Memory 02: Nothing Else Matters
Somebody was banging on Phoenix’s office door.
Phoenix sat up straight and groped for the volume control on his computer. He turned the music down, but kept his fingers on the dial. If it was Miles crossing the two-foot niche separating their offices just to tell him to turn it the hell down again, he was going to crank Guns n’ Roses as high as his speakers could physically go.
“Come in!”
The door opened halfway.
“Professor Wright?”
It was a woman’s voice. Phoenix turned the music down further and sat back in his chair.
“Yeah. Come in.”
The young woman slid inside, closing the door behind her. She was dressed in Victorian-steampunk, with knee-length knickers, a vest, a brooch, and brass goggles holding her hair back like a headband. Phoenix hoped that she was not one of his students; he had never seen her before, and she looked far from forgettable.
“Hi, Professor. I’m Victoria Clockwork; I emailed you about an interview on the jurist system.”
“Ah!” Phoenix snapped and pointed. “That’s right. Ms. Clockwork. Please, have a seat.” She did. “You said you’re a PhD candidate in history?”
“History and evolution of social systems, yeah.”
Phoenix laughed nervously. “Sounds well beyond me.”
“I doubt it.”
Clockwork was winding up a small clockwork cat; when she released it, it took a few steps forward, and meowed, sitting on its brass haunches. Its eyes were glowing green. Phoenix furrowed his eyebrows.
“Uh…”
“Oh, Clover here is going to record our conversation, if that’s all right with you.”
“Uh. Sure, of course.”
“Excellent.”
She stroked Clover’s back. It meowed again, and its eyes glowed red. Clockwork sat back and pressed a few buttons on her watch—fabricated with brass-and-silver wheels—and a hologram-sheet of notes came up.
“All right.” She cleared her throat. “Interview with Professor Phoenix Wright, Ivy Law School.” Phoenix stared blankly. “Now, when you first entered university, the trial-by-jury system was just being abolished in the United States, correct?”
“Yes.”
“And you were an amazingly successful attorney working within the confines of the new system.”
“Uh…” Phoenix scratched the back of his head. “…I guess.”
“What inspired you to reinstate the jurist system?”
Phoenix breathed out heavily and sat back, folding his hands behind his head. “Wow. Getting right to the meat of things, aren’t you?”
“Take your time if you need a moment.”
“…well.” Phoenix thought for a moment. “…it was sort of a long time in coming. A long process. A… lot of people helped contribute to that realization.” He scratched the back of his head again. “I was not the only person who worked on the jurist system. Professor Edgeworth across the hall was an immeasurable help—”
“Oh, yeah. I have an interview scheduled with him tomorrow.”
“Oh, well.” Phoenix laughed nervously. “He can give you all the gory details on my personal life if you ask for them. He’d probably give them with relish.”
“It seems to take an awful lot of faith in humanity to want to re-instate a system hinging on human judgment and not purely concrete evidence.”
“…true.” Phoenix looked up at the ceiling, thought. “…well… that’s… a process that started… I don’t know… in elementary school, I guess. It’s one of those ‘lifelong journey’ things.”
“True, but when did you start to apply that to law?” Clockwork paused. “I know it’s kind of a bullshit question.”
Phoenix snorted.
“It’s fine. Well… I had a lot of cases where the evidence-only system of law was… a hindrance, I guess you could say. I could dig up those case files if you want. They’re public domain now.”
“If I may ask, didn’t your disbarment occur because of a trial like that? You reinstated the system while you were still disbarred.”
“Aaah. Yes. That is a long story.” Phoenix looked at his desktop clock. “…how much time do you have?”
“I have no other engagements for the rest of the day.”
“Neither do I.” Phoenix sat back in his chair. “Well. I could try to explain to you everything that went through my head during that period, but it would lose a lot of its… impact, I guess.”
“I understand.”
It was a song that often came to mind. He had listened to it in times of desperation, when he needed to remember Edgeworth’s comforting embrace, to remember him rushing to his aid from halfway around the world.
It put things in perspective then. It still did not fail to now.
So close, no matter how far
Couldn't be much more from the heart
Forever trusting who we are
And nothing else matters
He considered asking Clockwork if she had heard of Metallica, but he smirked to himself in amusement. They were probably crusty elevator music to her generation, same as Guns N’ Roses must have sounded to her on her approach.
God, I’m old.
“I should have lost my faith in humanity. Become jaded. Cynical. That’s what a lot of people thought had happened.” He smiled to himself. “I really think that’s what would have happened if I didn’t have the people standing beside me that I did. I don’t know if I’d have had the courage to keep on trusting in people without the love from those who mean the most to me, back then.”
Clockwork nodded, furrowing her brows. Clover was wagging its brass-jointed tail lazily across the desktop.
“Here.” Phoenix took a drink of coffee from his thermos. “Might as well start at the beginning.”
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All things considered, Edgeworth was having a good night. His only reserve was that he was unable to get a hold of Wright, but he assumed that his trial had run long and that he would call soon to give him an update.
He rubbed Pess between the ears, and she made a sleepy, content noise in the back of her throat. She was asleep with her chin resting on Edgeworth’s stomach, and Edgeworth was sitting up in bed with his laptop on a cushioned table resting across his thighs. It was two AM in Brussels, and the laptop cast the only light in the otherwise dark room. He took his mug of tea from the bedside table and took a deep drink, eyes still on the monitor over the rim of the cup.
He was returning to California next week for a visit. His flight plans were secured, as were lodgings for Pess, and he had secured his leave with the International Law Office at the European Union. Phoenix was eagerly awaiting his return, already planning all the things they wanted to do—though he had no interest in doing anything touristy in the LA area; he’d seen it all a billion times—and presenting lists of things that Maya and Pearl wanted to do in addition. The girls were coming down from Kurain part of the time, though he had made sure Phoenix secured them ample time alone.
Alone, yes. He smiled to himself, still unconsciously scratching Pess’s head. During his lonelier nights he had begun a habit of comforting himself researching sexual techniques, positions, toys, online; there was a shocking archive of information ranging from the ancient and classical lore of the Kama Sutra, Japan, Greece, to the New Age Tantra popular in the late 1990’s, to the current cyberpunk retro-futuristic mantras of mind-melding techniques and ‘cerebral sex’. He was keeping a folder of the most intriguing information, earmarking and memorizing the most tantalizing, the most enthralling. Cataloging the things he wanted to do with Phoenix helped abate the loneliness; imagining himself surprising Phoenix with sudden adept knowledge, imagining the looks of rapture and delight—
He tapped his fingertips on the laptop table, furrowing his eyebrows. This was not the time to get aroused, not when he had work to finish and a laptop on his crotch and Pess asleep on his stomach. He sighed and maximized his PowerPoint window. He had a presentation tomorrow before the bureau; he had put off completing it too long.
