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There was a buzz all throughout the prosecutor’s office the morning of April 12th. Talk all about how the rookie killer, unbeatable prosecutor Winston Payne got a loss and the hands of some newbie from Grossberg Law Offices. The stress of the loss had made Payne lose almost all of his hair. There was a crowd around him as he paraded in his new style that morning.
It had distracted Miles Edgeworth, but he was set straight again by his mentor, Manfred von Karma. “Pay no attention to office gossip. It only serves to distract from our main duty,” he said, walking with Edgeworth to the stairs.
“To ensure the guilty don’t walk free,” answered Edgeworth.
“To ensure a guilty verdict,” snapped von Karma. “I’ll meet you up.”
The two then parted ways as von Karma took the elevator and Edgeworth the stairs.
Despite von Karma’s dismissal, the news still left its impression on Edgeworth. How could an undefeatable prosecutor of seven years lose to a fresh attorney? Edgeworth had only been a prosecutor himself for a little over a year and already he was looking to be the next god of prosecutors, although the title the papers had offered him already wasn’t as pleasing.
Von Karma was already waiting inside of Miles’s office by the time the young prosecutor got there. Von Karma’s cane was left leaning against the arm of the couch while the prosecutor himself was sitting with his foot sitting atop his other knee with a small pile of documents in von Karma’s hands that he was reading off of when Miles entered.
“It seems you have settled into your office nicely, Edgeworth,” said von Karma, briefly glancing up from his readings. “Although I do recommend you put something else up on this wall. The current painting is dreadfully distasteful.”
It was the painting covering the secret safe of this office. Every office has one that only prosecutors know of. Miles had left up the painting previously there when it was the late Mr. Faraday’s office. Maybe he should find something to replace it with. Von Karma was right. It was a dreadfully distasteful painting.
“I’ll look into replacing it,” said Miles as he made his way over to his desk.
“Have you accepted any new cases?” asked von Karma, finally putting down the papers. He grabbed his cane and leaned forward on it.
“Not yet. I’m… looking for something that challenges me,” Miles regretfully replies.
His last major case, and the one that finally got his name on papers, was with the putting away of an assassin. Everything offered to him since has been minor non-violent crimes.
“You’re very ambitious with only a little over a year under your belt,” noted von Karma, proud of his protege.
Miles crossed his arms, reminiscent of his mentor, as he sat in thought.
“Don’t be afraid to take charge of every case you can. A win is a win, no matter how easy. Not everything offered to you can be grand murders,” advised von Karma, rising from the sofa. “I must be going now. Criminals can’t convict themselves.”
With that, von Karma left Miles’s office, leaving him in a cold silence where the only noise was that of air flowing through overhead vents.
Miles looked over his desk covered in folders of cases he was offered to take on, but none interested him. Instead, he was thinking back to office gossip von Karma was urging him to ignore. Whatever the case was, it couldn’t have been so difficult that a seven-year undefeated prosecutor lost!
He turned to the phone on his desk, picking it up and dialing it.
“Hello. Could I please have a look at the case from yesterday headed by Prosecutor Payne?”
“…”
“Thank you.”
He put the phone down and a few minutes later someone knocked on the door with the case file he had asked for.
He brought it over to his desk, brushed everything else on it aside, and opened the case. The police report sat front and center. He almost stopped breathing when he saw the name of who was arrested the day before.
Dahlia Hawthorne.
He closed the packet. That case was… a nightmare in the nicest of terms. Miles’s goal was always to achieve justice by putting away the most vile of criminals. What happened to Mr. Fawles was not justice, and he’s mostly blocked that case from memory. Maybe now that case has finally been resolved if she’s found herself now in the hands of the law.
With a stroke of courage, he reopened the packet to read the whole police report.
On April 11, Dahlia Hawthorne was arrested on the witness stand after being accused of murder by defense attorney… Mia Fey?
She’s involved in this too? After all these months she finally got the accusation of murder to stick. Wait. She was arrested at the witness stand. What was she doing there again?
He kept reading.
She was a witness for the murder of local university student Doug Swallow. Hawthorne was arrested for the murder of Swallow, as well as the attempted murder of defense attorney, Diego Armando, and previous suspect Phoenix… Wright…
It is believed she put poison into a bottle of cold medicine meant to be consumed by Wright, her boyfriend. It was proposed by Fey that before she could give Wright the poisoned medicine, she pushed the victim, and her ex-boyfriend, Swallow, into a downed electrical wire, electrocuting him and killing him instantly. Wright was subsequently arrested and tried for Swallow’s murder, but was acquitted by Fey when she proposed the true culprit to be Hawthorne.
