running slow on the day of the murder… Have you found evidence to support this claim?”

“Of course. There is a piece of evidence in the Court Record that can prove my claim beyond a doubt!”

“Hah!” Sahwit barked. “Tough words! Let’s see you pull this one off!”

“Let’s see this evidence that proves why the clock was running slow!” the judge ordered.

“Take that!” Wright shouted, tossing the passport to the judge. “The victim had just returned home from abroad the day before the murder. As we all know, the time difference between here and Paris is nine hours!”

I doubt the judge knew that, Lana thought.

“When it’s 4:00 PM here,” Wright continued, “it’s 1:00 AM the next day there.” He pointed at the judge. “The clock wasn’t three hours slow, it was nine hours fast! The victim hadn’t reset her clock since returning home! That’s why the time you heard when you struck her dead in her apartment was wrong!” Wright slammed his desk. “Proof enough for you, Mr. Sahwit? Or should I say… Mr. Did It!”

“Ngh!” Sahwit yelped. He foamed at the mouth and fainted. The whole gallery started up before being silenced by the gavel.

“O-order!” the judge bellowed. “Order, I say!” He waited for the gallery to quiet down. “Well… This case has certainly turned out differently than we all expected. Mr. Payne… your client?”

“He… er… he was arrested and has been taken away, Your Honor,” Payne squeaked.

“Very well,” the judge said with a nod. “Mr. Wright?”

“Yes, Your Honor,” Wright replied.

“I have to say, I’m impressed. I don’t think I’ve ever seen someone complete a defense so quickly… and find the true culprit at the same time!”

“Thank you, Your Honor.”

“At this point, this is only a formality, but... This court finds the defendant, Mr. Larry Butz, not guilty.”

The gallery cheered. The judge silenced them with his gavel.

“And with that, the court is adjourned.”



Back in the Prosecution Lobby, Payne was banging his head against the wall. Lana almost pitied him. He had been so sure of the case, yet it turned out that the defendant was innocent. Still, he had had no way of knowing beforehand.

“Just as defense attorneys have to believe that the defendant is innocent, prosecutors have to believe that the defendant is guilty.”

Miles’s words echoed in her head as she watched the “Rookie Killer” rant about his defeat. It was true, to some extent. There was no way to know for certain that the defendant was innocent or guilty. That was why the trial system existed: to find the truth.

I hope when Miles tastes his first defeat, he won’t react like this guy, she thought.

---

I like the chapter although I think that the recitation of the first case may have played too large a role in this chapter. Including game lines can often be positive and act as good way to connect a story to canon, but including such a large portion of the script for 1-1 seems to throw the story's balance off and pull away from the story a bit because it's reciting things I already know well rather then adding to my knowledge. I did quite like seeing Lana's viewpoint on the case though and that bit of foreshadowing at the end was nicely handled.

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Phoenix is going to be playing a rather significant role in the rest of the story. I've decided that Tales of Law and Love will make it all the way into Apollo Justice's time line, which means there will be many sub-plots surrounding the main one. This was just my way of introducing him to the story. Not to provide spoilers, but I intend for another female character--I won't say which one--to seriously consider changing her last name to "Wright" much later in the story.

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Like as in Wright proposing to her? Huh, interesting...

Okay, I'm going to divide my comments into two sections: the romance part and the actual plot part.

Romance: Even though I'm a major fan of the Miles/Franziska (don't bash me!), I have to say that Miles/Lana would probably be my second choice as far as another lady for our dear Miles. Even if somehow I didn't like this pairing whatsoever, I really like how you've developed their relationship. It's interesting to see Miles confess so seriously his love for someone, all while remaining the stoic Edgeworth. I could totally see Miles act in that fashion. Even though I had to write him differently when I did a shipping with Edgeworth (but that was because of different reasons), your protrayal of a seemingly heartless man being smitten (lol, love that word) by someone such as Lana is wonderful. I had to comment on that aspect because I believed that you handled it well. You also did well in showing Lana's conflict between having the truth be known, with consequences of Miles's opinon of her and poor Ema, and yet have the burden releived; or keeping up with the facade that she's still the woman Miles always thought she was, but yet slowly being pawned by Gant and hurting the lives of others around her. I can see this romance between Miles and Lana becoming one of those "Even when the earth is barren, I'll still love you" (obviously without the cheesy cliche-ness) type of things, and it will definetly be very sweet, considering that Miles is a good candidate to be involved in that type of thing. Am I making any sense whatsover?

Plot: I do love the plot you've devised. I love seeing Lana's side, the "answer to the mystery", if you will, and then seeing Miles and Mia race against the clock for trying to discover this answer. I patiently await for how you are going to protray Miles after 1-2; it will be an interesting... psychological endeavor, indeed. This is simply my humble opinion, but I'm not sure if Lana should hypothesize that perhaps Gant forged evidence that put blame on Ema, only because, she probably could have done something about it this early. I think that when it's closer to more 1-5 time, she could maybe think that Gant did that, but since she can't do much about it... I don't know, your story. You know it better than me ;) I think the only other things I'm very curious about is a) how you're going to have Gant treat Lana after White is convicted and b) if you want this to go into Apollo Justice, I'm intrigued by what plot you are going to devise? Hm, perhaps Miles may not forgive Lana quite that quickly...? I'm glad you've updated a ton; I first read this in its more beginnings (obviously before I became a member), and I can't wait to see how it will progress.

Bravo! I can't wait to see more!

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It is always a pleasure to see people post their comments on my story; it helps encourage me to continue. I'll make sure to return the favor. Now, in response to your post...

Romance: To start, I do not necessarily believe that Miles and Lana are a couple in the games. However, I have toyed with the possibility, and after learning that there was no evidence that they did not have feelings for each other, I started to plan this story. To be honest, I believe very few pairings, although I acknowledge their possibilities--some more than others. Thus, I see no reason to insult people simply for their support of other pairings; it's tantamount to prejudice in my eyes. Also, I'm very glad to see that you like my portrayal of Lana; I'm much more worried about doing her accurately than I am about Miles.

Plot: I tend to write in a "pseudo-first-person" style, focusing on a single character's perspective each chapter while still maintaining a third-person position. Also, writing from the perspectives of both lovers is a tried-and-true method that I first fully employed in a Mario fan fiction that I'm still writing.