He had finished formatting a graph when his cell phone rang. He grabbed the body and checked the caller ID eagerly; his heart sank in disappointment when he realized it was Detective Gumshoe. He sighed and fished the wireless earpiece out of his breast pocket, clipped it over the shell of his ear, and pressed the button on the hub.
“Miles Edgeworth.”
“Mr. Edgeworth! Sir! It’s Detective Gumshoe from the—”
“I know who you are.”
“—is this a bad time? I really gotta talk to you, sir. Something… bad’s happened. And I don’t even know how it did—”
Edgeworth groaned quietly and rubbed between his eyes. This was not what he wanted right now, especially when Wright may be calling at any moment.
“Do you have any idea what time it is, Detective?”
“Uh… oh, yeah, there’s a time change, isn’t there?”
Edgeworth gave a flat, sour look to no-one in particular
“I’m really sorry, sir. I really am. It’s just—something really bad’s happened to Mr. Wright again.” Edgeworth sat up straight. “…and I don’t know what to do.”
“What happened?”
“He’s been accused of forging evidence.”
Something knotted in Edgeworth’s stomach. His fingers tightened on Pess’s scalp; Pess whined, picking up on her master’s agitation. She looked up at him and shifted uneasily.
“So?” Edgeworth’s voice came out steadier than he expected. “Lawyers accuse that of one another all the time. God knows it’s happened to me. It probably won’t hold up in court. Besides, this is Wright, for Christ’s sake; he’ll pull God-knows-what out of his ass soon enough. And he would never forge evidence. He’s too damn honest for his own good. He’s the archetype of The Fool.”
“The what?”
“Never mind.”
“But they’ve… got testimony, sir. Conclusive testimony. The judge threw the case out already.”
Edgeworth realized that his tongue was dry. He wet it, moving his hand further down Pess’s neck and clutching at her scruff. She nosed his leg and whined again.
“And he didn’t just… turn it around like he usually does?”
“I… I guess not. I don’t know, sir.”
“This is ludicrous.”
“His Bar Association hearing is tomorrow morning; there’s no way you’re going to get back here before it’s over.”
“Already?”
Edgeworth sat bolt upright. Pess whined and drew back, startled.
“What the—it usually takes months before a hearing, and there’s investigation—what the—”
“No idea, sir. But they seem hot to try this as soon as possible.”
“Were you at the trial?”
“Yes.” Gumshoe took a deep breath. “I… shit, I testified for the prosecution, as usual, sir. But I swear I didn’t say nothin’ that would get Mr. Wright nailed like this. It was… there was this evidence he presented; soon as he did it, Prosecutor Gavin jumped all over his ass, said ‘Finally’ like he was waitin’ for something—”
Gavin? “Gavin’s a defense attorney.”
“Not Kristoph, sir. Klavier. His younger brother.”
Edgeworth furrowed his eyebrows; he vaguely remembered hearing about Klavier Gavin, now that he thought about it, but he did not realize he was Stateside already.
“Seventeen years old, German, already a prosecutor,” Gumshoe continued, when Edgeworth did not respond. “The rock star. He graduated real early, just jointed the DA’s office.”
“This is outrageous.” Edgeworth rubbed his forefinger and thumb between his eyes again, ran his fingers through his hair. “It’s so blatantly obvious this is a setup. As soon as Wright presents that evidence, he’s jumped on? Please. It’s almost insulting that nobody’s pointed this out.”
“Maybe they don’t want to, sir.”
“Maybe you’re exactly right. Do you know who’s heading the Bar Association these days?”
“I think it’s Kristoph Gavin, sir.”
Edgeworth swore loudly. Pess jumped off the bed and hunched down in the corner of the room. He made a half-hearted attempt to comfort her, to call her back, but she just stared at him warily, thumping the wall with her tail.
“Is that bad, sir?”
“I’ve faced him in court several times. I don’t trust that bastard.”
“Well, I don’t see what he’d have against Mr. Wright. He or his brother, sir. This is the first time Mr. Wright’s faced Klavier in court.”
“God knows. Probably some old grudge everybody but he has forgotten about.”
“Yeah.”
There was a silence. Edgeworth was rubbing between his eyes again, feeling a tension headache coming on. Pess whined softly. Gumshoe finally cleared his throat.
“So… you’re coming back, sir?”
Edgeworth set his laptop-desk beside him on the bed, stood, and started digging through his drawers for clothes and throwing them onto the bed. Boxers, socks. Gumshoe continued speaking.
“You won’t make it for the hearing, sir. It’s just impossible; it’s first thing tomorrow morning.”
Edgeworth moved up one drawer. Folded shirts. He tossed a few into a stack next to his underwear.
“I’m still coming out. This is ludicrous.”
A setup. He opened the top drawer, grabbed a few cravats, a set of cufflinks, slammed it shut. Immediate trap, waiting for him to use evidence, immediate hearing. Almost like they were all waiting. This is ridiculous.
He moved to the closet, dug through pants and jackets. Gumshoe’s hesitant silence was palpable even through the earpiece.
“You really care about Mr. Wright, don’t you?”
Edgeworth paused, hand still flat against a pair of trousers—
Never opened myself this way
Life is ours, we live it our way
All these words I don't just say
—stared into the closet. Gumshoe cleared his throat.
“Sir?”
“Hold off that hearing as long as you can.” Edgeworth grabbed a few pairs of trousers and a few jackets, tossed them onto the bed, and made his way toward the bathroom. “I’m taking the next flight back to LA.”
“Aren’t those usually booked months in advance, sir?”
“I’ll make it happen.” Travel bag of deodorant, shaving cream, toothbrush, toothpaste, floss. Already waiting for him under his sink. He checked it to make sure it was full, and tossed it onto the bed through the door. Grabbed his electric razor and hairbrush, walked out and set those on the bed by hand. He wrestled his suitcase out of his closet.
“All right, sir.”
“And don’t tell anybody at the DA’s office I’m coming back; if they want to put Wright away, they’ll hurry the hearing up even more.”
“Understood, sir.”
Edgeworth pressed the button on his earpiece to disconnect the call. He sighed and threw it onto his bed next to his things. Pess was hunched in the corner, making his agitation her own. He stooped to pet her briefly, murmuring soothingly to her, though he stared at the wall above her head, eyes hard. Gavin. What the hell are you playing at, you bastard?
