Chapter Text
“The man who found the victim's body. Just before making the gruesome discovery … He saw the defendant fleeing the scene of the crime!”
The audience starts whispering, discussing this new event. I try not to focus on them, instead turning my attention to Wright's worried face as I say:
“On the day of the murder, my witness was selling newspapers at the victim's building. Please bring Mr Frank Sahwit to the stand!” It's a spectacular introduction, and I'm almost disappointed there's no applause from the audience for it. Sometimes I think I should've started my career as a TV host, like I wanted to when I was young.
It takes Sahwit a few moments to be ushered from his seat to the witness stand, and in those moments, I can see the rookie's face go through several stages of terror and dread. He sweats like a dog, and even though Mia Fey stands beside him, upright and still like she's made of stone, I'm not so sure she can be his tower of strength right now.
They don't call me rookie killer for no reason, I think and tap my forehead in a mock-assuring gesture as he looks over to me, hoping I can get the thought across to his side of the courtroom, like the opposite of a blown kiss. Whatever little faith in himself might have been there melts away under my stern gaze.
That's correct, Phoenix Wright. I bet you're unable to forget my face and the way I nearly got you back then – now, I'll make sure that even your children will dream of this day.
Then, Mr Sahwit enters the stand and I remember that my success is now in the sweaty hands of this nervous man. I need to focus.
“Mr Sahwit,” I start. “You sell newspaper subscriptions, is this correct?”
He startles, like he only notices that this is the real thing now.
“Oh, oh yes! Newspapers, yes!”
I blink. On Monday, he was all fussy about the subscription part … Anyway. The Judge takes over, asking for his testimony.
Don't mess this up now, Sahwit .
He makes his testimony. Nothing I haven't heard yet, but it's always better to pay attention, should the defence decide to pounce on him for no reason in particular.
Going door-to-door, selling subscriptions. Now they're subscriptions again – he's real nervous, even though his kind smile tries to conceal. The man fleeing the apartment, the body, the broken phone, the public phone. The time he found the body.
The time?
1:00 pm, he says.
That was not part of what he said on Monday.
1:00 pm.
My heart freezes.
Can it be …
What the hell are you doing there, Sahwit?
Don't worry, I tell myself. I only notice this because I have read the reports and facts over and over again until I memorized them by heart. For a rookie, it's a petty detail of no importance. Judging by the looks of it, Wright is having a bad time right now, with his defendant being seen at the crime scene like this. I move on and tell the court about the blackout during the murder after the question arises why Sahwit had to use a public phone.
Seeing the way Wright shrieks as the Judge tells him to go on with his cross-examination, I smile sardonically. Mia Fey whispers in his ear, probably briefing him about how cross-examinations work in a real trial like this, and I can't help myself. I tap my foot on the ground lightly, and my hand on my head, like I'm bored of waiting that long. When Wright starts his cross-examination, the only thing I have to do is watch and see if Sahwit says something weird.
Yet again.
Wright starts like most young attorneys do: he simply attacks every single sentence, yelling the shit out of the court room and Mr Sahwit. Why was the fleeing man suspicious? Why did he look inside the apartment? At this point, Mr Sahwit doesn't respond the way I told him to, instead gives a weird explanation about how humans climb mountains because they exist and thus it's only natural to look in somebody else's apartment.
“Truer words have never been spoken!” I claim and try to give wannabe-Reinhold Messner a dirty look for this philosophical rambling. Wright frowns, probably thinking that there's something fishy at this part of his testimony.
I almost feel like encouraging him about this, because there's nothing more entertaining than a rookie lawyer trying to find the mistake in a simply flawless testimony. I refrain from that though – he might be a rookie, but he's quite good at putting pressure on my witness.
Then again, everybody could get Frank Sahwit to shiver and sweat. Still, as the testimony passes the broken phone and the phone call to the police, Mr Sahwit's hand squeezing and his constant turning from one side to the other starts to make even me nervous.
Then …
“I remember the time exactly: It was 1:00 PM.”
I manage willingly to not sweat, avoiding to look in Wright's direction.
“Hold it!” Wright shouts. “1:00 PM! Are you certain?”
He's attacking anything , I tell myself. No need to worry.
Sahwit nods. “Yes. Absolutely.”
