Disclaimer: I do not own the rights to Ace Attorney.

Father Knows Best

There was a large, beautiful white clock outside the building of Marvin Grossberg's acclaimed law firm; it towered above the traffic of the busy road and sidewalk, enforcing order and punctuality on the population. Proudly did its black hands point out the time every minute, silently screaming to all passersby, "It's this time — don't you have something productive to do?"

In his long ago youth, Grossberg himself had felt intimidated by a similar clock. As a bumbling law intern, he had made it his duty to always arrive early, not only to impress his boss, but to show the clock that Grossberg was confident in his education and talent; no matter how much time was needed, Grossberg had been certain he would one day own his own office, and be a master of his own time.

That day had come, and Grossberg now was the clock's master. The time it spat out was no longer a threat to Grossberg, but instead a warning for Grossberg's employees to be wary. And while he himself had once hated that ticking time machine, Grossberg now saw the clock for what it was: a measure of a person's worth.

Ah, how philosophical I am becoming, Grossberg thought, smiling beneath his mustache, another sign of old age, I'm sure.

The clock outside Grossberg's office screamed 7:34 as Grossberg pushed his way through the glass doors of his firm. In the lobby, the lights were off; the secretaries and doorman would not arrive for another half an hour. Grossberg strolled across the empty tile, entered the elevator, and pressed the button for the second floor.

Marvin Grossberg's law firm was spacious in size and grand in furnishings. There always seemed to be room for another office and another lawyer to possess that office; that, Grossberg supposed, was why his firm had become the object of fantasy for many fresh interns. I'll take them all, he always told his veteran lawyers, who huffed and hawed when assigned a new intern, I just won't always keep them.

Grossberg was generous when it came to first chances, but not beyond. Few interns lasted six months in his firm — not due to incompetence, but rather their strictly average talents. In Grossberg's firm, abnormal determination earned one that nice office with the antique furniture; if an intern wanted to stay, then he had to come to work two hours early, work later than anyone else, and fight back when a snobbish veteran tried to chase him away.

It's good practice for court, Grossberg had always thought, though the youth of today can't see that. Sigh, poor Hammond has been the subject of awful ridicule for his own harsh critique of beginners. And Armando has been slapped so many times, I'm surprised there's not a permanent hand mark on his cheek! In my youth, there wasn't this blatant rebellion against authority. As an intern, I was bossed and bullied by Hammonds and Armandos myself, but I never had the gall to fight back with mere insults and fists! No sir, in a court of law, determination and smart rebuttals are the only weapons you have. And evidence, but that comes later.

The elevator door opened, and Grossberg's ears were immediately assaulted by the sound of loud arguing. Oh dear, Grossberg tugged on his mustache and sighed again, speaking of Hammond and Armando…

Grossberg tip-toed down the hall. One of the first offices belonged to Hammond, but though the door was open and the lights were on, the room itself was empty. Grossberg could still hear the angry banter, and inched a few doors further down the hall; the voices soon grew loud enough for him to hear their words.

"This is a law office," Robert Hammond was saying in his low, forbidding way, "all behavior must be respectable at all times! What you were doing, Mr. Armando, was not respectable!"

"Objection!" Diego Armando retorted, a scoff in his voice. "Who are you to decide what's respectable and what's horse play? I seem to recall you having a few spats with the boss about your attitude with the interns."

"They are all incompetent, arrogant fools! Impatience is to be expected when dealing with interns. And I seem to recall myself that the boss wasn't always happy with your treatment of interns. Didn't he call you out on overworking that Yale-boy two years ago?"

Grossberg couldn't hear how Armando replied, for he muttered. Silently, Grossberg slipped up the hall, drawing closer to the door of Armando's office. As with Hammond's office, the door was open and the lights were on; by spying through the crack of the door, Grossberg could see inside and found not only his two top attorneys leaning over the desk, glaring at each other, but Mia Fey as well. She was biting her thumb, looking nervous, as usual.

"You don't remember?" Hammond said, smirking at Armando. "You don't remember him getting so worked up, he threw a stapler at you and declared he would become a prosecutor just to spite you?"

"What?" Mia finally spoke, her eyes wide. "Diego!"

Armando grimaced. "He was French, Kitten. Emotional, you know?"

"'Diego', 'Kitten'," Hammond repeated, shaking his head, "those are not professional titles!"

"Hah…! You just say that because you feel left out." Armando grinned. "I know, how about I start calling you 'jackass'?"

Excuse me," Mia interjected, folding her arms over her chest, "but I've noticed a problem in your argument. You have repeatedly referred to me, though indirectly, as though I were still an intern; but as of last month, I am a full-fledged defense attorney!"

"A fledgling attorney, Ms. Fey," Hammond retorted. "Don't allow Mr. Armando's own grotesque show of self-importance infect you. You're still an amateur, and should watch your tone when addressing me."