With regards to Lana's accusations, you have to remember her mindset at the time. She absolutely adores her sister and cannot handle the possibility of Ema being a killer--even if the murder was an accident. Thus, she is trying to realize what "really" happened. Even if Ema really had killed Marshall, Lana would not believe it, and as such, she would desperately search for another possibility. She was desperately searching for an answer she could accept. She didn't necessarily believe her thoughts; she just was desperate for the answer she wanted: that Ema was innocent beyond all doubt. Since I told that portion from Lana's perspective, you can't necessarily see the fallacy in her thoughts. When one sees proof of something that contradicts one's beliefs, one will typically search desperately for proof that their own beliefs are right, at times conceiving possibilities out of nowhere or taking evidence from questionable sources. That is why the idea struck Lana: she was desperate for proof that she was right.

Anyway, thank you for your review. [bows like Miles]

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Ah, I understand now. So Lana is, you could say, "grasping for straws" in that she's hoping that Ema didn't do anything wrong, though in her heart, she truly believes that perhaps Ema did "do the deed", as they say. Hopefully I'm understanding you correctly?

I'm glad you appreciate my review I'm not that great of a writer, unfortunately, so sometimes you can't take everything I say to heart, due to my inexperience, but it is always a pleasure to read a good piece of fanfiction I look forward to more, and hopefully learn a little in the process .

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Judge Clous’s gavel silenced the gallery.

“The court is now in session for the trial of Ms. Maya Fey,” the judge said.

“The prosecution is ready, Your Honor,” Miles said.

“The defense is ready, Your Honor,” the defense attorney said. Miles had read the report. That attorney was Phoenix Wright. Wright had been Mia Fey’s apprentice. It was ironic that he would be defending his mentor’s killer. The look on Wright’s face told Miles that he recognized him. It was hard not to; next to von Karma, Miles was the best prosecutor in the country.

Apparently, he remembered all those years ago. Somehow, they had become friends, along with Larry Butz. Miles’s memory was that he liked Wright much more. Butz was someone who made Detective Gumshoe look like the next Stephen Hawking. That was back when Miles had wanted to be a defense attorney, back when his father was alive.

Wright… he thought. Why did you have to show your face to me again? I want to forget about my past.

He was probably the reason, though. He used to idolize his father, but now, he was a prosecutor who made Ivan the Terrible seem merciful. Knowing Wright’s naïve curiosity, he probably wanted to learn why Miles had changed his path.

You had best forget about me, Wright. I’ve chosen my path, and I have no desire to turn back. Hopefully, this trial will convince you to move on.

“Mr. Edgeworth,” the judge called. “Please give the court your opening statement.”

“Thank you, Your Honor,” Miles said. “The defendant, Ms. Maya Fey, was at the scene of the crime. The prosecution has evidence she committed this murder and we have a witness who saw her do it. The prosecution sees no reason to doubt the facts of this case, Your Honor.”

“I see,” the judge said, nodding. “Thank you, Mr. Edgeworth. Let’s begin, then. You may call your first witness.”

“The prosecution calls the chief officer at the scene, Detective Gumshoe!”

Gumshoe took the stand.

“Witness, please state your name and profession to the court,” Miles requested.

“Sir!” Gumshoe said enthusiastically. “My name’s Dick Gumshoe, sir! I’m the detective in charge of homicides down at the precinct, sir!” Typical Gumshoe. He always liked to be there when the fruits of his investigation were used to inflict the final blow. With Miles prosecuting, Gumshoe no doubt felt as though he was watching the Padres win the World Series.

“Detective Gumshoe,” Miles said to the detective. “Please, describe for us the details of this murder.”

“Very well, sir! Let me use this floor map of the office to explain.” Gumshoe took a map of the crime scene out of his coat. He pointed to where Fey’s body had been found. “The body was found by this window, here.”

“And the cause of death?”

“Loss of blood due to being struck by a blunt object, sir! The murder weapon was a statue of ‘The Thinker’ found next to the body, sir! It was heavy enough to be a deadly weapon, even in a girl’s hands, sir!”

“The court accepts the statue as evidence,” the judge said.

Miles put his right hand on his desk. “Now, Detective…” he started.

“Y-yes sir!” Gumshoe replied.

“You immediately arrested Ms. Maya Fey, who was found at the scene, correct? Can you tell me why?”

“Yes sir! I had hard evidence she did it, sir!”

“Hmm,” the judge mumbled. “Detective Gumshoe, please testify to the court about this ‘hard evidence.’”

“As soon as the phone call came in, I rushed to the scene! There were two people there already: the defendant, Ms. Maya Fey, and the lawyer, Mr. Phoenix Wright. I immediately arrested Ms. Maya Fey! Why? We had a witness account describing her! The witness saw Ms. Maya Fey at the very moment of the murder!”

“Hmm… The very moment, you say. Very well. Mr. Wright, you may begin your cross-examination.”

“Y-yes, Your Honor,” Wright managed to say. He seemed a tad nervous. He grasped his chin with his left hand, trying to think. The defendant tossed a crumpled-up piece of paper at her lawyer.

Stupid girl, Miles thought. She obviously doesn’t realize how serious this is.

Wright opened up the paper and seemed to be reading something written on it. A small smile crossed Wright’s face.

“Something the matter?” the judge asked Wright.

“No, Your Honor,” he replied. “I’d like to begin my cross-examination.”

Wright appeared to think for a moment.

“Hold on just one second!” Wright almost shouted.

“Y-yeah?” Gumshoe asked.

“If I heard correctly, you said you arrested her because you had ‘hard evidence’ she did it, correct?” Wright was pointing his left index finger at Gumshoe.

“Huh? Did… did I say that? Me?”

“I heard you say it,” Wright said.

“You did say it,” the judge said.

“You said it,” Miles reminded Gumshoe.

Wright slammed on his desk with both hands, then pointed at Gumshoe again. He was definitely Mia’s apprentice.

“Exactly what about this suspicious woman in pink’s claim was ‘hard evidence’!?”

“Wh-what!?” Gumshoe barked. “Miss May isn’t suspicious, and she sure isn’t pink, pal!” He then realized what he said and rubbed the back of his head with his right hand. “W-well, I guess she is pink…”

“That’s enough, Detective Gumshoe,” the judge said, shaking his head. “Do you have any more solid proof other than her claims, Detective?”

“Umm…”

Wright grasped his chin, obviously thinking he had made some progress.

“Yes,” Gumshoe said to the judge. Wright seemed to hunch over a little, sweat running down his face. “Sorry, I got the order of things mixed up in my testimony, Your Honor sir! There was something I should have told you about first, Your Honor!”

Well, this certainly isn’t the first time Gumshoe’s forgotten something important, Miles thought. It was no wonder his salary was so low.

“Very well, Detective,” the judge said. “Let’s hear your testimony again.”

