I have nothing to say here that I haven't already said. This is finished now, and I never thought I'd manage it for three reasons. Firstly, I thought (and still do, I guess) that I lacked skill. Secondly, that I would completely lose the motivation within days. Third, that other things would get in the way. Yet here we are. Thank you so much for staying along all this time, guys. You're all wonderful :D As ever, reviews greatly accepted and appreciated. Once again, thank you :D
Epilogue
On the 19th April, one week after the murder of Pearl Fey on the roof of the Gatewater Hotel, two men walked into the Detention Centre. The men were friends, after a fashion. They had been friends as children, and had eventually reunited as adults. It had been some time since they had last spoken properly to each other.
They entered the building, and asked to speak to a certain detective about a certain prisoner. The detective appeared, and they asked their question.
'Can we see the footage?' The first man of the two to speak had a blue beanie hat on. The detective didn't recognise him at all, except as 'the guy from that weird agency.'
'What footage is that, pal?'
'The surveillance from a certain visit, Detective. You know which we mean.' The second man of the two was wearing a distinctive cravat. The detective couldn't have mistaken his identity.
'Sure thing, sir. Are you sure you want this guy to see it, too?' The detective nodded toward the man in the hat.
'Absolutely. He is a good friend of mine, actually.'
'Does he have the authority, though? I can't show him the footage if he's just some guy.'
'You could ask him yourself, Detective.' The man in the cravat smiled, like he had a secret he wasn't about to tell. The detective did as he was told.
'Sir, I will have to ask for proof of your authority before I can allow you to see the surveillance data.' The detective used the fanciest words he could think of, and the man in the hat complied.
'Sure thing.' The man took his hat off, and his spiky hair stuck out, free from its beanie imprisonment. He pulled a flyer out of his hoodie pocket. 'I'm one of the people represented by this agency.'
'That's not enough, sir. I'm sorry, but I can't-'
'Detective.' The man in the cravat interrupted him, wagging his finger. 'Please, at the bottom of the page. There is a list of names, the names of the people the Anything Agency represents.'
The detective duly read the names, and instantly looked up from the page. The man now holding his hat smiled. 'Am I allowed to watch now?'
The detective couldn't speak for shock. He waved his arms wildly, which acted a signal for another officer to show up. The two men were shown through to the viewing room.
The man with the hat had replaced his beanie, and spoke while they were waiting for the footage to begin playing. 'Do you know who this guy is?' he asked, waving his hand toward the blank screen.
'Indeed. There isn't a prosecutor who doesn't.'
'Guess he has made a name for himself.'
'In your place. 'The Coolest Defense in the West' certainly earned his name. He was the best in his profession. Of course, there were… rumours.'
'Rumours?'
'Forgery, naturally.'
The man in the hat paused. 'Best attorney in his field, accused of forgery?'
'Hardly unique, is it?' The two men laughed slightly. Not because they found it funny, just because history seemed to repeat itself so fully. The footage began playing, and the men went quiet.
On the screen was a shot of the visitor's room. It had been recorded from one side of the glass screen, and the only person in view had his back to the camera. He was a long-haired blond man, in prison attire. He was on screen alone for a minute or so. He kept putting a hand to his shoulder. Eventually the door on the other side of the glass opened, and another man stepped in. This one had spiky hair pointing straight up, a red waistcoat and an unusual bracelet. He sat down opposite the blond man, screen separating them, and folded his arms on the long counter in front of him, in silence. The blond man spoke first.
'You have questions.'
'Apparently, you have answers.'
'Which answers do you want?'
'All of them.'
'Then I'll choose what the questions are. My favourite nail polish is Ariadoney.' The blond man sounded like he was smiling. The other wasn't.
'You know exactly what I mean, Gavin.'
'So I'm even being denied a 'mister' in front of my name now?'
'You don't deserve my respect anymore.' The man in red wasn't giving in easily, it seemed.
'I have reasons for everything I do, Justice.'
'Then why?' The man in red leaned forward, letting his hands fall onto the counter. His bracelet made a sound as it hit the hard surface. 'I'm giving you a chance to explain what you did. Take it.'
'…Before I do, I have a question for you. What is the worst that can happen to me now?' The blond man asked the question lazily, as if he already knew the answer.
'You get found guilty of kidnapping and attempted murder, get the death penalty and you get executed.' There was a surprising harshness to the words of the man in red.
'And the best-case scenario?'
'You get found guilty of kidnapping and attempted murder, get a prison sentence and you serve it.'
'No possibility of a not guilty, then? That's hardly what I would call a fair trial.'
'Your brother's prosecuting.'
'…And you won't be defending.'
'He knows what you did. He'll make sure you pay for it.'
The blond man paused before saying anything else. 'Of course, motive will come into question.'
'Yes.' The man in red looked resolute.
'…Ask it.'