Pess whined, and he looked down at her. He sighed and gave her a last pet before straightening and going to his bedside table for his phone.
“I’m afraid you’re going to the kennel a little earlier than we thought, girl.”
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There were no direct flights from Brussels International to LAX. Edgeworth was used to going through JFK in New York to get back to Los Angeles, and he usually took the inconvenience in stoic stride, but the idea of having to stop seemed unbearable now. He had negotiated with a ticketing agent, white-knuckled and clutching the counter, for only twenty minutes before securing the 10 AM to JFK, but to him it seemed to take precious hours. She said that he would have a three hour layover, but it was still the fastest she could get him to Los Angeles on such short notice. He had snapped a ‘fine’, realizing that he was being cruel to a blameless messenger, but was too harried to care. He checked his bag and left for the security line, irritated that he could secure no faster methods of transport as he had when Wright had gotten his stupid ass in trouble three months earlier.
Once at the gate he sent an email to the EU Law conference coordinator apologizing for his abrupt absence, and another to his secretary asking that she explain his week-earlier absence to all relevant parties. It was only 4 AM; he finally had time to call Phoenix, now that his passage was secured.
He answered neither his video-phone on his laptop, nor his cell phone. Edgeworth swore quietly and clutched his phone on his knee, tapping it nervously with his forefinger. He knew he looked a mess. He had not taken the time to shave, his hair was flat without his usual grooming ritual—those peaks in his bangs came with gel—and he had hastily thrown on a pair of black slacks and a black vest over a white shirt. He felt naked without a cravat or at least a necktie holding his collar closed.
He finally decided to give himself a rudimentary groom in the men’s room, and found that after shaving, brushing his hair, and washing his face, he felt somewhat calmer. He stared at his reflection and took a deep breath. This was not going to happen to Phoenix. He was not going to allow it.
The flight was uneventful, though uncomfortable. Edgeworth was stuck in coach, dead-center row between a rather large man and a petit woman who was already out cold, and he found it impossible to fold his long legs in such a way that he could sleep comfortably. He gave up after an hour of fitful attempts, envying the woman her mobility, pulled out his laptop, and accessed the Los Angeles District Attorney’s server through the airplane wi-fi. He read the transcript of Enigmar v. California carefully, heart swelling with pride every time the dialogue noted as coming from DEFENSE revealed a brilliant contradiction, or noted a paradox nobody else would address. His fingers tightened over the travel mouse when he reached the portion at which the trial stopped, and was linked to a hearing between Phoenix Wright, Klavier Gavin, and the presiding judge.
The link gave him a 404. He cursed, and the man next to him glanced sidelong momentarily. He suspected Kristoph Gavin had put a hold on this transcript, or had at least encouraged the stenographer to place updating this page on the lower end of the priority list.
Edgeworth clicked back to the trial transcript, and read through it once again, memorizing every detail. He looked through the evidence, especially the piece marked ‘forged’. He had arched his eyebrows when it was noted that the defendant had literally ‘disappeared’ at the end of the trial, but left speculating on that point to later. He logged on to a United States law database and combed every law he recalled had to do with disbarment and forging of evidence. He was halfway through collecting meticulous notes when the captain announced that they were about to land, and he was almost disappointed by their arrival, as he would have to interrupt the flow of his thoughts by shutting his laptop down.
By the time he had worked through the three-hour layover at JFK and four-hour flight to LAX, he had a venerable body of laws, citations, and objections of his own—but no conclusive evidence in Wright’s favor. He was either going to have to access that webpage, or talk to Wright himself. He was starting to worry about Wright; he had not gotten a hold of him during his layover, and he had snuck a text message during the intercontinental flight to no response.
It was the middle of the afternoon in California by the time he had collected his baggage at LAX. If what Gumshoe had said was accurate, Phoenix’s hearing was over by now. On the upside, however, Phoenix had finally left him one short message: “I’m at my apartment.” It was as much an invitation as a plea. It also meant he hadn’t killed himself.
Phoenix’s apartment was relatively close to LAX, within biking distance of the courthouse, as was required by his lack of a car. Edgeworth took a courtesy shuttle to the nearby garage where he had stored his car, and managed to avoid traffic on the 105 all the way to his exit. He pulled into the spot that would be Phoenix’s, if he had a car, and dragged his suitcase and briefcase up the stairs, maneuvering on autopilot, not even thinking of the building numbers at this point. He fished the key to Wright’s apartment out of his pocket and carefully opened the door. The familiar smell that was Phoenix’s living room—Febreeze masking unwashed laundry and an indescribable essence that was strongly Wright—drafted out, mingling with the air as the door swung open.
He heard the shower running. Edgeworth carefully closed the door behind him and locked it, then maneuvered through the horridly messing living room to the bedroom. He set his suitcase and briefcase next to the bed. He sat on the familiar cheap memory-foam mattress and began to untie his shoes and remove his socks. He stopped just shy of removing his vest, fingers playing over the buttons. He did not know if Phoenix wanted to be suddenly accosted in the shower, or if he needed a moment to be alone. He decided to leave it be for now and collapsed back onto the bed. He was just now realizing how exhausted he was; he had not slept in almost thirty-six hours by this point. Now that he was in Phoenix’s apartment, the nervous energy that had driven him forward and kept him awake during his trip was gone.
He did not know how long he dozed in a lucid state, but when the shower turned off, he opened his eyes and stared at the ceiling for a moment before sitting up, resting back on his hands. After a few agonizing minutes Phoenix finally emerged from the bathroom, hair wet and falling down around his face, a towel around his waist. He stopped when he saw Edgeworth, and it took a moment for realization to settle in his eyes. Edgeworth smiled at him tiredly, but he knew his own smile was no more convincing.
Phoenix looked like hell. His eyes were red and raw, and despite having just exited a shower, his face was drawn and pale, gaunt. Edgeworth had heard that it was possible for a man to appear to have aged overnight. He had not understood the weight or validity of that statement until now.
“Miles.”
Edgeworth stood. Phoenix closed his eyes hard, blinked rapidly, obviously trying to hold back tears. Edgeworth waited to see if he was going to make any moves, shifting his weight to his front foot in anticipation of stepping forward himself if Phoenix did not.
“I decided to come a little early. Hope you don’t mind.”
Phoenix’s lip was quivering again. He swallowed, firmed his jaw, and shook his head. His brows furrowed with the effort.
“I’m…” Phoenix swallowed, wetting his tongue. He took a shaking breath. “…no. No. No.”