“After securing the suspect, I examined the scene of the crime with my own eyes,” Gumshoe said. “I found a memo written on a piece of paper next to the victim’s body! On it, the word ‘Maya’ was written clearly in blood! Lab test results showed that the blood was the victim’s! Also, there was blood found on the victim’s finger! Before she died, the victim wrote the killer’s name!”

The gallery started chatting with one another. The judge silenced them with his gavel.

“How you like that?” Gumshoe confidently asked Wright. “That’s my ‘hard evidence’!”

“Hmm…” the judge mumbled. “Before we begin cross-examination, I have a question for you, Detective.”

“Y-Your Honor?”

“Why didn’t you testify about this vital piece of evidence the first time!?”

Gumshoe rubbed the back of his head and seemed to slump a little. “Ah… eh… I know. I’m real embarrassed I forgot about it, Your Honor Sir.”

“Try to be more careful!” The judge calmed down. “Very well, the defense may begin its cross-examination.”

Wright looked over the testimony. He smiled a bit.

“Objection!” he yelled, pointing his left index finger at Gumshoe. “Detective Gumshoe! There’s one thing I want you to clarify for me here. You say that the victim, Mia Fey, wrote this note.” He held up the testimony transcript and flicked it occasionally with his right hand. “That she was accusing the defendant, Maya Fey? That’s really what you’re saying?”

“Wh-what?” Gumshoe asked. “This isn’t one of those lawyer tricks, now, is it? Of course she wrote it! Who else could have!?”

Wright shook his head, then placed his hands on his hips, smiling. “You have it backwards, Detective.”

“B-backwards?”

“The victim is the only person who absolutely could NOT have written it!” Wright commented, flicking a piece of paper he took out of an envelope. “This is a report from your department, Detective. ‘Immediate death due to a blow from a blunt object.’” Wright slammed his desk and then pointed at Gumshoe. “She died immediately!” he shouted.

“But…!”

“No ‘but’-ing your way out of this one, Detective!”

The gallery started up again, quickly silenced by a whack of the judge’s gavel.

“Order! Order!” he yelled. “The defense has a point. Someone who died immediately wouldn’t have the time to write anything down.”

“Objection!” Miles shouted. Unlike his rookie opponent, he was quite calm. This was not an issue. “Mr. Wright. I beg your pardon, but when exactly did you obtain that autopsy report?”

“Wh-when…!?” Wright held his chin, trying to remember. “It was the day after the murder…”

“The prosecution’s point being…?” the judge asked.

Miles put his right hand up to his face and tapped his forehead with his index finger. An “I have you now” smile appeared on his face. According to Lana, Ema called it his “evil smile.” “That autopsy report is outdated, Your Honor,” he said.

“Wh-what?” Wright managed to say.

Miles took out the updated autopsy report he had had prepared the previous day. “A second autopsy was performed yesterday, at my request! Death was almost immediate due to a blow from a blunt object, but there is a possibility the victim lived for several minutes after the blow.” Miles spread his hands out, amused by Wright’s ignorance. “I received these results this morning.”

“N-no way!” Wright yelped. His mouth opened briefly, then he slumped into a cold sweat.

Miles pointed at the defense. “Your Honor! It’s quite easy to imagine that the victim did have time to write ‘Maya’!” He took a bow. “That is all.”

“I see!” the judge said in surprise. Wright’s face gave off a hint of anger. He started sweating again. It was easy to tell what he was thinking. He no doubt had a negative view of Miles due to his reputation.

Miles spread his hands out and shook his head. “Why, Mr. Wright, you look shocked!” he taunted. “Something you want to say?”

“Mr. Edgeworth…” Wright started, “I’ve heard there’s nothing you won’t do to get your verdict…” He slammed his desk and pointed at Miles. “What reason could you possibly have had to request a second autopsy report?”

“Mr. Wright!” the judge interrupted. “The defense will refrain from personal attacks on the prosecution!”

Miles tapped his forehead. “No matter, Your Honor,” he said. “Mr. Wright.” He took out the updated report. “Say what you will, the evidence in this report is undeniable. Your Honor, I submit this report to the court.”

“U-understood,” the judge said. “The court accepts the evidence.”

“Well, Your Honor?” Miles asked. “The evidence strongly suggests the victim was identifying the killer.”

“I suppose that’s the obvious conclusion, yes.”

Miles took a bow. There was no way Wright could debunk such a report. After all, Lana herself had personally delivered it to him. If it was fake, she would have gotten rid of it and removed whoever was responsible.

“The prosecution would like to call its next witness,” Miles said. “This poor, innocent girl saw the murder with her own eyes!” Technically, she’s far from innocent, Miles thought, but she is at the least innocent of murder.

“Let the witness Miss April May take the stand,” the judge said. Wright started sweating. He had apparently met Miss May and reacted in the same way Miles had after having to question her.

“Witness, your name, please,” Miles said. He mentally braced himself for some stupid gesture meant to look endearing.

“April May!” the girl said. “At your service!” She winked while placing her hands on the area of her breasts that her skimpy jacket left exposed. The men in the gallery started up, obviously infatuated. The judge silenced them.

I almost pity Wright, Miles thought.

May was actually only a year younger than Miles, but she did not behave in a way that suited anyone who sought to be called a woman instead of a girl. Miles couldn’t stand people like her; they gave women a bad name.

“Order!” the judge demanded. “An introduction should not require any reaction from the crowd! The witness will refrain from wonton winking!”

“Aww…” May put her hands to her eyes, feigning sadness. “Yes, Your Honor.” Wright was sweating. Witnesses like Miss May had a tendency to make life miserable for the defense.

“Tell us, where were you on the night of September 5, when the murder occurred?” Miles asked, bringing attention back to the case at hand.

“Um… gee… I was, like, in my hotel room? Tee hee. I checked in right after lunch.”

“And this hotel is directly across from the Fey and Co. Law Offices?”

“Mmm… that’s right, big boy.”

“Please testify to the court about what you saw,” the judge requested.

“It was, like, 9:00 at night. I looked out the window, y’know! And then, oooh! O saw a woman with long hair being attacked! The one attacking her was the mousey girl sitting in the defendant’s chair! Then the woman, like, dodged to one side and ran away! But that girl, she caught up to her and… and… She hit her! Then the woman with the long hair… She kinda… slumped. The end. That’s all I saw. Every little bitsy witsy!” She winked.

When you’re done testifying, Miss May, go back to high school and learn some modesty and proper English, Miles thought.

“Hmm…” the judge mumbled.

“Well, Your Honor?” Miles asked.

“I see. It is a remarkably solid testimony. I don’t see a need to trouble the witness any…”

“W-wait, Your Honor!” Wright interrupted.