'...Fine.' The man in red cleared his throat. 'Then we'll do it by the book. Kristoph Gavin, you called in the help of the assassin known as de Killer to force myself and Prosecutor Klavier Gavin to face off in court. For this end, you had de Killer kidnap Trucy Wright, my sister, and faked your own disappearance. You then had your own brother kidnapped two days later. I have to ask you. Why? Why did you do all this?'
'Revenge.' The man in red looked confused. The two men watching the recorded footage shared a look.
'Revenge for what?'
'You remember your first trial, Justice? You accused me. Nothing came of it, in the end. One extra trump card, and you would have made it. But that trial ruined me. So long as there was doubt, my reputation was tarnished. Who would hire a defense attorney who could potentially be a murderer?'
'That was my fault. Why get Trucy and your brother involved?'
'You are correct. For my fall from grace, I blame you and you alone.' The blond man was sitting motionless, and yet both men watching could feel the coldness emanating from his image in the screen. They couldn't see his face, but the man in red could. He didn't flinch.
'So why didn't you just kill me, instead of getting them involved?' He seemed remarkably direct about the concept.
'This was more fun. I was watching you, you know. I watched you and Klavier 'dance', if you like.'
'Stop dodging the question.'
'Think of the possible outcomes, Justice.'
'According to your initial rules, either I could have lost or I could have won.'
'Exactly.' The blond man nodded condescendingly.
'If I lost, de Killer would have kept his word as far as Trucy was concerned. If I won, you would have 'died', and I would have blamed myself. Then we changed the rules. So, if I lost, both of the possible outcomes would have happened. I assume you never expected me to win.' The man in the hat couldn't help smiling. He himself was good at working things out as he said them, and the man in red seemed to be similarly skilled.
'Perfect. Any more questions?'
'Why are you telling me this?'
'I have nothing else to lose. It's not as if the whole world won't know of Kristoph Gavin's fall in due course. I may as well speak the truth before it gets distorted by time.'
'That's true.' The man in red moved to stand up. 'One more question, for the road. What you just said. Is that the honest truth?'
'You have my word. I have spoken the entire truth as I know it.'
'So that's all this was? You wanted to make me suffer for a mistake I made a year ago now?'
'I needed time to plan my strategy.'
'This was planned over a year?'
The blond man sat forward. 'I don't want to spell everything out, but there's no reason why I shouldn't. Think back to the 14th. You and Klavier had just been informed of the conditions of the game. Myself and Trucy were under lock and key. Who, then, would you turn to for help?'
The man in red said nothing. The two watching exchanged another look, the man in the beanie looking particularly alarmed. The blond man continued.
'I waited for the right case to come along. One that would turn him against you. All he had to do was think that you were going along the wrong track. You were supposed to believe him. Then you were supposed to lose. That is why I waited for so long.'
'Why did you want him involved in this?'
'He helped you, in your first trial.'
'So you turned him against me, and kidnapped his daughter? Were you the one that got him disbarred?' The man in the hat tensed slightly.
'I never said that. Still, seeing that once-perfect partnership fall into nothing …It was fun, Justice.' The blond man smiled amiably.
'You seriously enjoyed this, didn't you.' The man in red didn't sound too surprised. He just sounded tired.
'A year's work came to fruition. Of course I enjoyed myself. I don't like having to say this, but you performed admirably. I'm surprised you got half as far as you did.'
'…You should have known.' The voice of the man in red lowered an entire octave.
'Known what?'
'That I wouldn't rest until I found the truth. Even if the great Phoenix Wright himself wasn't on my side.' The man in the hat remained silent, but the man in the cravat saw the proud smile working its way up his face.
'You really are Wright's man, aren't you?'
The man in red stood up, and turned his back as he left the room. 'I got what I came for. That's all I wanted to know. Goodbye, Mr Gavin.' He left the room without looking back.
The door closed, and the sound echoed. The blond man put a hand to his face, and pushed his glasses up. A moment later, he stood up, straightened out his prison jumpsuit and left the room too. The timestamp of the footage showed up – it had started recording on the 18th April, at 02:15am – and then the screen faded to black. The two men watching stayed still.
When he left the Detention Centre, Apollo began the walk back to Klavier's office. He had gotten the answers he wanted. He wasn't satisfied, not at all. He had no doubt that Kristoph was telling the truth, but he had expected something more… glamorous. Still, it was done with now. The game was over. They could all move on. Once again, he let his mind wander. Before too long, as far as he knew, he was back outside the Prosecutor's Office. He wearily took the lift up to Klavier's floor. Finally, sleep was beginning to call him. Not yet, he thought. One more thing. Let me do this first.
He turned the handle of the door. Klavier was in his chair, watching the rain. Apollo had walked to the Detention Centre and back in it, but it was only now that he noticed it for the first time. He sat on the floor, and Klavier turned to face him expectantly. He began to speak, transcribing his conversation as best as he could from memory. When he had finished, he joined Klavier by the window.