He crossed the distance between them and grabbed Miles, one arm across his back gripping his shoulder, the other around his waist. He buried his face in Miles’ shoulder and took another breath that wracked his own shoulders. He knotted his fingers in Miles’ shirt in a vain attempt to grasp some semblance of control over himself. The shirt seams strained, but Miles just sighed and held Phoenix, stroking his hair and kissing the top of his head. He murmured soothingly, “It’s okay”s and “I’m here”s and shushing noises void of content but full of concern and the abstract desire to make everything all right.
Miles finally excused himself to take a quick shower, promising that they could talk in a few minutes. Phoenix nodded and squeezed his hand—hard—before letting go, and smiled ruefully over his shoulder. He waved slightly with his fingertips, sighed, and turned toward the bed.
Thankfully it did not take the usual five minutes for Phoenix’s shower to warm up, though Edgeworth did have to dig through several empty bottles of shampoo and body scrub before he found bottles with enough soap left for a wash. It was strangely intimate and enveloping to wash with the soaps Phoenix usually used, Old Spice and some generic shampoo for thick, oily hair. He recalled being told that smell is the sense most intimately linked to emotion and memory, that there are more olfactory genes in the human genome than genes for any other physical sense. The smell ingrained the feeling that he really was here, in Los Angeles, with Phoenix, more than sight or any other sense alone. It was as though time had folded in on itself, creating a loop and joining the last time he had been here to this instance, omitting all the time that he had spent away from this place. It truly felt as though he had never left. The relaxation and surrealism inherent in this feeling, unfortunately, also made Edgeworth feel twice as exhausted, and his knees almost gave out under him in the shower. He pressed against the tile wall until the wave crested. He vigorously scrubbed the sweat and essence of airplane travel out of his skin and scalp, toweled off, brushed his teeth and shaved, and emerged in a towel and feeling considerably fresher and more relaxed.
Phoenix had drawn the blackout curtains over his windows, rendering the room blissfully dark and cool. He was curled up under the sheet with his back to Edgeworth. Miles carefully picked his way around the laundry and various junk on Phoenix’s floor, unwrapped the towel around his waist, and folded it before dropping it lightly on top of his suitcase. He crawled into bed next to Phoenix, noting gladly that at least the sheets had been washed recently, and wrapped his arms around Phoenix’s bare waist. Phoenix placed his hands over Miles’ and interlaced their fingers, then drew Miles’ hands to his shoulders, clutching Miles’ arms crossed over his chest, hugging Miles’ chest flush to his back. Miles sighed and rested his lips on Phoenix’s shoulder. He was just now realizing how utterly exhausted he was, and how sluggishly his brain was working. Phoenix was also limp with exhaustion—everywhere—which Miles found as a relief; he had zero energy for comfort sex, let alone staying awake much longer.
“Have you slept?”
Phoenix shook his head. “I was preparing for my hearing.” His voice was strained, but quiet, oddly calm, as though relieved from finally being able to cry. “I… shit, Miles, they gave me no warning, I had no evidence, and they had that goddamn testimony—they lied. The witness lied. I had no proof.”
“There has to be proof somewhere if it’s a setup.”
“I’ve lost jurisdiction to investigate at all anymore. They’ve crippled me as fast as possible. Wham, bam, thank you ma’am, gone. Done.”
His voice was tapering off into sleep. Miles was relieved; he himself was exhausted. He kissed Phoenix on the back of the neck and nuzzled his cheek with his own.
“I’m going to help you fix this. I promise. There is absolutely no way they can get away with this; it’s ludicrous, paper-thin.” He sighed and rested his cheek against the side of Phoenix’s neck. “But right now I think we both need to sleep.”
“Mm, yeah.”
Phoenix untangled his fingers from Miles’ and turned around in his arms, looking into his eyes. Phoenix’s eyes were half-lidded in exhaustion. He kissed Miles on the lips softly, then snuggled into the crook of his neck, wrapping his arms around Miles’ waist.
“I’m glad you’re here.”
Miles smiled softly to himself over Phoenix’s head, tracing nonsense designs on his back with his fingertips. Phoenix’s chest was already rising and falling with the calm, automatic rhythm of sleep. Miles kissed Phoenix’s forehead and shifted into a more comfortable position, mumbling that was glad he was here as well.
One minute later, Miles was fast asleep.
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And nothing else matters
---------------------------------------
Phoenix was disoriented when he woke up. He was face-first in his pillow and sprawled awkwardly across the bed with his foot hanging over the side, ass-naked, and, according to his bedside clock, it was 11:52 PM. He stared at it a moment, brain still oriented relative to a dream that was fast fading from memory.
Reality finally came back to him. Miles. He turned around, half-terrified his return had been part of his dream, and Phoenix’s heart rose when he saw Miles still fast asleep next to him. He smiled to himself. They always started out falling asleep in one another’s arms, but at some point during the night would wind up sprawled across the bed in various odd, autonomous positions. Realistically two bodies folded up together got uncomfortably hot after a while, and sometimes, limbs would fall asleep.
Screw that. The air conditioner was on. Phoenix scooted closer to Miles and slid his arm under Miles’ waist, snuggling into the crook of his neck once again. His ear was over his pulse; Miles’ heartbeat was the most calming influence Phoenix could imagine, and damned if that wasn’t what he needed right now. It was odd to smell Miles scrubbed with Phoenix’s own soap, and without his cologne. The essence of ‘Miles’ was still strongly there, scrubbed clean, warm and unadulterated. Phoenix hoped he could remember this every time he took a shower. Didn’t Miles say once that smell is most closely linked to emotion and memory, something like that?
It had been surprisingly easy to walk out of the courtroom with his back straight and his head held high after the disastrous end of the Enigmar trial. He was numb with shock; the realization of what had happened had not sunk into his consciousness yet. The sudden judgment, the disappearance—it was all too fucking surreal to process at one time.
The real challenge had come in hiding his emotions during the Bar Association review. By that time an entire afternoon had passed during which his brain began to process and absorb that morning’s events, and the shock that he had less than a day to prepare his own defense was the cerebral effect of a steel-toed boot to the stomach. He had desperately tried to scrabble together information, knowing full well that the ‘witness’ Klavier had brought forward was lying, though he was nowhere to be found at the courthouse or the district attorney’s office, and his studio was abandoned save for one irritable detective smoking in the doorway who pulled aside her jacket and showed Phoenix the .45 in her shoulder holster and the taser on her belt when he insisted on being allowed to examine the studio. He knew he wouldn’t be shot no matter what crazy-ass thing he tried, but after his encounter with Manfred Von Karma even the vague threat of being tased was enough to make Phoenix back off. That was probably the worst physical pain he had ever felt in his life.