I prepare to object should Wright decide to press further, but he only looks at Mr Sahwit, scratching his chin. He's about to move on, but then, Mia Fey leans over and says something.
Shut up, Fey, I want to shout, maybe throw the bottle of pills at her. Let him do his job on his own, for God's sake!
Other than I had feared, Wright does not press the matter, instead making sure Mr Sahwit is a hundred percent positive about the defendant fleeing the crime scene.
He is, and while Sahwit is slowly relaxing, so am I.
I see heads turn in the audience as the testimony is over. It's quite clear – Larry Butz killed Cindy Stone. No need for further investigation.
Wright asks Sahwit to go through his whole testimony again, this time, he only listens stoically, one finger always scratching his chin.
He should get rid of that tick, I think. It's no good having such an indicator of your feelings in court. Maybe, if he'll ask nicely, I will show him a few tricks to keep his face neutral in court, like I do. Only if I'm absolutely sure that he's not involved in his mentor's dirty little tricks, of cour -
“OBJECTION!” It's a very loud objection, I realise, and almost give in to the urge to dodge his pointing finger. Sahwit clearly realises the same, as he's almost fainting at it.
“You found the body at 1:00 PM. You're sure?” Wright asks, patting one of his paper sheets with one hand.
Sahwit's hands choke each other so badly I can hear the bones creak.
“Yes. It was 1:00 PM, for certain.”
Wright grins, and he looks almost evil.
“Frankly, I find that hard to believe! Your statement directly contradicts the autopsy report. The autopsy notes the time of death at sometime after 4PM. There was nobody to … er... no “body” to find at 1:00 PM! How do you explain this three-hour gap?”
For a second, time in the court room flows differently. It's something I've experienced before – this is the turning point, or at least, one of them. A trial can flow this way and that, many times, like a tidal wave, breaking on the shore and then retreat.
Right now, the waves are halting, waiting for our next moves.
It's all about the time. Why has Sahwit not told anybody about this beforehand?
Then, I stumble behind my desk, clawing at it for support.
The … time?
Lime?
That note … could it simply be a mistake or a product of extraordinarily bad handwriting? Has Sahwit mentioned this detail once during his testimony to Gumshoe, and the Detective has made himself a note to look that detail up – and then got caught up in another incident before he was able to do so?
I have no time to assess the damage this does to Sahwit's testimony, as time decided to flow like it usually does, making the waves crash into the rocky shore that is my witness' credibility. I need to pay attention to this – because on top of this credibility, like on a steep cliff, rests the weight of my whole charge.
Sahwit cries out and for a second, his toupee seems to go loose with the jerky movement and all the sweat. And while I, too, have not the slightest idea about how to explain this three-hour gap and why the hell he told Gumshoe about it and not me, and why the Detective had not informed me, and why I am even bothering with these questions, as this is still a bloody rookie, I interject, halfway on autopilot.
“Objection!” The autopilot manages my voice to stay level. I think. “This is trivial! The witness merely forgot the time!”
The Judge shakes his head. “After this testimony, I find that hard to believe. Mr Sahwit … Why were you so certain that you found the body at 1:00 PM?”
Sahwit stammers his way through an explanation, while all I wish for is for him to let go and say that he was mistaken with the time. The way Fey and Wright are basically high-fiving each other does nothing to ease my worries.
“Wait!” Sahwit blurts out. “I remember now!”
I adjust my glasses and dry my forehead. I can still do this. His credibility may have crumbled, but the shoreline is still stable, carrying the weight of my prosecution with ease.
Sahwit makes his new testimony, claiming he heard the time, probably because of some taped television show.
I groan internally, my fingers crumpling the blackout record that's lying on top of my desk. That idiot! Even Wright seems to have no problem to see the issue this time, as his face lightens up quite quickly.
Okay. This was going to be a tough one, harder than I thought. But I could still do this – I prefer winning over an at least moderately clever opponent to shredding a dumb rookie, anyway. Even if I could do well without his mentor.
This time, there's no beating around the bush. While I still hope the Judge won't ask me if I verified this testimony – I find it undignified for a prosecutor of my calibre to admit that I only learned about this part just now – I know it is only a mater of time until -
“OBJECTION!” Yes, that. Fey all but explodes, so proud is she about her protege. It makes me feel sick.