“Yes, Mr. Wright?”

“What about my cross-examination!?” Just like his mentor, he was insistent on turning over every rock. Of course, Wright had been that way even before he got involved in law.

“I thought the witness’s testimony just now was quite… firm. Didn’t you?”

“Mr. Wright…” Miles started, “I understand you were Ms. Mia Fey’s understudy, were you not? You must know her techniques well.” He crossed his arms. “Her cowardly way of finding tiny faults in perfectly good testimonies…”

“H-hey! How dare you!”

“Well, Mr. Wright?” the judge asked. “Will you cross-examine the witness?”

“I’ll gladly proceed with the cross-examination.”

“Very well, you may begin your cross-examination!”

Wright was handed the testimony, which he looked over.

“Hold it!” he shouted after reading it. “How did you know it was my client!?”

“Huh?” May chirped. “Well, I… gee! First of all, she had a girl’s physique! And, and secondly, she was… she was small! Who else could it be but her!”

Wright grasped his chin. Miles knew what was coming next.

“Hold on a minute!” Wright lashed out, pointing accusingly at May. “That testimony stinks!”

“W-what?”

“Miss May, I’m willing to bet that…” He paused, then slammed his desk. “Did you really see the defendant at all!?”

“Urp!” May twitched a little. The gallery started up.

“Mr. Wright!” the judge almost shouted. “What’s the meaning of this?”

“Yes, what is the meaning!” May asked, her hands near her eyes to feign crying. “Somebody tell me because I’m clueless! About this, I mean!”

“Okay…” Wright said. “If you had really witnessed my client, Maya Fey…” He pointed at May. “You would have noticed her clothes before noticing her physique!”

May twitched.

“No one wears clothes like this on a daily basis!” Wright continued. “Except her! And I’m no expert on fashion, but her hairdo looks far from normal to me! However, the witness’s testimony mentions neither of these things!” He slammed his desk. “The testimony is bogus!”

“But… but!” May stuttered.

“Still, we don’t know if she was dressed that way the night of the murder…” the judge said.

“She was, Your Honor!” Wright insisted. “I saw her. And so did Detective Gumshoe!” He slammed his desk. “What do you say to that, Miss May?”

“Rowr!” May hissed, trying to sound fierce while still appearing endearing. “What are you trying to say, you mean lawyer! I-I saw what I saw. I… just didn’t think all the trifling little details were necessary, darling.”

“Miss May,” the judge said. “The court would like to remind you to please omit nothing in your testimony.”

“I’m sorry, Your Honor,” she said flirtatiously. “I’ll be a good girl. I promise. She winked at the judge.”

“Your testimony again, if you would.”

“I did see everything! I did!” May cried after the court was silent. “The victim—the woman—dodged the first attack and ran off to the right. Then the girl in the hippie clothes ran after her… And she hit her with that weapon! I saw it! I did! That… that clock! Um… that kinda statue-y clock? ‘The Thinker,’ I think? Well? Does the accuracy of my report not startle you? Tee hee!”

“I… see,” the judge replied. “I only wish you had been so detailed from the beginning. Please begin the cross-examination.”

Wright looked at the testimony. He then looked at May. “So, you saw me then, too?” he asked.

“Of course!” May said. “I’d remember that spiky hair anywhere!”

Wright hunched over, sweating.

“The witness will refrain from personal attacks on the defense attorney,” the judge insisted.

May touched her chest. “Aww, was I a bad girl? I’m sowwy.”

“Very well… continue.”

Wright looked at the testimony again.

“Objection!” he yelled, pointing at May. “Miss May. What you said just now was quite… revealing.”

Must he use that word? Miles thought, already disgusted enough by the witness.

“Revealing?” May asked. “Oooh, you’d like that, wouldn’t you. “Naughty Mr. Lawyer…”

“You just said that this statue of ‘The Thinker’ was a clock,” Wright said, pointing at the murder weapon. “But there’s no way of knowing that just by looking at it!”

“Urp!” May twitched.

“Another person in the same position as you recently called this a “clock,” too…” Wright placed his hands on his hips, smiling. “And he was found guilty… of murder!”

The gallery started murmuring, silenced by the judge’s gavel.

“Order! Order!” the judge demanded.

“Miss May,” Wright demanded, pointing at her. “Can you explain how you know this was a clock?”

“Oooh… urp!”

“Objection!” Miles cut in. “The witness saw the murder with her own eyes! That’s all that’s important here!” He pounded the palm of his right hand against his desk. “The defense is trying to confuse the issue with trivial concerns!”

“Yes…” the judge said, still thinking. “yes, of course. You will withdraw your question, Mr. Wright.”

“Objection!” Wright yelled in response, slamming his desk. “But questions are all I have, Your Honor! And as you may recall, I’ve caught murderers with these questions before!”

The judge was silent, trying to think. He then banged his gavel. “Objection sustained. You may continue to question the witness.”

“Huh? What?” May asked, confused. “So… what happens now?”

“What happens now is you answer my question!” Wright nearly shouted, pointing at the witness. “How did you know it was a clock?”

“What…! Th-that’s… Because… I heard it? Yes! I heard it say the time!”

That struggle makes it obvious she’s lying, Miles thought. No matter. How she knew it was a clock is trivial. She has an alibi, after all.

Wright slammed his desk. “So, you’ve been to the law offices of Fey and Co.!”

“N-n-no! Hey, I didn’t say that! Why would I go there! I heard from my hotel room. Hee hee!”

“The law offices of “Fey and Co.,” Miles started, “where the murder took place, are very close to the hotel. She could have easily heard the clock!”

“Hmm,” the judge mumbled. “Well, Mr. Wright? Are you satisfied?”

Wright shook his head. “No, Your Honor! I’m not satisfied because… Your Honor, members of the court…” Wright slammed his desk. “It is inconceivable that the clock in question rang! That clock is missing its clockwork!”

The gallery started up. Three whacks of the judge’s gavel turned the volume down. “H-how could you possibly…?” the judge stuttered.

“Just have a look… As soon as you can!” The bailiff took the clock to the judge, who examined it.

“Oh!” the judge exclaimed.

“See anything interesting, Your Honor?”

“It is as the defense says! This clock is missing its clockwork! It’s quite empty!”

The voices in the gallery were promptly silenced by the judge’s gavel.

“Mr. Wright! Would you care to explain to the court the meaning of this?”

“It is as you can see,” Wright said, confident. “The ‘clock’ was empty. It couldn’t have rung! Therefore, this witness… is a big, fat liar!”

Apparently, Mia never taught this novice that I always plan ahead, Miles thought. Wright was walking toward a dead end.