"I don't recall Mr. Grossberg mentioning a hierarchy in his firm," Mia said. "In fact, as he pinned on my badge he told me that I should remember that all defense attorneys and even prosecutors are on the same side — the side of justice!"

"I object to that testimony," Hammond said, frowning, "Mr. Grossberg is not so eloquent."

"I suspect that was an old speech from his youth as a lemon," Armando muttered, looking thoughtful. "I just realized something: I've only had two cups of coffee this morning. Where's my mug?"

Grossberg spotted the white coffee cup seated on a bookshelf behind Mia. Armando seemed to see it too, for he stood up suddenly, as though to fetch it; Hammond, however, moved first. The older lawyer lunged for the mug, frightening Mia so that she stumbled several steps away from him, crashing into Armando. Mia sputtered and Hammond cackled, while Armando growled his annoyance.

"Rather slow without your pick-me-up, hm, Mr. Armando?" Hammond taunted, swinging the coffee mug in his right hand.

"Don't hurt her!" Armando exclaimed, reaching out for his mug. Hammond quickly drew it back.

"Not another step, or the mug gets it!"

"Are you two serious?" Mia shouted in exasperation.

Oh dear, Grossberg thought from his hidden position behind the door, oh dear. Last time Hammond brought coffee into their bickering, blows were almost exchanged.

"I mean it, Hammond," Armando warned lowly, "I don't have another mug on me. You break that one and that fancy tie you're so proud of gets the axe!"

"Hah!" Hammond scoffed, but he looked uncomfortable as he brought his free hand to tighten the knot of his silk tie. "And how would you manage that? I'm still wearing it."

"Diego," Mia exclaimed, "if you assault him, I won't defend you!"

Armando laughed. "I won't touch the guy — but I won't make the same promise for his tie!" He reached into a cup on the desk and drew out a pair of scissors. He took only a step forward before Mia blocked his advance.

"Diego," she warned again, holding her hands in a pacifying gesture, "put those back. You don't want to get in trouble with Mr. Grossberg again!"

Armando put his free hand on her shoulder and moved Mia aside. She seemed startled by how easy it was for him. Smirking, Armando inched towards Hammond again, who now held the hostage mug high above his head. "I'll drop it," Hammond muttered, "I'll drop it!"

"Give me the mug," Armando demanded, following Hammond in a slow, tense circle around the desk, "put it gently on the desk and nobody's tie gets hurt!"

"Put the scissors down first!" Hammond retorted.

"You're the one who started this — you drop the mug first!"

"No, no!" Mia exclaimed. "Don't say 'drop it'!"

"Put it down, then!" Armando amended. "Now!"

"Drop the scissors!"

"Give me that mug, Hammond!"

Grossberg watched the two men circle around and around Armando's desk. Both growled and grimaced, making loud demands for the other to retreat. Mia stood out of their way, rocking on her feet, protesting every so often. Grossberg's mustache twitched, and he had to clear his throat to keep from laughing. Immediately, all movement in the office ceased. Grossberg's watch had been discovered.

Oh, well, Grossberg sighed, mopping a bit of sweat from his forehead, no point in hiding now. He opened the door and squeezed inside. Mia gasped as her eyes widened and her cheeks blushed pink. Hammond's own flushed face paled, and Armando's smugness evaporated. At the same time, the men lowered their leverage, abandoning both the coffee mug and the pair of scissors on the desk.

"Good morning, everyone," Grossberg greeted, raising a hand.

"M-M-M-Mr. Gr-Grossberg," Mia stuttered, looking faint. "G-good morning."

"What are you doing here?" Armando exclaimed. "It's not noon, is it?"

"Mr. Grossberg," Hammond murmured, his voice revealing his discomfort, "how providential that you happened in just now. Mr. Armando was not only harassing Ms. Fey, he had the nerve to threaten me!"

Mia bit her thumb. "Interesting that that requires nerve and I'm just tacked on to the charge."

"I didn't see you, Ms. Fey, objecting to his advances."

"Then you weren't watching closely enough, Mr. Hammond!" Mia exclaimed. "I told Diego — ah! M-Mr. Armando several times that I needed to get on with my work."

"Hah…! Don't blame this on me, Kitten," Armando said, settling behind his desk. He swiped the coffee cup and held it tightly in his hands. "Mr. Grossberg, Hammond was spying on us. I don't think that's appropriate behavior, is it, sir?"

"Spying!" Hammond repeated, glaring at Armando. "I innocently stumbled in here looking for a file to review! You're the one who was wasting precious working hours teasing the intern!"

"I'm an attorney!" Mia shouted, clenching her fists. "Mr. Grossberg, please tell him what you said to me when you gave me my badge?"