“Hold it right there! The prosecution has said there was a blackout at the time of the discovery! And this record proves it!” He holds up the record, flourishing it around. I bite my tongue, unable to think of a way to help Sahwit out of this … he's breathing like he ran a marathon, and sweating like he did so in midsummer.
“Gah!!! I … well … urk!”
Yes, I think. Exactly.
Something about this though ….
I stare at Sahwit. How nervous he is. Why does he keep telling false details like this? Is he lying? Did he only try to make his testimony sound more credible by adding the time, and then got washed past the point of stepping back? But then why would he tell Gumshoe in advance? Gumshoe's note was about this time, wasn't it?
But why didn't he tell me about the time? And what's this about hearing it? Any normal person would've claimed to have seen the time, at a public clock, or at his own watch, for heaven's sake! Why hear it?
Unless …
*I think it's …*
Can it be …?
I fail to finish that train of thought, because suddenly Sahwit comes up with a solution himself and makes another testimony.
Still, even though I couldn't finish it, I still feel like said train threatens to run over my perfectly simple trial.
“Actually, I didn't “hear” the time … I “saw” it!”
Yes, fuck me, couldn't you say that earlier?
“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.”
I look over to the defence's bench. Wright seems to be … on ease. It's his first case, and that prick looks like he knows exactly what he needs to do. Fey looks only a little tensed, there's even this little smile on her lips she wears when she knows what to do. It makes me want to reach into my pocket and throw Coldkiller X into that smile. At least, that thought brings me back into reality.
It doesn't matter what happened, and why Sahwit says what he's saying. The defence will try to win this case, whatever it takes – Fey proved that herself.
Well, I'm a prosecutor. I will win this, and I will be damned if Sahwit stumbles in front of my feet and ruins this case with his incautiousness.
Wright starts his cross-examination.
At first, it doesn't seem that he is onto something. He intervenes as Sahwit says that he saw the time on the murder weapon.
“The … murder weapon?” Wright asks.
Sahwit scoffs. “Yes, the table clock that was uses as a weapon! That's what I just said. Did you doze off in the middle of my testimony or something?”
I'm about to laugh, tapping my forehead. Touché, Sahwit. Looks like you're back on the right side of this trial – but as I look over at the defence's bench to feed on my enemy's disgrace, I falter.
Wright frowns, scrambling through his notes and the court record. Mia Fey stand next to him, still like a statue herself, staring over at me. Her eyes are pinning me down, and I grit my teeth. I remind myself of how confident I was about this case an hour ago. There are no gaps in this testimony, and there is nothing to prove Butz's innocence. If there was, I would've found it out. I definitely would have.
And so, while Wright is searching the court record, I return Fey's gaze stoically, resisting the urge to fumble with my tie or my glasses, or to dry the sweat on my forehead. I never liked the summer, and I'm pretty sure that that medicine is melting to one big lump inside my bag right now. I drift into a daydream about how that lump will make a perfect parable into Fey's face.
Then, Wright has some sort of revelation.
“OBJECTION!” I don't jump as he slams the table because I've seen it coming. Mia Fey turns her eyes on her student again, making me win our little stand-off in court. I will win more than that, Fey.
“Wait just a moment! The murder weapon wasn't a clock. It was this statue! Now how is this supposed to be a clock?”
Sahwit spits at him, quite literally. “Whaa!? Y-you with your “objections” and your “evidence” … Just who do you think you are!?”
Wright plays it cool, something he probably picked up from me during this trial. He learns fast.
Before Sahwit gets on his throat, I clear mine.
“Your Honor! If I may ...”
“Yes, Mr Payne?”
“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.”
The Judge nods and answers – but I hardly hear his reply.
It says the time.
Says …
I feel sick.
I stare at Mr Sahwit, who is back to his old hand-wringing, turning, smiling self.
What does this all mean?
It's an academic question. I know what it means, I'm quite sure.
An image flashes in front of my eyes – myself, picking up the statue and examining it, involuntarily pressing the little button. The voice blurting out the time.
It says the time – but not the right time. And when not prepared for it, it was something that could easily make you jump and remember that event for a while – especially if …
But it's not my place to enlighten the court, so I bite my tongue once more and hope that Wright has not picked up too many of my good practice.