“F-fat!?” May screeched

“Well, Miss May?” Wright insisted, pointing at her.

Miles tapped his forehead and smiled.

“Tsk tsk,” he chuckled. “Quite a show you’ve put on for us, Mr. Wright. I’m afraid you’ve forgotten one thing, however. Indeed, the clock is empty. As you say… it can’t ring. However, we must ask: when was the clockwork removed? If it was after the witness heard the clock, then there is no contradiction!”

“Hmm!” the judge hummed in agreement. “That’s true. That is a possibility. The clock might have been emptied after she heard it.”

“And that is exactly what happened, Your Honor!”

“Well, Mr. Wright? Can you prove when the clockwork was removed?”

Miles spread out his arms and shook his head. “Ho hoh! Impossible, of course…”

“I have proof…” Wright said.

“W-what!?”

“Wasn’t it you who told me ‘proof is everything’? Well, I was listening.” He pointed at Miles. “And now I’ll show you the ‘proof’ you like so much! The evidence that proves when the clockwork was removed is…” Wright reached into his coat pocket. He then pulled out a cell phone.

“Take that!” he yelled. “Take a look at this!”

“Hmm,” the judge muttered. “That’s a very cute cell phone.”

“Ooh hoo!” May laughed. “You have a girlie phone!” Wright put his hand behind his head and blushed a little. Typical Wright. He did have a tendency to embarrass himself when he didn't think things through.

“W-wait!” he stuttered. “Wait! This isn’t my phone!” He held the phone out again. “Listen! This is the defendant’s cell phone, and it contains a recording…” Wright slammed his desk. “A recording of a conversation she had with the victim on the day of the murder!”

“Order! Order!” the judge ordered after silencing the gallery.

Miles hunched over, gritting his teeth, his eyes pointing up to avoid looking at anyone.

“The defendant’s cell phone!?” he mumbled. “Th-this wasn’t brought to my attention!”

“Perhaps Detective Gumshoe overlooked it?” Wright suggested, smiling confidently.

“The good detective had better remember he’s up for evaluation soon…” Miles grumbled. It was no wonder the idiot had such a low salary.

“Let’s hear the conversation,” Wright said. He pressed a button on the phone and fast-forwarded through the unrelated parts of the conversation.

“So you just want me to hold on to ‘The Thinker’ for you, then?” the defendant’s voice asked.

“If you could,” Mia’s voice replied. "Ah… I should probably tell you, the clock isn’t talking right now.”

“Huh? It’s not working? That’s lame!”

“I had to take the clockwork out, sorry.”

Wright fast-forwarded to the end.

September 5, 9:27 AM, a recorded voice said. The phone then beeped, indicating the recording was over.

“Your Honor,” Wright started, “I think this recording makes it clear that the clockwork was already gone…” He slammed his desk. “and this was recorded in the morning, before the witness even arrived at her hotel!”

May twitched a bit, uttering something incomprehensible.

“Well, Miss May? Would you care to explain this to the court? Just how do you know that weapon was a clock!?”

“W-well…!” She paused to think. “Well, isn’t it o-obvious? I saw that clock before! Um… what store was that again? I-I go to so many! Oops! I forgot!” She winked.

“So the witness had seen it before,” the judge said. “That would make sense. Does the defense have any objections, Mr. Wright?”

“The witness claims she had ‘seen it before,’” Wright said. “But this directly contradicts a piece of evidence already submitted to the court!”

“Well then, let’s see it. Please produce this evidence that will prove the witness had not seen the clock before.”

“It’s simple. This clock was never in any store, ever!”

“W-whaaat!?” May screamed.

“A friend of mine made that clock. Only two exist in the world. And the one that isn’t here is in police custody!”

“I-impossible! Everything is sold in stores!”

“Miss May, I think it’s high time you went shopping for a better excuse…?”

“Mmpf…”

“Oh?” Wright taunted, grasping his chin. “Excuses not on sale today?”

May started uttering some nonsense words and screaming. Her face contorted into a glare. “What’s it to you, porcupine-head!?” she exploded. “That stupid clock doesn’t matter, okay!? She did it! And she should die for it! Die!”

The gallery was in an uproar. Miles could hear a few of the men commenting on how even the cutest rose could have thorns—not that Miles considered May cute to begin with, and she certainly didn’t look cute after her little breakdown started. Three whacks of the judge’s gavel managed to quiet everyone down, although an occasional murmur was still audible.

“W-w-whoa!” the judge exclaimed. “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves. T-this is a court of law, and the witness will remain calm!”

May breathed heavily a few times. The breathing sounded more like the growl of some mythical monster. She began returning to her “innocent” self.

“Oh!” she managed to say. “Oh? Oh hoh ho!” Despite her voice, Miss May’s laughter had a sort of maniacal feel to it. “S-silly me!” She grunted. “Did I, um, like… lose it? I guess I did. Tee hee!” She winked, trying to win the crowd over again.

Miles looked to Wright. The cold sweat running down his face was a dead giveaway that May’s outburst had scared him.

Get used to it, Wright, Miles thought. People will almost always lose it when you put them on the spot like that.

“Miss May, let me ask,” the judge requested. “Tell me, how did you know the weapon was a clock?”

May didn’t respond. The judge shook his head.

“Hmm… oh dear. Does the defense have an opinion on this… behavior?”

A determined look was set in stone on Wright’s face. “Yes, Your Honor,” he said. “Allow me to explain how I see the truth of the matter. Miss April May, you knew the weapon was a clock because…” He paused, then pointed accusingly at the witness. “Miss May held that very clock in her hands!”

“Mr. Wright!” the judge interrupted. “When was this!?”

Wright slammed his desk. “When she used it to strike the victim! When else?”

The gallery’s murmurs rose to the volume of a rock concert until the judge starting banging his gavel.

“Order!” he bellowed. “Order!” He looked to Wright, a serious look engraved into his face. “Mr. Wright! What is the meaning of this!”

“April May, you killed Mia Fey, I say!” Wright shouted. “And when you struck, the force of the impact made ‘The Thinker’ ring!”

Gotcha… Miles thought. He’s still just a rookie, after all…

“That’s when you heard it!”

“Objection!” Miles interrupted, loud enough to be heard over Wright’s accusation and the gallery’s conversations. “Tsk tsk,” he laughed. “You truly are a work of art, Mr. Phoenix Wright.”

“W-what’s that supposed to mean!?”

“It was you who just proved that ‘The Thinker’ was empty!”

“Oh…” Wright muttered, his confident gaze replaced by a cold sweat. He was probably cursing himself for his stupidity.

