Franziska von Karma has timed her morning routine down to the second. She will rise (six seconds), shower (ten minutes, eight seconds), consume a simple breakfast of eggs and toast (eight minutes, nineteen seconds), polish her whip (twenty minutes, thirty seconds), and devote exactly sixty minutes to studying her father's law books before leaving for the Berlin prosecutors' offices. She switches her mobile phone on at precisely 7:45 in the morning, while waiting for her chauffeur to heat the limousine to an acceptable temperature.
Today, at 7:46, the phone rings.
It is the kind of thing her father would do, and certainly the California number supports that hypothesis, but her father is on death row. She picks up. "Franziska von Karma."
For a moment, she thinks no one is there. Then a man's voice quavers, "You're Mr. Edgeworth's sister, aren't you?"
"That is a foolish question. I am Franziska von Karma, and I cannot see how my family relations are any of your concern."
"Oh," the voice says. "Sorry, it's just I wasn't sure who else to call. He was real adamant about not Mr. Wright…"
"I beg your pardon?" A von Karma does not show uncertainty. "You are saying you have a personal acquaintance with Miles Edgeworth, Mr.—?"
"Gumshoe, Dick Gumshoe, Detective with the LAPD. Yeah, Mr. Edgeworth's my boss—or he was—I'm not sure—"
The chauffeur pulls around the corner. She signals him to wait. "Come to the point, Detective Dick Gumshoe."
"Uh, long story short, I was on my way home today and I had to talk him down off a bridge."
Franziska's whip falls from her hand. It clatters against the perfectly polished floor. The chauffeur's eyes go wide, and he steps toward the pane of glass separating them; Franziska stops him with a flick of her hand.
"Ms. von Karma?" Gumshoe asks.
"My. Little. Brother. Did what."
"Um. W-Well, the American phrase for it is 'attempted suicide'—"
"I am perfectly fluent in English, Detective Gumshoe!" Franziska snaps. "Where is Miles Edgeworth now?"
"On my couch," Gumshoe says in a small voice.
Franziska blinks. "Your… couch?"
"Um, yeah. Figured I should stay with him for a bit. He's okay," Gumshoe adds, before Franziska can think of an appropriate way to phrase the question. "He's not hurt, anyhow. I think he's asleep."
"I shall depart for America within the hour."
A squeak emerges from the speaker. "You—what?!"
"I hope your hearing is not impaired, Detective Gumshoe." Franziska reaches down to pick up her whip. "I presume you will ensure my brother's safety until I arrive?"
"Y-yes, ma'am!"
She takes down the man's address, tasks the chauffeur with calling her travel agent, and returns to her bedroom to pack a change of clothes.