It seems like he did, because he immediately moves on tearing Sahwit apart.
“The only way he could have known the weapon was a clock is to hold it in his hand. Yet the witness testified that he never entered the apartment! Clearly, a contradiction!” Wright explains, and the judge has to admit he has a point.
A cold lump starts to form in my throat. He's right. Sahwit couldn't have known that it was a clock … and worst of all: I set up this trap. Had I submitted the murder weapon as a clock right away, everybody in court would know that it was a clock.
With a loud noise, Sahwit's credibility melts away under the force of the tide, crashing into the sea like a calving iceberg.
I will not allow him to take me down with him. I will not allow him to make my ship sink.
I need to go into a more aggressive mode, and prepare myself to object fiercely, but Wright is faster.
He holds out his hand, pointing a finger accusingly at Mr Sahwit, who in turn looks like he'd like to jump forward and bite it off.
“You're lying!”, Wright yells. “You were inside the apartment on the day of the murder!” Everybody starts chattering and I breath in to say something, but this time, it's Sahwit who is faster.
“Oh, yeah? Prove it! Prove I went in there!”
Wright grins, puts his hands in his waist and looks down on Sahwit. Something about this look scares me more than I'd like to admit.
Maybe it's this moment I realise that this is not the foolish, love-drunk art student that sneezed his way out of court a few years ago.
He's Mia Fey's student. And it would be beneath Mia Fey to turn her student into anything but an image of herself: a demon in court.
“I'll do better than that!” He grins. “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!”
This time, what the audience produces is no mere whispering anymore, neither is it chattering. It's more like a thunderstrom, and the Judge takes a while calming them down. My fingers dig into my table's edge so brutally that they turn white. There has to be a way …
I cannot let him win this.
But Wright continues as soon as he is able to, and all of a sudden I'm reduced to a spectator in my on case.
“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!”, I scream and this time, I feel like my voice might have hitched a little, desperate to not get banned into uselessness. I continue, leaning over my desk as I speak. “W-w-what's the meaning of this? This is all baseless conjecture!”
Wright huffs.
He huffs .
At me.
“Baseless …? Just look at the witness's face!”
I do so, and can't help but jump back as I see Frank Sahwit enter a state of severe nervous breakdown. He screams incoherently, his hands all over his face and hair. Then, with a terrible ripping noise, he yanks at his toupee, hurling it at the defence's bench, where it collides with Wright's face and drops to the floor – a sight I normally would've enjoyed and remembered, but right now, all I can think of his how to stop him from prosecuting my witness – and how I can stop my witness from behaving like the real murderer.
Eventually, Sahwit's shrieking peters out after having claimed the defendant should be burned to death.
I feel sort of shaky after that speech, and the all but rioting audience does little to ease my worries. But if I want to keep this ship from sinking, I have to keep playing.
“Your, honor, a-a moment please! There isn't a shred of evidence supporting the defence's claims!” I yell, feeling my case drift away, the conviction out of reach. But it can't be! Accusing my witness to be the real murderer is ridiculous, and there is no evidence he heard the clock – or is there?
Of course there is. And even a rookie cannot get this wrong.
Wright nods professionally. “Let's sound the clock now, here in this court. Your Honor, may I have the clock?” The Judge nods and a bailiff hurries over to give it to him.
...*beep * … I think it's 8:25.
Everybody stares at the statue in Wright's hands. It's dead silent in the court room, the silence only disturbed by the erratic breathing of Mr Sahwit and the sound of the sweat beads pooling out of my skin.
“Mr Payne ...” For probably the first time, Wright addresses me directly. I jump. “Can you tell me what time it is now?”
The process is so natural that I answer without thinking. “It's 11:25 ...” Then I see what happened, even before Wright tells it to those in court who missed the connections.
“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!”
I expect Sahwit to be all ground teeth and clawing hands again, but he barks a laugh that borderlines insanity.
“You forgot one thing!”
Wright blinks, taken aback. I can relate to this feeling, to be perfectly honest. I realise that Fey has been quite silent during those last minutes. She looks stern, with her arms put firmly by her side. I realise that she, too, is witnessing her student in real action for the first time.
“While it may seem like the 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!?”
I stare at him, unable to comprehend how he could be so cunning now , while he was so dumb a few minutes ago.