“What’s more,” Miles continued, “the witness has a rock-solid alibi.” He turned to May. “Miss May? Perhaps you could explain to the poor, misguided Mr. Wright? You were in the hotel at the time of the murder.”

Wright had a smile on his face. He clearly believed Miles was bluffing.

“It would be MY pleasure!” May said, the glee at getting to torment Wright obvious in her tone. Wright slammed his desk.

“N-no way!” he barked.

“Yes way, Mr. Lawyer. Tee hee? Didn’t the murder take place at 9:00 at night? Gee, that’s the exact time I ordered room service from the hotel bellboy!”

“Incidentally,” Miles added, “the bellboy corroborates the witness’s story.” He pounded on his desk with his right hand. “Ergo, she was not at the crime scene! Rock solid!”

The gallery, now on Miles’s side again, started up. The judge returned attention to the case with his gavel.

“Mr. Wright!” he shouted. “You’ve just made a serious accusation to a perfectly innocent woman!”

“S-sorry, Your Honor,” Wright squeaked, hunched over and sweating more than the winner of the Boston Marathon. After a moment, he placed his left hand on his chin. His eyes suddenly gleamed with an idea. “Your Honor, I figured it out! There is one other way Miss April May could have known it was a clock!” He slammed his desk. “One way alone! And I have proof!”

“Well…” the judge started, “proof, you say? Then, the court will examine your proof, Mr. Wright. How did the witness know ‘The Thinker’ was a clock?”

“Take that!” Wright shouted, taking out the defendant’s cell phone again. “The defendant’s cell phone.”

“Yes, we’ve seen that already,” the judge said.

“Take another listen to the conversation between the defendant and the victim.” He went to the recording.

“Mia! What’s up?” the defendant’s voice asked. “You haven’t called in a while.”

“Well, actually there’s something I want you to hold on to for me.”

“Again? What is it this time?”

“It’s… a clock. It’s made to look like that statue, ‘The Thinker.’ And it tells you the time!”

Wright ended the recording.

“They do mention ‘The Thinker,’” the judge said. “But how would the witness know of this conversation? Do you have proof that she knew of the conversation?”

“Take that!” Wright shouted again. That was getting very old very fast. He took out a black box with two wires sticking out. “Take a look at this.”

“Ah!” May screamed. “Oooh! Th-that!? Eh heh…”

“I found this in Miss May’s room.”

The gallery began to switch sides again.

Is that a wiretap? Miles thought. Better yet, how did Wright get into the witness’s room? Her location was supposed to be classified!

“Mr. Wright!” the judge called after silencing the gallery. “Please explain to the court what this is!”

“Miss April May!” Wright said accusingly. “You used a wiretap to listen to this conversation! That’s how you knew ‘The Thinker’ was a clock!” He slammed his desk. “Am I wrong!?”

“I… I…” she stuttered.

“Objection!” Miles shouted. “Your Honor, this is ridiculous!”

“Your Honor, look at the witness’s face!” Wright countered. “Does she seem amused to you!? The defense demands an answer.”

May was glaring at Wright, grunting.

“Witness, answer the question,” the judge ordered. “Did you tap her phone?”

May didn’t respond.

“Miss May!”

“Shut up, all of you!” she exploded. “What gives you the right to talk to ME like that!? You… you LAWYER!” She put her hands near her eyes, looking as though she actually was going to cry. “I-it’s no fair! All of you g-ganging up on me like that… Oh, so I’m the bad girl, is that it? Is that it!? Uh… uh… uwaaaaaaah!”

I didn’t know she was capable of real tears, Miles thought.

“Miss May, confess,” Wright demanded. “You did it, didn’t you?”

“Are you out of your mind!?” May countered, her left eye twitching. “Oh, wait, I forgot… you’re a lawyer! You must be!”

And she’s back to her old self.

“At the time of the murder…” she continued, “I was in my hotel room, getting room service! How could I have killed her? If you don’t believe me, just ask the bellboy!”

“Well, does the defense have anything to say?”

“Um, well…” Wright started, then trailed off. “Right. On with the cross-examination.”

He must think Miss May really is the killer, Miles thought. He spread his hands out and shook his head in amusement at his opponent’s ineptitude. “What exactly do you have left to examine, Mr. Wright? Miss April May has admitted to the wiretap, yes. But that bears no relevance to the case at hand: murder! There’s no way you can prove any connection!”

Wright hunched over, sweating.

I hope he can get that suit cleaned in a day, Miles thought. Otherwise, this courtroom will smell like a locker room tomorrow.

“Then I believe the cross-examination is over,” the judge said. “Mr. Edgeworth, does the prosecution have any other witnesses to call?”

“None, Your Honor,” Miles replied, taking a bow. “She’s the last.”

Wright jerked in shock. He slammed on his desk. He was giving off the same aura that Mia gave off whenever she was cornered.

“W-wait!” He begged. “Your Honor!”

“Yes, Mr. Wright?” the judge asked.

“The defense would like to call the bellboy after all!”

“Tsk tsk tsk…” Miles chuckled. He had Wright exactly where he wanted him. “As I thought! May I remind you, dear Mr. Wright. Should you question the bellboy, and Miss April May’s alibi prove to be solid, then, by default, your client Ms. Maya Fey will be pronounced ‘guilty’!” He hit his desk with his right hand, his arrogant smile replaced by a serious glare. “Are you prepared to accept my condition?” After a moment, Wright nodded. He had nowhere else to go, after all.

“I accept!” he said. The judge banged his gavel.

“Very well!” he said. “The court calls the hotel bellboy to the stand!”

The court waited for a few minutes for the bellboy to arrive. After he took the stand, proceedings resumed. This would be child’s play. Miles had seen to it that there were no problems with the bellboy’s side of the story. Yes, there was one problem, another witness, but the investigation team said that his testimony matched that of Miss May. Calling him to the stand would be a waste of the court’s time. Thus, he had requested beforehand—just in case Wright managed to claw his way to calling the bellboy to the stand—that the second witness not be mentioned unless the bellboy was specifically asked.

“I believe we’re ready for the witness to testify,” Miles said after the bellboy took the stand. “He certainly does look like a bellboy.”

“Yes, sir,” the bellboy replied. “I received your summons in the middle of work, sir. I’m happy to be of service.”

“That tea set looks rather heavy,” the judge started, “so without further ado, the witness may begin his testimony.”

“Very good, sir!” The bellboy waited until he was sure all attention was on him. “I am the head bellboy at the fine Gatewater Hotel, in business for four generations! I believe I received a call after 8:00 in the evening from our guest, Miss May. She asked for an ice coffee to be brought to her at 9:00, on the dot, sir. I brought it to her at precisely the requested time, of course. And I delivered the ice coffee to our guest Miss May, herself.”