"And another thing, Mr. Grossberg," Hammond said, turning to his boss, "are you aware of the informality of Mr. Armando and Ms. Fey's address? 'Kitten', 'Diego' — these are not appropriate working titles, are they, sir?"

"Well…" Grossberg cleared his throat once more, slumping his head onto his chest. "I can't say I've personally ever called one of my employees 'Kitten', but I suppose, if Ms. Fey doesn't mind…"

"It's indecent!" Hammond asserted. "This is a law office, not a college campus. Our business is maintaining justice, not flirting with the interns."

"I'm not an intern," Mia shouted, "and I wasn't flirting! Truly, Mr. Grossberg, I wasn't!"

"It's true, sir," Armando muttered, "she was being very uncooperative."

"Sir," Hammond said, "perhaps it would be best if Mr. Armando no longer work with Ms. Fey. Obviously, they are too distracting to be productive when together."

"That's not true!" Mia exclaimed, her cheeks red. "Look at what I've already accomplished this morning! Papers — I have a pile of paperwork on my desk!"

"And I have that embezzling case researched and ready to go for court on Wednesday," Armando interjected, looking smugly at Hammond. "I have definite proof that our client was framed, Mr. Grossberg. It was a stroke of pure genius, really, impressive even for the great Diego Armando! What about you, Jackass? Not you, Mr. Grossberg, I mean Hammond. What did you get done this morning?"

"Hm!" Hammond scoffed. "I have been on the phone with the police station since six o'clock this morning establishing the motive of that so-called 'witness' to the grocery store murder. That case will be closed in our favor before three o'clock this afternoon!"

"What?" Armando grimaced. "But I already spoke to the police. They wouldn't give me the time."

"Perhaps in a few years, Mr. Armando, you'll have the prestige to have your questions be answered," Hammond retorted. "Now, Mr. Grossberg," Hammond whirled on his boss, "I demand this coffee-fiend apologize to me and this firm for his behavior this morning!"

"I'd rather drink tea!" Armando shouted, slamming his palms on the desk.

"Apologize or be fired, boor!" Hammond exclaimed.

"You can't fire me! I'm Diego Armando — the hottest attorney in Grossberg's employment!"

"I suppose," said Mia thoughtfully, "you want me to say something like, 'and talented, too'?"

"Oh, would you?" Armando asked.

Hammond growled in obvious disgust. "Now he even has Ms. Fey participating in his indecent behavior. Perhaps they both should be dismissed, Mr. Grossberg. You don't need leaches such as these fools sucking the respectability out of the Grossberg firm."

"Hold it!" Grossberg declared. The room immediately fell silent. Ooh, I must carry more weight than I thought. Grossberg twirled his mustache and hummed. "Armando, did you say decisive evidence?"

"Hah…!" Armando grinned and nodded. "As decisive as if the embezzler had been caught with his hand in the safe."

"Hm." Grossberg turned to Hammond. "And Hammond, did you say you have found a worthwhile motive for the witness?"

"Yes, sir," Hammond nodded, "this new knowledge allows us to read the evidence in a whole new light — one far brighter than the prosecution's original theory."

"I see." Grossberg finally turned to Mia. "And you, Ms. Fey?"

"I've just finished typing up all the paperwork and information Mr. Hammond and Mr. Armando will need for their respective cases, sir," Mia answered. "I've only stopped now because my hand cramped up!"

Grossberg smiled. He laughed, and his employees looked confused. "Well done, well done!" Grossberg exclaimed, clapping his thick hands together. "I think you all deserve a break. How would you like to join me for a quick cup of coffee and some breakfast in that little café down the street?"

"Really, sir?" Hammond murmured.

"Eating with the boss?" Mia whispered. "That's nerve-wrecking, for some reason."

"If there's coffee," Armando said, standing up, "I'm in."

Grossberg chuckled. "Then let's get moving, tut-tut! We have to be back by nine."

In a neat line, Grossberg's employees filed out of the office. Before the elevator's doors opened on the ground floor, Armando and Hammond were bickering once more. Mia whispered at Armando, trying to reign him in, while Hammond heaped abuse on both junior attorneys. Grossberg watched silently, secretly smiling beneath his heavy mustache.

Robert Hammond, you're too much of an old veteran already, Grossberg thought to himself. Diego Armando, you'd best learn to control your energy before you make a dangerous enemy. And Mia Fey — you're going to go very far, if you'll just get over your novice jitters.

Outside, the sun shone warmly on their small group. Grossberg's gaze wandered towards the imposing white clock that stood over them, watching their interactions and — for the first time in Grossberg's career — smiling. 8:27, hm? he read. So that's what they're worth. And he laughed again.

Ending note: Let's start a petition for a spin-off game from Diego's point of view, so we can see more interactions between the attorneys at the Grossberg Firm, hm? Anyway, thanks for reading.