Wright seems at a loss. He blinks, and blinks again, then looks at me of all people, like I might help him safe his case!
The hell I do! Might be it was a bit of a heavy sea, but right know, I'm about to win, since Wright has to admit there is no way he can prove this. And as Sahwit starts his sermon about how it's so disgusting he's treated like this even though he came all this way to testify, I find myself relaxing. I even take my glasses of for a second to rub the throbbing bridge of my nose.
As I put the glasses back on, however, it throbs even more, as I suddenly see Mia Fey straighten and point her finger at Mr Sahwit.
“Not so fast, Mr Sahwit!”
I shriek slightly, but even Wright is surprised, and immediately gets a whispered lecture, probably about how to win a case, no matter what.
But … no matter what dirty tricks Mia Fey could pull, there is no way they could prove that the clock was three hours slow on the day of the murder! Of course I know that it was because I heard it, but proving it is another story altogether.
Moments tick by, and Wright buries himself in the court record once more. He turns pages, stops somewhere, then moves on to the next page, checks some notes, moves back, forth, stops again …
If there was something, he had found that by now. I breath a sigh – but then, Wright yelps like something in the record had startled him. With a jolt, he pulls something out of the record, slams the desk with it and then holds it up for the court to see.
It's the victim's passport.
My ship capsizes.
I don't need his mathematical plays about the clock not being three hours slow but rather nine hours fast. I don't need his pun on Mr Sahwit's name. I don't need the moment Franks Sahwit runs out of explanations and finally explodes into madness.
For a few seconds, all I can do is stare at my table while Sahwit fills the court room with his screams. Something inside me wants to join him, unable to believe that they did it – she did it. And all because I submitted the clock as a statue?
No, I think. It still was a contradiction, because the clock didn't show the time, so Wright might still have gotten Sahwit to break down. But then again, maybe he wouldn't have. Maybe he would have skipped past that part of his testimony, and Butz had been convicted.
Maybe.
Maybe not.
A trial is like water on the shoreline, and like water, the smallest obstacle can change its ways or produce a rapid so powerful it pulls you under.
Anyway, I know that Mia Fey has won this case, one way or the other.
I look up, bracing myself to see Fey and her pet student rejoice, but for some reason, they don't. He looks a bit confused, like he's unable to believe that he won this case after all, while Fey smiles at him. She looks so proud I feel sick of it.
And thus, as the Judge tries his best yelling everybody into place again and two bailiffs hurry in and get rid of Mr Sahwit, I distract myself imagining how I will prosecute his case and have him pay for ruining my revenge.
Because it's my witness and thus my duty, I make sure the bailiff arrests Mr Sahwit and prepares him for his own trial. It's hard to say with all the murmuring in the court room, but I think I can hear him holler outside, his shrill voice echoing through the district court, and this time, those echoes don't equal with any god I can think of, Greek or otherwise.
His shouts fade before the commotion inside the court room does. Finally, people have calmed down enough for the Judge to proceed.
“Well … This case has certainly turned out differently than we all expected. Mr Payne … Your witness?”
I try not to sound too unsure of myself. My witness. This is so embarrassing. “He … er... He was arrested and has been taken away, Your Honor.”
The Judge nods, congratulating Wright for is first successful case. I try my best not to snap at them as the Judge renders the verdict.
NOT GUILTY
August 2, 2:35 PM
District Court
Defendant Lobby No.2
I shouldn't be here, and I know that, but I cannot resist. I just need her to know that she has not won with fair play, like a real attorney would have.
As I come in, Wright is currently discussing something with his useless client, who is burst into tears for reasons I don't know and don't care about. Fey looks up as I close in on her, her eyes wide with surprise.
“Mr Payne -”
“I'm here to have you know that it was only your dirty tricks, that made you win this case,” I hiss. She blinks, shaking her head.
“Tricks? Mr Payne, I'm afraid I'm not sure what you mean. Your witness has killed the victim, that's no trick of mine.”
“Yes, I know that!” I reach into my pocket and pull out the bottle with Coldkiller X. “But this is beyond every good taste and honour and -”
Mia Fey makes a hiss and places herself between myself and her rookie. Her voice sounds angry as she speaks.