Miles sat back in his chair. Phoenix Wright. He never imagined he’d hear that name again. And yet somehow, that boy he once knew got himself accused of murder and involved with that… that vile woman.
Despite his words and actions back at his first trial, he had to admit the accusations and evidence against her were… convincing. If only he only looked more into her, if only he had investigated more, then maybe… maybe the tragic fate that met Terry Fawles wouldn’t have happened.
He’s never, no, he’ll never let anything like that happen again. He will have complete faith in the guilt of those he prosecutes. He will make sure people like Dahlia Hawthorne end up where they belong.
He stood up from his chair with a new resolve this time.
“I thought you wanted to challenge yourself. She already admitted to it in her interrogations,” said von Karma when he had heard Edgeworth had taken on the case. “Her attorney even requested a plea bargain. And what are with all of these additional charges?”
“I’m afraid the recommended charges on the police report didn’t quite cover all of her crimes,” replied Edgeworth on his way to the prosecution lobby.
He had added on not only theft, but conspiracy, and a second and third charge of murder. He was going to get her for all that could with everything he’s got. He won’t let more victims fall to the hands of evil. He won’t let the guilty walk free. He was going to make up for his past mistake.
“I’m off to my own trial,” said von Karma as they neared the courthouse elevators. “Don’t let a guilty verdict slip,” he told him.
“I won’t,” assured Edgeworth as von Karma stepped inside the elevator. “Not this time,” he finished as the doors closed and the elevator rode up. Edgeworth took the stairs.
The trial was soon to begin and Edgeworth stood from behind his desk as the defendant was brought in. Their eyes met. It was clear she recognized him.
“Mr. Edgeworth,” she greeted him.
He didn’t greet her back with the same warmth. “You know what you’ve done.”
“Is this to get back at me for what happened at Terry’s trial?” she asked all too nice and innocently.
What she had done went far beyond just that first trial. His eyes fell back to the table covered in evidence at the front of the courtroom. There, resting on it, was the ColdKiller X.
“Mr. Edgeworth, I can’t help but feel you have a… more personal stake in this trial.”
She was all too observant.
As he stared at that bottle of medicine, the only images that appeared in his mind were those of what might have happened if she had succeeded. If instead of staring at a bottle filled with poison, he was staring at a bottle… empty. If instead of holding a police report, he was holding an autopsy report with a name across the top that read “Phoenix Wright”.
She dated him. She held the most intimate title a person could: “lover”. The police report on the bench spoke of how in his trial, a crucial piece of evidence against her, a necklace he said symbolized their love for each other, was eaten by him. He trusted her. The bottle that sat with the rest of the evidence spoke of a different story. One from her perspective. One of manipulation and deceit. A story Edgeworth should have never left to be told.
“Tell me, Mr. Edgeworth, what more is there in this for you than just to heal the hole of your first trial?” she asked, her smile feeling like salt in the wound.
“That’s none of your business, Ms. Hawthorne. You’ve broken the law and now you must pay,” he said.
She turned her head with that same old innocent look upon her that Edgeworth knew all too well to be a sham.
“Fine. Make me pay,” she said, before looking to where Edgeworth’s eyes betrayed him before. “You know, Feenie’s told me about you.”
He recoiled instantly. She had to be lying. There’s no way, but then… how would she know they had known each other? “I… have not the slightest in what you are talking about. I know no such person.”
“If I had loved him, I’m sure I would have been jealous of how fondly he spoke of you.”
She was doing this on purpose now. She had to be. But if what she spoke of wasn’t true, it couldn’t be something she could just make up.
“If it hadn’t been for you, we wouldn’t have met.” Her smile now was filled with teeth. Sharp teeth. Her words were no longer to irritate, but to harm.
For the first time, Edgeworth wished death upon someone. He was going to accept a sentencing of no less.
The judge slammed his gavel to commence the court. Edgeworth slammed his hand on his desk, the papers on it too frightened to jump from the force.
“Ms. Hawthorne, I hope you are finally ready to finally pay for your crimes.”