This was one time when Phoenix would have been elated to see Detective Gumshoe—he could usually be persuaded to let Phoenix into the crime scene, and worst-case scenario Phoenix could call in some favors—but he was nowhere to be found. Phoenix had finished the evening desperately mining law books and online archives for anything that could be used in his defense, but the odd cocktail of fatigue, panic, and energy shots made him lose track of time. By the time he had realized he had forgotten to call Edgeworth, he had an hour to be at the courthouse, and just a handful of laws and guidelines in his reservoir.
The hearing was fast. Dirty. Suspiciously so. The panel had filed in seemingly ready to make their decision, lips firmed in disapproval, some looking almost nervous themselves, though Phoenix had no idea why. Kristoph Gavin had arrived fashionably late and seated himself at the head of the table, and nobody reprimanded him in the slightest. Though the hearing was supposed to be an Arthurian, democratic process in which everybody held equal power of decision, Gavin was clearly calling the shots. He infuriatingly overturned every bill and law Phoenix presented in his defense. They had conclusive evidence, he kept saying. Documents with Phoenix’s handwriting requesting the forged evidence for the trial. A witness testimony. Under the current system, Gavin had said, flipping his hair in a manner that Phoenix was finding infuriating, subjective considerations and circumstantial evidence were secondary to conclusive, concrete evidence, period, end of story. He had proceeded to lecture Phoenix on the dangers of a system that would rest on subjective judgments and personal evaluations, listing the multiple party-line reasons for the abolition of trial by jury years before. Phoenix finally lost his temper and smashed his hands into the desk, asking what the hell any of that had to do with this hearing.
“What it has to do with this hearing, Mr. Wright, is that every one of your arguments boils down to an appeal for an evaluation of your character, and not the physical evidence wracked up against you. You have no physical evidence in your defense.” Gavin pushed his glasses further up the bridge of his nose, still smiling darkly. “The age of such baseless emotional appeals is dead. You’re a charismatic man, Mr. Wright. I will give you that. You give off a convincing air of simplicity and innocence and honesty. The hero of the downtrodden and those being threatened by The System. It’s the persona every defense attorney adopts to survive. But we’re not buying it anymore. Time was that a charismatic man could get away with murder, even, in the face of heaps of evidence against him, just by getting people to believe in him, to trust him. The history of law is riddled with these decisions. No more.” Gavin’s eyes became hard with something Phoenix could only describe as ‘loathing’. “No more gut-instinct decisions from easily-manipulated, emotional people. Hard evidence is the judge and jury of the world now, Mr. Wright, and hard evidence has declared you guilty of the crime of forging evidence for use in a trial in a court of law.” Gavin’s mouth twisted into a sick, triumphant smile, so beautiful, so smooth. “And the penalty for that crime is the surrender of your badge and all rights and responsibilities levied upon a holder of the Bar in the United States and the State of California.” He stood. “We will now make our decision.”
They all filed out of the room. The door closed, and Phoenix was left standing, alone, ears ringing in the dead silence. He realized that he was shaking, limbs intermittently jerking away from the tension of trying to hold them still. He could not bring himself to sit down. He stood, knees locked and stomach clenched, until the panel filed back in. He carefully studied their faces. Some looked almost pitying, some guilty, some bemused, some blank. He swallowed and stood up straighter, though he felt like he was going to pass out.
Kristoph Gavin was the last to file in. He closed the door behind him, sat down, and shook his head.
“Ah, Mr. Wright. I admit despite my former comments on the sovereignty of evidence to this panel, I could not bring myself to vote for your disbarment. The evidence is simply not enough to warrant such a punishment, especially to such an accomplished attorney as yourself.”
Bullshit. Phoenix’s fingernails bit into his palms. You’re trying to direct any suspicion away from yourself, you bastard. At least have the balls to dirty your own hands in this.
“However…” Gavin sighed and flipped his hair out of his eyes again. “I regret to inform you that the rest of the panel has voted unanimously, save for myself, to disbar you. You are henceforth stripped of all rights and responsibilities levied on members of the Bar. You will surrender your badge now.”
The roaring in Phoenix’s ears was becoming deafening. He remained rigid, immobile. He knew all eyes on the room were on him, but he did not care about anybody else. The rest of the panel consisted of specters. Gavin was the only real, rooting influence in the room.
“Now, Mr. Wright.”
Phoenix did not realize how badly his hands were shaking until he tried to remove the gold badge from his lapel. He finally worked the back free of the pin, was able to pull the pin free of the wool and re-cap it, slid it across the table into Gavin’s waiting hand. The lapel was bare now, save for a seemingly-gaping pin hole. He could not bring himself to look at either the jacket or the hand Gavin had cupped over the badge. He stared straight ahead stubbornly.
“It is the mercy of this panel, however, that has decided to spare you any additional criminal charges of perjury, forgery, and obstruction of justice. The panel has agreed to let you go in exchange for the peaceful exchange of your badge. I hope the mercy and justice shown you today are never far from your mind.”
Mercy? Justice
It took every ounce of willpower Phoenix possessed not to lunge over the table and smash Gavin’s head against the wall. He swallowed, realizing just how much his throat was burning.
“Do you have any final comments, Mr. Wright?”
Phoenix’s stare did not waver. He took a deep, angry breath through his nose, exhaled. Stared. Gavin sighed and gathered the papers in front of him, aligning them against the tabletop. The clack was like a judge’s gavel.
“Then this hearing is adjourned.”
Phoenix did not really see any of the other people who filed out after Gavin. They were a blur, something he stared through as he kept staring at Gavin, seeing him through walls, through corridors, through distance. Carrying his badge.
He did not remember how long he stood in that spot. He remembered overwhelming rage, and despair, and a sudden, shocked sense of grief and loss. But he did not let any of them see him cry. He had somehow found the strength to walk out of that building with his head held high; he had not broken down until he was back at his apartment. He had closed the door behind him, slid down it, and cried harder than he could remember crying since he thought Miles had committed suicide.
It wasn’t fair.
They lied.
Why? He had never done a single thing to either of the Gavin brothers.
Why?
‘A lawyer is a person who doesn’t cry until it’s all over’, huh, Mia?
Never cared for what they say
Never cared for games they play
Never cared for what they do
Never cared for what they know
And I know
“Phoenix.”
Phoenix looked up, shocked back to the present. Miles’ eyes were still closed. In his lucid-memory state he had half-forgotten Miles, and upon releasing his hand he saw the red marks he was digging into Miles’ arm.
“Sorry.”
“It’s okay.”
Miles was trying to open his eyes, but they kept snapping closed. Phoenix brushed his hair out of his face and kissed him on the forehead.