'It's over now,' he said, simply.
Klavier made an 'mmm' sound.
'Still got something to say?' Apollo asked.
'I'm wondering what Wright is thinking now. His old friend was killed, another friend turned against him, he has no idea why yet. Should we tell him about all this?'
'I think we should. I think he deserves to know. He dragged Mr Wright into it, I think he should know why.'
'If he doesn't work it out on his own first.'
Apollo watched the rain. A singularly uninteresting phenomenon usually, now it entranced him. It staged its attack on the city in a random, unorganised fashion. He smiled when an inner part of his mind compared it to his own defense style. Still, it had worked. He had pulled through, even without Klavier there to throw the final trial in his favour. He wondered what Phoenix Wright would have done, had he been in the same place. Apollo was just thankful that it had ended the way it did. There had been more than enough room for something to go wrong. Somehow, against every law of probability, he had won out.
The people on the outside carried on with their lives, oblivious to the recent panic in the lives of those inside the office. Sooner or later, those people would need defending. Apollo vowed to be there when they did. Everyone deserved justice, after all – and who else to turn to but Justice?
The two men in the viewing room turned to each other.
'It was de Killer's work?' the man in the cravat asked. 'Again?'
'I guess, in a way, I passed the torch to him.' The man in the hat nodded toward the screen on 'him'. 'He's going to hit his fair share of troubles, isn't he? Even facing off against de Killer...'
'Trouble seems to be part and parcel of being a defense attorney. I don't know how you stuck it for three years.' He paused. 'Wright… what's stopping you now? Why not retake the bar exam? I'd be happy to face you again. I always wondered why you quit.'
'I didn't quit, Edgeworth. I presented forged evidence.' The man in the cravat looked shocked, and stayed silent. 'I didn't request the forgery, though. I was tricked into showing it. But on the records, I am the one who forged that evidence. As long as that's there, I can't stand in court.' The man in the hat looked downcast.
'I could… do something about that.' The man in the cravat smiled. 'A favour for a friend.'
The man in the hat looked earnestly at his friend, and thought before answering. 'I'd like to take you up on that. …I don't know how to repay you.'
'Just make sure you find them, Wright. Find the person that brought you down. Then we'll call it even.'
The two men left the Detention Centre, and walked back to the Anything Agency. On the way, they reminisced. Past cases, old triumphs, old defeats. They hadn't spoken properly in seven years, and took the opportunity now. At the entrance to the Agency, the man in the cravat stopped.
'This is where we part ways, Wright.'
'For now.'
'Indeed. I'll let you know when the time comes.'
'Thank you.'
'Thank you, Wright. Thank you for calling me back halfway across the world to deal with this case. I've learned a thing or two from it.'
'Like what?'
'If the master is defeated, the student fights on in his place. He is 'Wright's man', after all.' The man in the cravat smiled.
The man in the hat held his hand out. 'Edgeworth.' They shook hands, and the man in the cravat left.
The man in the hat looked at the door. The sign to the side of the building proclaimed that it was the 'Wright Anything Agency.' He couldn't say that the past seven years hadn't been good to him. Even if he was stuck pretending to play piano, he had gained so much more. Both a daughter, and an apprentice of sorts. A man who had picked up where he himself had left off, and done it brilliantly. Now, rather than watch from the side-lines, like a parent at their child's sports day, he was going to run alongside. Two attorneys, who cared only for justice. And they would be matched, perfectly, by two prosecutors who knew that the truth was all that mattered in a court of law.
The man in the hat looked at the street outside his office for a few seconds before entering. It was silent. Just the way he wanted it for some reflecting time. Better make a start on the Chief's old books, he thought. He put a hand to his chest, and gently held the lapel of his hoodie. He remembered what had once been there, what had once meant so much, that he had lost all those years ago. Now, he was going to get it back. Nothing was going to stop him now.
He turned to the side, and saw the Gatewater Hotel. The place where Pearls had been killed, and so close to the place Mia had been taken from them all. Pearls' death would start him again on the road to the truth he had strayed so far from. He wasn't going to let her death be in vain. Hers, or Mia's. He would fight on, in honor of them. 'Murder Manor' had claimed them both, in a way. The man in the hat closed his eyes. The hotel had a sad tale to tell anyone who would listen. He had been there for both chapters of it. He promised there would not be a third.
He patted the empty space on his lapel once more, and smiled to himself. The Ace Attorney would return, someday soon, stronger than ever before. He had a lot to do. He knew he would need help. The bar exam was hardly a walk in the park. But he had Trucy, and Apollo, and Klavier, and Edgeworth. With them by his side, nothing could hold him back. He would see it through. He had waited seven years. He had earned his happy ending.
That night at the Borscht Bowl Club, Phoenix Wright played the piano. Something he had done for a while by now. But tonight, for the first time in seven years, he played it with a smile.