“I see,” the judge said after the bellboy had stopped talking. “The defense may begin its cross-examination.”

“R-right!” Wright stammered. “I’m ready.”

I have you in my sights, Wright, Miles thought, and the bellboy’s testimony is the bullet that will claim your case’s life.

Wright looked over the testimony. He put it away, then took it out again, looking over it in what appeared to be much finer detail. He began sweating, then sighed nervously.

“What exactly is it you do at the hotel?” he asked.

This is irrelevant, Miles thought. However, he felt no need to object. Wright had caused him a little pain, so he was just going to sit back and enjoy watching the novice pest squirm as he slowly realized that his client was doomed.

“Why, anything required of me, sir,” the bellboy said. “I check in guests, I check out guests. I clean rooms, I make beds. I even deliver room service, sir. I checked Miss May in personally.”

“Are you always so… so prim?”

“Mr. Wright,” the judge interrupted. “You will refrain from asking frivolous questions…”

Wright looked at the testimony again. “Hold it!” he half-yelled, half-cried. “Are you sure it was Miss May on the phone?”

“Absolutely, sir,” the bellboy replied.

“H-how can you be so certain!?”

“I checked Miss May in personally, sir. Not only did I see her in all her stunning radiance, but I also heard her voice. And then I saw THEM, and I…” He trailed off, a tad embarrassed at his digression. He cleared his throat a couple of times. “The point being, I remembered her quite well, sir.”

I can see why Lana had such a negative opinion of this man when she investigated a robbery at that hotel, Miles thought.

“Yes, what then?” the judge asked.

“She asked for an ice coffee to be brought to her at 9:00, on the dot, sir,” the bellboy responded, repeating his testimony.”

“Hold it!” Wright demanded. “9:00 ‘on the dot,’ you say?”

“Yes,” the bellboy said. “I confirmed that detail several times. She was watching a program on the TV, and wished to drink after she finished, sir.”

Wright was holding his chin.

It’s only a coincidence, Wright, Miles thought, knowing what his opponent was undoubtedly thinking.

“I brought it to her at precisely the requested time, of course,” the bellboy continued.

“Hold it!” Wright ordered again. “‘Precisely’ 9:00, then?”

“Precisely, exactly, and most definitely, sir. 9:00 PM.”

“How can you be so sure!?” Wright begged, starting to sweat again.

“Miss May was quite insistent that it be brought then. ‘Oh, bellboy? Tee hee! I’d like, like, ice coffee at exactly 9:00!’ Something like that, sir. Therefore, I knocked on her door at the crack of 9:00, sir.”

Wright was holding his no-doubt sweaty chin again.

If you had listened to what he said earlier, you wouldn’t be wondering why Miss May wanted the coffee right at nine, Miles thought. Rookies were rookies, after all. He had no idea why Payne had lost to this fool.

“And I delivered the ice coffee to our guest Miss May, herself,” the bellboy continued.

“You are sure it was Miss April May herself?” Wright demanded.

She’s rather hard to mistake, Wright.

“Ab-SO-lutely, sir.”

“‘Ab-SO-lutely’…?” Wright echoed in confusion.

“Yes, sir. As in, ‘so very absolutely,’ sir. It’s an endearing mannerism of mine.”

Much like Gumshoe’s fondness of the word “pal.”

How come you’re so very certain!?” Wright pushed, pointing at the witness. His wastefulness was getting quite amusing. No veteran would waste so much time on such trivial details. Not that it mattered; veterans and rookies alike fell to Miles.

“Well, when I brought the room service, sir…” the bellboy started, blushing heavily, “S-she… the guest, sir, favored me w-with a, um, an ‘embarraser,’ sir.”

“‘Embarraser’!? Is that French for ‘embrace’?”

“It’s French for ‘kiss,’ sir. But not a French kiss, sir! More of a peck on the cheek.”

“Wh-why would she have done that…?” Wright asked. He was no longer just badgering the witness; he really was starting to see that his case was hopeless.

“I believe, perhaps, she was momentarily swayed by my prim demeanor, sir. It was a moment I shall never, ever forget, sir.”

Wright was hunched over in a cold sweat yet again. His face was starting to shine from the light reflecting off of the layer of sweat he had built up.

“It’s no good!” he finally cried.

“Tsk tsk,” Miles laughed. It was finally over. “Finally, you understand. This bellboy has absolutely no reason to lie! Now… If you have any decency, you will end this rather tedious cross-examination here!”

“Hmm,” the judge muttered in agreement, nodding. “It was a bit tedious. The witness may leave the stand.”

Wright slammed his desk, desperate.

“W-wait!” he begged. “Please wait!”

“Yes? Does the defense have something to add?”

“One last question… let me ask one last question!”

“Objection!” Miles shouted. Now Wright was just being annoying. “Your Honor, I must object. This charade of justice has gone on long enough!”

“Now now, Mr. Edgeworth,” the judge said. “Alright Mr. Wright. I’ll give you one more question, that’s all.”

Wright had not moved from his position, both hands still on his desk. “T-tell me again about er… room service!” he managed to say.

“A-again, sir?” the bellboy asked. There was a slight hint of annoyance in his tone at Wright’s stubborn persistence. “At exactly 9:00, I delivered room service to Miss May in room 303. The guest had requested ice coffee… 18 was the charge, I recall.”

“I see…” Wright paused. He was apparently surprised by the price.

If the place’s coffee is as exquisite as their tea, then the price needs no explanation, Miles thought.

“E-eighteen dollars?” Wright stuttered. “Doesn’t that seem a bit expensive?”

“Y-yes, well, ice coffee for two, you know,” the bellboy replied. “And we don’t skimp on the ice, sir.”

You idiot! Miles yelled mentally, gritting his teeth without opening his mouth.

Wright slammed his desk and then pointed at the bellboy. He had picked up on that slip of the tongue. “What did you say!?” he bellowed.

“Ah!” the bellboy exclaimed. “Oh… er… rather, quite!”

“Bellboy! Tell us the truth now… Was someone else staying in Miss May’s room?”

“Objection!” Miles barked, hitting his desk. “I object! That was… objectionable!”

Think of a better excuse! You sound like more of a novice than Wright!

“Objection overruled,” the judge said, shaking his head at Miles’s momentary weakness. “The witness will answer the question.”

“Er… yes, I see,” the bellboy stuttered. Wright pounded on his desk and then pointed accusingly at the witness.