“You should go back to sleep.”
Miles made a vague noise of protest, but was soon breathing rhythmically in sleep again. Phoenix sighed and rested his head in the crook of Miles’ neck again, holding him close enough to feel his heartbeat against his chest. He slipped into a semi-conscious lucid state; he did not know how long he had dozed like this when he was snapped back to consciousness by his very squeaky bedroom door creaking open.
He barely had time to sit up before a small body barreled into him, hugging him tightly.
“Mr. Nick! Mr. Nick!”
“…Pearl?!”
“Nick!”
Maya jumped onto the bed after Pearl, rising up on her shins to bowl Phoenix over as well. He yelled in shock, overbalanced sideways, and fell onto Miles, who hollered and almost fell off the bed. It took Miles a moment longer to process what was going on.
“…Maya! Pearl!”
“Mr. Edgeworth!”
Maya knew Edgeworth too well to be daunted by his seemingly livid glare. She hugged him tightly as well, and Phoenix noted with panic that Pearl was taking this opportunity to try to worm under the covers between them. Maya, thankfully, reacted more quickly than Phoenix, and pulled Pearl back by her sash.
“Oh, Pearly, I just remembered something. Go get some cash out of Nick’s wallet and get us all some drumsticks at the 7-Eleven. Remember the one on the corner?”
“Excuse me—?” Phoenix sputtered.
“Can Mr. Edgeworth go with me?”
“Why?” Maya and Edgeworth asked simultaneously.
“So you and Mr. Nick can have some alone time!”
Edgeworth arched his eyebrows and glanced from Maya to Phoenix. Phoenix shrugged back at him.
“Mr. Edgeworth is in his pajamas,” Maya said quickly. “He can go with you another time.” She nudged Pearl toward the end of the bed. “Go on, it won’t take you five minutes.”
Pearl glared at Maya suspiciously for a moment. Maya glared back with her hands on her hips. Pearl finally broke the stare and dug around in Phoenix’s discarded blue pants for his wallet, and emerged with a twenty.
“Okay, I’ll be right back, then!” She wagged her finger at Maya and Phoenix. “No kissing in front of Mr. Edgeworth, though.”
“Okay, Pearls.” Phoenix’s voice sounded more tired than he expected. “Just… bring back change, okay?”
Edgeworth still had his arms crossed after Pearl left. He arched his eyebrow at Maya.
“Is it safe to send a little girl down to the 7-Eleven after midnight?”
“Pearl can take care of herself. Besides, it’s two buildings away.” Maya slid off the end of the bed and looked from Phoenix to Edgeworth awkwardly. “You… should use this opportunity to put some clothes on.”
“I’m not leaving these sheets until you leave!”
Phoenix’s voice came out squeaker than he would have liked. He was just now realizing how utterly naive Pearl had to be not to understand what was going on between him and Edgeworth. Nobody he knew over the age of five would mistake two grown men cuddling shirtless as a ‘sleepover’. That, or she did realize what it meant, but was so deep in denial she would see whatever she wanted. He sighed. This was a talk he had not been looking forward to having with Pearl, but it was becoming unavoidable.
Maya had stuck her tongue out at Phoenix and waited in the living room while he and Edgeworth had thrown on sweatpants. Phoenix had momentarily debated putting on a shirt, but it would look fishy if he was suddenly more clothed when Pearl got back. By the time Pearl did get back, with a plastic bag of Drumsticks and, hopefully, change, Phoenix and Miles were back under the sheets plus pants, and Maya was sitting in front of the two men with her legs folded under her. Pearl clambered up on the bed happily and set the bag on top of Phoenix’s legs.
“I’m back!”
“Pearls, can you eat these without dripping ice cream all over the bed? I just washed the sheets.”
“Yup!”
She eagerly passed out Drumsticks to everybody in the party, peeled back the paper and pulled out the thick-paper disc squashing the top of the cone, and started munching on her own. While she caught any drips that threatened to get on the bed, her face was covered in chocolate and ice cream, and she was smiling in such simple pleasure Phoenix could not help smiling for the first time all day. He also found it amusing to watch Edgeworth nip at his, and he wondered if Edgeworth had indulged himself in such cheap, delicious, pedestrian fare since they were both in elementary school and would stop by the Quik Mart on the way to Phoenix’s house from the bus stop.
“You’re going to need a napkin there, Pearls,” said Phoenix
Edgeworth shrugged and set the Kleenex box from the bedside table in front of her. Phoenix noted with panic that it was the box he only kept so close for jerking off, but there was no way in hell Pearl would make that association if she thought this was just a big slumber party. Regardless, it still bothered him to watch her pluck a few tissues out and clean up with them.
“It’s great to see you guys, but…” Call ahead next time oh please oh God at least Edgeworth and I weren’t doing anything. “…what are you doing out here so early, anyway? I thought you were coming next week.”
“Don’t be an idiot.” Maya was munching on the cone already. “Detective Gumshoe called us today and told us what happened with the trial. We took the first train down here we could.”
“We would have come earlier, but we had channeling appointments, and Detective Gumshoe told us Mr. Edgeworth was coming out here to keep you company.”
“So you were told what happened, huh?”
“Actually…” Maya looked up in thought. “…no, not really. He himself didn’t have many details. Which is why you’re going to have to tell us everything.”
Oh God, the Scooby Gang is going to want to help me with this one, aren’t they?
“Wright hasn’t told me much, either.”
Phoenix knew he should not be getting aroused right now watching Edgeworth lick ice cream off the blade of his hand, not with Pearl damn near sitting in his lap, so he stared at his own cone as Edgeworth talked.
“So, I guess we all need to hear the story.”
All eyes were on him. Phoenix sighed and looked up, licked ice cream off of his own hand.
“All right. Here we go.”
-----------------------------------------------
It was easy for Edgeworth to demand an audience with the panel who had tried Wright yesterday. He still wielded considerable clout at the Los Angeles Bar Association office, and he had the luxury of having been gone long enough to not be given the usual hassle when he demanded such a sudden meeting, to be treated as a sort of guest. He was told that the panel would be willing to meet with him tomorrow morning.
At first Edgeworth was pleased he would have an additional day to prepare an appeal, but there was not much he could do beyond what he had already done on the airplane. He fretted over his notes and lack of evidence until Phoenix pulled him away from his laptop. By that point he almost wished he could have just gotten it done that day; sitting twiddling his thumbs made him nervous, made him feel useless
He had heard every detail of the trial that Phoenix knew. They all had, last night, well into the early hours of the morning. Pearl had nodded off halfway through, and was still curled up asleep on the couch when Edgeworth had returned from making arrangements for the appeal. He was exhausted, and his sleep schedule was still screwed up, but he had to be at the hearing tomorrow at 10:00 AM. He forced himself to stay awake until midnight.