“Mr Payne, what do you think you're doing? I thought better of you than to come here and try to stir up his old traumas -”
“Me? Don't play me for a fool, Fey! I know that you have been the one placing this inside my office in order to make me nervous and fail this case!”
Her tiny little laugh rips its way through the leftovers of my pride. “Mr Payne, I promise that I did not do such a thing. Had you spent more time with your witness instead of hunting down somebody who played a prank on you, you might have spotted those contradictions yourself. And now -” She glances over her shoulder to make sure Phoenix Wright is still preoccupied with Butz. “I ask you to leave and bid you farewell, Mr Payne. And don't dare trying to ruin Phoenix' first trial with this. ” she points at the bottle in my hand. “He earned this victory in there.”
For a moment, I am tempted to throw the thing over her head and right into Wright's face, only to be the one who ruins his day, but then I decide it's beneath me, turn on my heel and leave.
August 2, 3:47 PM
Police Department
Entrance
I'm about to leave the Department and call it a day as I bump right into him.
“Oh, sorry, Mr! Haven't seen you there.”
Usually, I wouldn't have minded it much, but during the last hour, I have realised who exactly is in charge for that fiasco in court, since it might not have been Fey alone.
There were two things that distracted me and thus made me oversee the mistakes in Sahwit's testimony: the first one is Fey's trick with the Coldkiller.
The second one is standing right before me, grinning from one bandaged ear to the other.
“Oh, haven't you, detective? Well, do you know what? I haven't seen you as well – in court today!”
He reaches up to his head, scratching it with his dumb smile.
“Oh, yeah, that. You know, I've been injured and -”
“Injured?” I have to fight for my voice to stay level. “Injured? The only injury I can see is your injured brain, Detective!”
He flinches at my hard words, but I'm not finished.
“You do realise I lost this case because of your absence and idiocy, yes?”
“But, Sir ...”
“If not for your absence, I would've had enough time to go through my witness' testimony again! And speaking of which, why didn't you tell me about the contradiction concerning the time? I lost the case on this and all you came up with was a note scribbled with your odious scrawl!”
His face lightens up. “Oh, so there was a contradiction! I felt like there was something odd and made a note -”
“Yes, I saw your bloody note! Why didn't you tell me? I lost this case because of -”
“How dare you talk to him like this?” Somebody hisses. “Detective Gumshoe has been wounded, and he might keep a scar forever and all you worry about is your lost case?”
I turn around and look right into Maggey Byrde's angry face.
“The Detective has a responsibility for -”
“You are the one having responsibility for your cases, that's why you are the prosecutor! If your witness is a killer then that's hardly the Detective's fault!” she spits, walking over to Gumshoe who looks like he's about to pass out. His face has turned red and he places an arm around her shoulders.
I growl as she turns, pulling Gumshoe with her. The Detective has the decency to turn his head at me and look quite helpless before he leaves.
“It is his fault if he arrests an innocent man and gives me the real killer as my witness!” I shout behind them, for good measure, because I feel like I'd explode otherwise. And because it's true, damnit.
Three full minutes. That's the time I simply stand there, in the corridor, fuming. It might have been even longer, had I not been interrupted by somebody walking up to me.
“Mr Edgeworth,” I say. “I need to be going.”
He smirks. “Mr Payne. I heard you lost your trial today. My condolences.”
I stop to look at him. “Fey has not played fair,” I say. “She tried to unsettle me beforehand.”
He tilts his head, his interest piqued. “Has she?”
I nod. “And the Detective failed to tell me some important details about Mr Sahwit's testimony. Had I known them earlier and had I not been so stressed because of Fey's dirty tricks, I would've won this case easily.”
“Hm. Well … I will cut Gumshoe's salary for his failure. As for Fey ...” he looks at me, his expression unreadable. “She has always been a hard opponent to face. But if you don't mind me giving you an advise – she's not the only one playing dirty in this line of work.”
I huff. “Dirty or not, I will beat her at last. I swear, by all that is sacred to me, that I will best Mia Fey in court.”
Edgeworth smiles sardonically as he says goodbye and leaves. I know that, underneath his smug attire, he has to be shaken that I lost a case.
I will get my revenge, Mia Fey. I will win against you. In court.
Strengthened by my own promise, I leave as well, going home.
Little did I know … my promise to beat Mia Fey … would be a promise that I wouldn't be able to keep.
THE END