“Why did you not mention this in your testimony!?” he demanded.

“W-well, sir, you er… you didn’t ask!” Wright banged on his desk again.

“That’s the sort of thing you’re normally supposed to mention!”

“Ah, yes, quite. Indeed… It was the, er, good barrister there, Mr. Edgeworth, who… He asked me not to mention it if I wasn’t specifically asked, sir.”

“Oof!” Miles burst. He collapsed onto his desk, breaking his fall with his arms. “Y-you fool!”

I’ll be penalized for sure… The Bar Association will almost certainly think this was a deal… Wright… you’ve ruined me! Four years of perfection... gone!

“Miss April May checked into a twin room…” Wright started, “with a man. Correct?”

“Yes, sir,” the bellboy replied.

“Then, when you brought them room service, you didn’t see that man in the room…?”

“That’s right, sir.”

“Hmm…” the judge mumbled in thought. Wright slammed his desk.

“Your Honor!” he shouted. “We have just learned of another person involved who may have been the murderer! In this new light, I hold that it’s impossible to judge the defendant. You agree, Mr. Edgeworth?”

“Who!?” Miles demanded of Wright. “Who is this ‘other person’!?” It was a long shot, but maybe Wright would slip up and spare Miles the penalty on his perfect record.

“Simple, it was…” Wright paused and hit his desk as though he intended to break it in half. “The man who checked in with Miss May!”

“Oof!” Miles blurted out. I figured he’d get that one right…

“Your Honor!” Wright called. “As has been previously revealed, Miss April May was tapping the victim’s phone. Yet Miss May herself has an alibi at the time of the murder.” He banged on his desk. “However, that does not clear the man that was with her! The bellboy saw no one else in the room at the time of the murder!!”

“M-my, what a convenient little setup…” Miles said through gritted teeth. “but it’s too late…”

“‘Too late’?” Wright asked in response. “I suppose you’d like it if it was too late, wouldn’t you…” He pounded on his desk and then pointed at Miles.

Here it comes…

“After all, it was you who hid the presence of the other man from this court!”

“Oof!” Miles hunched over, his right arm stopping him from hitting the desk. “Upstart… amateur…!” he managed to say. “T-these accusations are… ludicrous!”

The judge banged his gavel.

“Enough!” he barked. “The court acknowledges the defense’s argument. I expect the prosecution and defense to look into this matter fully! Am I understood?”

“Yes…” Miles gasped for air. He had bent his windpipe through his position, and his rage did nothing to help. “Yes, Your Honor.”

“That is all today for the trial of Maya Fey. Court is adjourned!” The judge banged his gavel one last time.



Miles bypassed the Prosecution Lobby completely and returned to his office. He practically crushed the doorknob in his hand as he opened the door and went to his desk. He pounded on it with his right fist. His arm twitched a few times. The phone rang. Miles gritted his teeth and picked up the nuisance.

“This is Edgeworth,” Miles said into the receiver. He had somehow managed to avoid showing any anger in his voice.

“Mr. Edgeworth, I talked to the Bar Association for you,” the voice on the other end said. Miles recognized it instantly: Lana.

Lana… He closed his eyes, suddenly calm.

“What did they say?” he asked. His voice sounded much calmer than when he picked up the phone. Apparently, he hadn’t completely removed the rage from his voice when he answered.

“You got lucky. Since you concealed the other witness simply because his testimony was not necessary, they decided to let it slide.”

“Lana… thank you so much,” Miles said, gratefulness pouring out of his voice.

Lana’s voice paused.

“You’re welcome, Mr. Edgeworth,” she finally said. “That’s all I called about, so good-bye.”

Lana hung up. Miles noticed Gumshoe peering in through the door.

“Do you… still love her, sir?” he asked, blushing a little because he had been caught.

“Of course I do,” Miles replied. “But let’s not talk about that right now. YOU owe me an explanation.”

Gumshoe gulped and approached Miles’s desk.

“Detective, why did you not mention the defendant’s cell phone?” Miles asked, glaring at Gumshoe so intensely that the detective shivered a bit.

“I, um, I…”

“Answer the question, Detective. That cell phone bored a gaping hole in our case.” He reached out and grabbed Gumshoe by his tie and pulled him close to his face. The rage had returned to his voice. “Why was I not told about it!?”

“I d-didn’t know about the r-r-recording, sir! We didn’t kn-know the cell phone had that f-f-function!”

“You DIDN’T KNOW!? What do we pay you to do, Detective!? It’s your JOB to investigate the evidence!” Miles paused and let out a breath, loosening his grip on the detective’s tie. “How much are you paid, Detective?” he asked, somewhat calm again.

“Uh…” Gumshoe paused. “I… forgot, sir.”

“It doesn’t matter; it’s getting cut no matter how much you earn.”

Gumshoe whimpered. As Miles recalled, the imbecile’s salary was already quite low.

“Also,” Miles continued, “have you any idea how Mr. Wright was able to enter Miss May’s hotel room?”

“I told him not to talk to the witness,” Gumshoe replied, looking down.

“You didn’t answer my question, Detective. Did Wright drop the subject?”

“Well, he tried to get me to tell him about her. I… kinda let her name slip, but that’s all sir! He thought she had been sent home.”

“Did you correct him?”

“Of course, sir! I told him—”

Gumshoe was cut off by a slap in the face.

“YOU IDIOT!” Miles exploded, standing up. “THIS is why your salary keeps getting cut! How am I supposed to do my job if you fall for the defense’s tricks!?”

“I-I’m sorry, sir!” Gumshoe managed to say, stepping back from Miles’s desk. A few drops of blood fell from his nose onto the floor.

“Wright’s going to come at me with his entire arsenal tomorrow! I want decisive evidence of who killed Ms. Fey!”

“Y-yes sir!” Gumshoe stammered.

“Now get going! And don’t ever do something so stupid again!”

“Y-y-y-y-yes sir!” Gumshoe saluted and left the office.

Miles opened his desk drawer and took a tissue out of the tissue box stored there. With a sigh of anger at Gumshoe’s incompetence and relief at being alone, he walked to the spot on the floor where Gumshoe had bled and wiped it off until only a luminol test would be able to see the blood.

That imbecile… If it hadn’t been for his stupidity, Maya Fey would have been proven guilty by now. Now I’ll have to work with the very man I’m trying to defeat…

He shuddered. Redd White. That was the man staying with May. Still, he had an alibi, so even though he was a criminal, he was innocent as far as this case went. Wright would suffer in court tomorrow—it was a fact.

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Last edited by General Luigi on Thu Jun 19, 2008 8:54 pm, edited 1 time in total.