Phoenix and Maya went to get pizza and beer, which culminated in both of them getting drunk, Pearl lecturing both of them severely, and Edgeworth trying not to smile as Maya decided it would be a good idea to watch Steel Samurai reruns she could quote verbatim—Edgeworth as well, though it was beneath him to admit it. Somehow the alcohol made the reruns seem screamingly funny. They laughed madly every time Will Powers did something silly or distinctive, which was damn near every thirty seconds. Edgeworth wondered if Powers had any idea that his former attorney and his assistant were gleefully making fun of him like an old friend in a home movie.
Now that he was looking for signs of matchmaking, it was painfully obvious to Edgeworth that Pearl was lost in the delusion that Phoenix and Maya were a couple, or at least meant to be one. He did not understand how this did not whack him in the face before. She kept steering them toward one another, assigning them seats firmly, and, as far as Edgeworth could tell, whispering good pick-up lines into Phoenix’s ear. Phoenix good-naturedly shrugged her off. That patience was beyond Edgeworth; he would have lost his temper long ago or responded with constant acidic sarcasm.
Phoenix had told Edgeworth the basics of that story. For all that Edgeworth was no good at dealing with kids, Pearl was the only person who could make him feel guilty for being with Phoenix, and damned if he knew why. It was clear that both Phoenix and Maya loved her fiercely; eventually, she would come to realize that was precious enough. Usually Edgeworth had thin patience with children—it extended until he realized just telling them something about life did not make them understand that thing about life. He never had a much of a childhood, especially after his father’s murder; just realizing that about himself was not enough for him to all of a sudden understand children who still had some vestige of innocence intact. He felt a particular softness for Pearl, despite that; they had both lost their families to human cruelty, spite, and greed at roughly the same age. But she had a precious gift at this point in her life Edgeworth had not had; Franziska had not even been born yet, and Manfred Von Karma was the furthest thing imaginable from warm and loving. As much as things were not turning out the way she wanted, she still had warmth and love.
At around one AM Edgeworth was inclined to break up the party, to grill Phoenix one more time regarding everything that had happened during the case and the resulting hearing, but Phoenix’s happiness stayed his hand. This laughing, uninhibited Phoenix was a far cry from the devastated Phoenix that had greeted Edgeworth upon his arrival. He sighed and smiled to himself, basking in the ambiance of happiness, warmed by the vodka he had found in Phoenix’s freezer. Maya tried to force more vodka on Edgeworth, but when Edgeworth reminded her that he could not be hung over during Phoenix’s appeal tomorrow, she abruptly stopped harassing him. He would have to remember to use such excuses next time she went on the warpath to get him trashed.
After he had tucked a naturally-asleep Pearl and drunken-asleep Maya in on the sofa-bed, Edgeworth got into bed next to Phoenix, who seemed to him to also be dead asleep. He was wrong.
“You’re drunk,” said Edgeworth.
“So?” Phoenix had crawled on top of Edgeworth and was nuzzling him like a cat in heat. “You’re drunk too.”
“I had a little bit to drink, Wright. I’m not drunk.”
“Ooh, so businesslike.”
Phoenix kissed Miles, cramming his tongue into his mouth clumsily, and started playing with the waistband of Miles’ boxers. Miles moaned softly. He had been aching for Phoenix’s touch for ages, but—
“No. No.”
Edgeworth grabbed Phoenix’s hand just as he started playing with his cock. Phoenix looked like he had just been kicked.
“But… Miles…”
Miles kissed Phoenix softly and smoothed down his hair. “Phoenix, I can assure you—as you probably have noticed—I want nothing more in the world than to fuck your brains out, to use the vernacular. It’s—God, it’s all I can think about when I’m not with you.” He kissed Phoenix again, this time deeper. “But the girls are asleep outside, and I have to get up in a few hours for your appeal. I really need to sleep. I promise, as soon as we get the chance…”
He kissed Phoenix again. The kiss got heated, but Phoenix was the one to pull away first. He gave Edgeworth a concerned look.
“You don’t have to do this for me, Miles.”
“I know.”
He kissed Phoenix again and curled up with him. He was just about to fall asleep when—
“Miles?”
“Hmm.”
“Do you really believe that I’m innocent?”
Trust I seek and I find in you
Every day for us, something new
Open mind for a different view
Miles sighed and traced patterns Phoenix’s back absentmindedly. “Phoenix, if there’s a single attorney in this city who really cares about truth and justice and all of those party-line ideals, it’s you. Now, go to sleep.”
“You didn’t answer my question.”
“Yes, all right?” Miles kissed his shoulder and snuggled back down. “I love you. Good night.”
“I love you, Miles.”
Another pause.
“You sure you don’t wanna just… you know…?”
“Good night, Phoenix.”
-----------------------------------
And nothing else matters
-----------------------------------
“Phoenix Wright would never forge evidence.”
“Oh, we know he didn’t forge evidence. We know he used forged evidence.”
“That may be, but he never would have used forged evidence knowingly.”
“What is your proof, Prosecutor Edgeworth?”
Edgeworth exhaled through his nose and glared at Kristoph, arms crossed. The man was infuriatingly calm, leaning back in a chair with his ankle resting on the other knee, fingers interlaced over his stomach.
“Look. Of the hundreds and hundreds of defense attorneys I’ve met over the years, he’s the only one who really believes in defending the innocent. He’s too damn honest for his own good. He’s wholeheartedly devoted to the truth. I’ve… worked with him on a case in which his client was guilty, and we both knew it, and he wanted to see the bastard put away as badly as I did. I put my own badge on the line with this testimony. He’s innocent. He’s not obsessed with his win record. He’s… he changed me. The force of his honesty made me evaluate the very way I think about law. He made me believe in truth over perfection again. And if anybody can make me re-evaluate the way I was—how blind and stubborn and basically the confirmation of every ill rumor circulating about me I was—that person is innocent.”
Kristoph brushed his hair aside and shook his head. Edgeworth’s expression flattened; he had learned Kristoph’s mannerisms all too well.
Wonderful. Now what
“It’s touching that you’d come back from abroad just to defend Mr. Wright, but I’m afraid we can’t take any testimony you have as objective.”
Edgeworth’s stomach churned, but he kept his expression flat. He tapped his forearm with his finger.
“…what do you mean?”
“You’re not a disinterested party. We know for a fact that you and Mr. Wright are… romantically involved.”
