Gumshoe held the piece of paper out wordlessly, embellished letterhead first. [Written for Ironman7's painfic week, set between the first game and the second.]
Gumshoe held the piece of paper out wordlessly, embellished letterhead first.
"You know, I became a defense attorney because of him." Phoenix rubbed the back of his neck, eyes on his empty glass. Mia had always kept a bottle of something in the office to celebrate big wins with, but he'd locked it away so Maya would stop trying to bully him into letting her have some. This wasn't a win by a long shot, but he was sinking to all new lows, and sitting alone in his office talking to a potted plant didn't seem quite as depressing when he was half-way to drunk. "I'm the only one who remembers what he did for me, though. I waited fifteen years to face him in court - and I ended up getting him acquitted of murder - and now this!"
"I don't... I don't believe it."
"Believe it, pal. We've had people searching all over for him, but there's no sign of him. He's - he's vanished."
He probably should call Maya - it was getting on for midnight, but it'd count as revenge for all the times she called him at weird hours and woke him up. She'd want to know about it.
"I'll go down to Kurain Village and tell her," Phoenix told Charley finally. "I can't tell her something like that over the phone. I'll tell her when I see her." He nodded, determinedly not thinking about train tickets and how long it had been since he'd seen her, and poured himself another glass.
Phoenix unclenched his fist with an effort, and smoothed out the paper.
The note still said the same thing, in Edgeworth's swirling handwriting.
Prosecutor Miles Edgeworth chooses death.