The streets of Berlin were freezing cold as the red-haired woman trudged through the snow in her ankle-high boots. She pulled her black beanie over her ears as the icy wind nipped at them. She would hate to lose them. As a musician, she needed her ears for her work. A gust of cold wind blew straight through her and the woman clutched her arms to her body and shivered. She wished that she didn't have to pick up her violin tonight, the coldest night of winter so far, but she needed her instrument for her classes at the Universität the next day.

The woman glanced up and saw that she was only three block away from the instrument repair shop.
"If I can just make it for a little bit longer," she thought, "I can pick up my instrument and hurry home!"
The woman sighed as she pictured herself curled up under a nice fluffy blanket with a cup of hot Swiss chocolate while listening to a Mozart CD. She felt her toes tingle as she imagined how the hot chocolate would feel running down her throat... she couldn't wait!

She saw the shop looming up ahead of her, the neon "OPEN" sign flashing on the white snow.
"Just a few more steps and I'll be fine," she muttered.
She ran the last stretch of the pavement to the shop door and pushed it open. A bell clanged to announce her arrival to the shop's owner.
„Ah, hallo Frau Jäger! Wie geht es Ihnen?"
„Guten abend, Herr Müller. Mir ist gut, aber mir ist kalt!"
Herr Müller laughed. „Ja, Ihre Nase ist rotarose!"
The woman smiled and rubbed her cold nose with her gloved hand.

„Ah jetzt, Sie wünschen?"
„Ich brauche meine Violine zurück, bitte."
Ms. Jäger paid for the work done on her violin and took the case from Herr Müller.
"Tschuss Frau Jäger!" he called.
She smiled and waved goodbye as she pushed open the shop's door and stepped outside into the freezing wind.

Her wallet was a bit lighter after paying for the repair job on her violin, but Herr Müller understood violins better than anyone else in Dresden. She had just turned the corner when she heard the sound of breaking glass in the direction of the shop. She quickly turned and saw that all of the lights except for the flashing "OPEN" sign were off.
"That's strange," she thought.
Ms. Jäger walked back to the shop with a sinking feeling in her stomach. Something wasn't right... the shop usually didn't close for another hour. She made her way to the shop's door and tried to look through the glass. Everything was pitch dark inside, but she could hear noises coming from inside. It sounded like a rustling, such as someone going through Euro bills. Was someone robbing Herr Müller?!

Ms. Jäger was about to open the door when she remembered that there was a bell tied to the door to make a chiming noise whenever the door was opened. She had to find another way inside. She snuck around the side of the building and saw that the side door was open. Ms. Jäger's stomach twisted into a knot as she crept inside the dark shop. She knew that something terrible had happened as she stealthily crossed the sales floor.

Halfway across the sales floor, the smell of blood hit her nostrils in full force.
"Oh no! Herr Müller! Where is he?!"
At that moment, she heard someone behind her.

"Put your hands in the air!"
Ms. Jäger raised her hands as the intruder started to pat her down for weapons. While he, or she, was distracted with the back pockets of her skinny jeans, Jäger quickly turned around and slammed her violin case into what she thought was the side of the offender's face. She heard a THUNK as it connected with the person's jaw, but he didn't crumple to the ground as she had hoped. He instead ran out of the store through the side door, leaving her alone in the store.

"Herr Müller? Wo sind Sie?"
She took a few steps towards what she thought was the sales counter and felt something against her shoe. She felt around the wall for a light switch and flipped it on. She screamed when she saw Herr Müller lying on the floor with a cracked skull.

"HALT! POLIZEI!"
The woman raised her hands in the air, still holding her violin case. She stared in shock at the old man's beaten body as the officer searched her for any weapons.

Miles Edgeworth expected to have some minor difficulties with becoming re-immersed into the German language, but he didn't expect to have forgotten most of what he knew. He must have been in Los Angeles for much longer than he thought. He didn't dare ask Franziska to translate for him. He wouldn't give her the satisfaction of rubbing that in his face possibly auf Deutsch. And there was absolutely no telling what she would call him that he would have to break out the dictionary for. A long winded conversation had been taking place in her office for quite a while now, perhaps over an hour by his watch. Whatever was going on in the prosecutor's office was something serious. All of the other prosecutors and legal aides steered clear of the office door and tried to ignore what snippets of conversation were escaping through the heavy oak doors. This only piqued his curiosity even more. What was it about this case that bothered everyone?

"Ich werde meine Kusine nicht helfen." Franziska snapped at someone in the office. Miles winced at her tone and prepared to hear the crack of her whip, but was surprised when he didn't hear it. Apparently Franziska felt that it wasn't her place to whip this person. Miles couldn't help but wonder exactly who could earn such respect.

The door soon opened and Franziska stormed out ranting about something under her breath as the door slammed shut behind her. He gave her a wide berth as she stormed by him. What was going on in that room?

The door opened and an older man that Miles had never seen before walked out. The man's face was painted with lines of weariness and his eyes had dark smudges of fatigue underneath them. Miles was curious about what was troubling this man, but he felt that it wasn't entirely his place to ask.

"Miles!" Franziska called, "Kommt schon!"
Miles frowned at her rude addressal, but obeyed nonetheless.
"I have a case for you," she told him matter of factly.
"And you decided to accept it for me without my input because...?"
Franziska frowned. "There is a technicality in German law that bars relatives from defending or prosecuting each other. The man that just left was my uncle."
"And this involves me how?"
"Since I cannot prosecute my cousin, you will have to prosecute her for me."

Miles was slightly startled by this revelation. Franziska had a cousin? Why didn't he know this?
"Your cousin?" he asked, "I never knew that you had a cousin, Franziska."
Franziska frowned and her grip on her whip tightened.
"My uncle is a defense attorney. Papa cut all ties with him after he passed the bar exam."
"Well that explains it," Miles thought, "that seems to fit with von Karma's character."
"And how am I supposed to help him if I'm a prosecutor?"
"You're not. You're going to find his daughter guilty."
Miles' stomach tightened at Franziska's words.
Guilty? But that was her cousin! They were family! No matter what sort of rivalry there was between Manfred and his brother, it shouldn't have extended to the daughters!
"Are you sure, Franziska?"
Franziska glared and snapped her whip in warning.
"Of course I'm sure, Miles!"
Miles had to bow out in defeat, metaphorically speaking of course.
"Where is the detention center?"
"I'll accompany you there."