Edgeworth’s grip on his forearm tightened. Some of the men and women around the table were exchanging looks ranging from shocked to ‘hah, I knew it’. Kristoph’s self-satisfied smirk was infuriating; Edgeworth’s hand jerked reflexively, but he gripped his jacket tighter to keep from lunging across the table and punching him in the mouth.
“And does that mean you can’t listen to my testimony?”
“I’m afraid so, Prosecutor.”
“That’s illegal. Even if a spouse wants to testify, the court must listen to his or her testimony. It is held to the same standards as any other party’s.”
“If you want to supply us with subjective testimony, we have no choice but to respond subjectively ourselves. That is, unless, you have conclusive evidence.”
Edgeworth’s knuckles were turning white. No I don’t have conclusive evidence; I just heard about this forty-eight hours ago, you prick.
“And, unfortunately, this also calls into question every verdict that was made when you and Mr. Wright were the lawyers for the same case.”
Edgeworth’s eye twitched. He slammed his palms into the desk. “…what—”
“It’s funny that your perfect win record is suddenly broken when that green, haphazard idiot takes the stand opposite you. Doesn’t that strike you as suspicious? You were top of your class at University of Berlin—and trust me, I know the level of obsession that takes—and he skated by at Ivy Law with 3.0. And let’s recall that ‘Ivy’ is really a misleading term for this university.”
“It’s an accredited university.”
“It’s not actually in the Ivy League. Looking at his high school and undergraduate records, there’s no way he’d make it into a legitimate Ivy.”
“So what?”
“He barely clawed his way through his Bar Exam. Your International Bar score was in the top first percentile—”
“So I was more serious in college than he was. What’s your point?”
“I’m afraid we have reason to suspect that you and Mr. Wright were making some sort of… dealing.”
“Deal—this is ridiculous.” Edgeworth pounded the desk with his fist. He knew the muscle under his eye was twitching madly. “We weren’t even romantically-involved at that point.”
“But you were old friends, were you not?”
“Yes, but I was still… estranged. And what the hell motive would I have anyway to make a deal with him? God knows he has no money or power. What the hell could he give me?” Edgeworth paused. “And don’t you dare say ‘sex’; if that’s all I wanted I could find a high-class hooker easily.”
“I do have to admit that all you say is true, so far.” Kristoph pushed his glasses up his nose. “But, maybe your emotions began to cloud your judgment. You’ve already displayed to us that you view him with… ah… rose-colored glasses—hard as I find it to believe that the ‘Demon Prosecutor’ would be affected by something like love.”
“I’ve changed.”
“People never change, Mr. Edgeworth.” Kristoph stared at Edgeworth over his glasses, still holding them in place, smiling darkly. “They claim that they will, and they may go through the motions—convincingly—for a while, but they never, ever change.”
Edgeworth’s fist was trembling. “So what does this mean? You can’t re-review those cases. Not if they ended with a ‘not guilty’ verdict.”
“We can if falsified evidence was involved. You know damn well we know the rumors that were circulating about you yourself.”
“That doesn’t even make sense.” Edgeworth slammed his palms into the table. “You speculate that I took several dives. Why would I need to forge evidence for that?”
“Maybe you… ah… loosened the quality control you exerted over evidence presented in court by the defense.”
“This is ludicrous. I will not allow you to derail the inquiry with accusations against me. I’m here to speak on Mr. Wright’s behalf, not my own.”
“Ever to the point, I see. And, if that really is all you wanted to discuss, Mr. Edgeworth, we’ve deemed that you are not fit to speak on Mr. Wright’s behalf, given your inherent bias and the suspicions leveled against you.” Kristoph brushed his hair out of his eyes and stood, picking up his briefcase. “Which would mean that this hearing is over.”
The other board members gathered their papers and filed out, glancing at Edgeworth over their shoulders. Some of the shit-eating smirks were too much to bear; he was sure—though admittedly his imagination may have been overactive at that point—somebody whispered, “I knew it.”
For being the first to begin gathering his things, Kristoph was the last one left in the room with Edgeworth. He was moving with deliberate, smooth slowness, waiting for Edgeworth to say something with that insufferable smirk. He looked up as Edgeworth walked around the long, mahogany table toward him, and shook his head, flipping his hair out of his eyes with the backs of his fingers.
“If you’ve got something to say to me, Prosecutor, say it.” He had switched to German. “Unlike you I have obligations I have no intention of running from.”
Edgeworth grabbed Kristoph’s jacket by the shoulder and smashed him into the wall, pinning him by the neck. He felt Kristoph’s pulse, frantic, felt him laugh beneath his hand. Both men’s breathing was ragged.
“And now you want to add assault to your forgery charges?”
“You have nothing on me.”
“Really? You’re entirely sure you didn’t leave any sort of paper trail?”
“What the hell are you talking about?”
“Man goes by the name of Bear, was murdered last year by atroquinine poisoning; he was a well-known forger, kept the names and documents he made for all his clients in a safe-deposit box. At the request of the Prosecutor’s office that book was confiscated for the hearing. My little brother gave me the honor of going to retrieve it.” Edgeworth felt his heart stop; the implication of what resulted from that trust was unmistakable. Kristoph smiled. “He has records going back… many years. Years before Mr. Wright ever entered the picture, if you understand me.”
Edgeworth’s grip tightened; Kristoph’s bones creaked. Kristoph laughed weakly and gripped Edgeworth’s hand by the meat, dug his fingernails in between the muscles padding the base of his thumb, twisted back against the wrist’s axis of rotation. Edgeworth let go immediately, almost gladly, of Kristoph’s neck, but kept his grip on his jacket.
This…this can’t be happening; I’ve put this all behind me—
“Collateral.” Kristoph pushed his glasses up his nose. “If you come after me, you will lose your Bar too. And with that you will lose all clout and credibility you have at your disposal to help your boyfriend. Martyring yourself will be of no help to him. I have conclusive evidence against Mr. Wright, and you have none in his defense. I have conclusive evidence against you, too; I can strike you down before you even have a chance to put together a case. Don’t be rash, Edgeworth. If I go down now, you’re going down with me. And that’s before either of us even touches the issue that lost Wright his Bar. Think about it.”
Edgeworth slammed Kristoph’s shoulder into the wall and stormed off. He heard Kristoph laughing behind him, was sure he was pushing his glasses up his nose with that infuriatingly smug look on his face.
“Watch your step around here, Prosecutor. Never point a gun at something you’re not willing to destroy. Otherwise, it will destroy you.”
-----------------------------------
No, nothing else matters
