"Geez," said Maya as she and Phoenix walked back to the lobby. Making a face, she gently tugged at the lobe of her ear, which was still ringing from previous moments. "I didn't think the audience would ever calm down."

"I'm not surprised," Phoenix told her. "I'm sure half of them want to hear what Mr. Sycamore has to say just so that they can condemn him further. Then again, considering how many of them are probably his victims, I really shouldn't be judging."

"Yeah..."

They opened the door to the two guards; also present in the room was Sycamore. Back in his regular suit, he appeared troubled about something.

"Oh, hey, that was quick," Maya said. "You feeling better, Mr. Sycamore?"

"I am, Ms. Fey," he replied, his soft tone a welcome contrast to Descole's harsh one. "Nothing broken or permanently damaged. I...I do apologize for my earlier conduct. It's just...the sight of that man alone...fills me with a blind rage...though I realize this is not an excuse. But on to a more important matter. I've just received a bit of upsetting news." He turned to the man next to Maya. "Tell me it isn't true, Mr. Wright."

Phoenix studied his client with a mix of disappointment and sympathy. Guess I shouldn't be surprised at his reluctance to take the stand. This whole time, he's been way too eager about putting himself behind bars. "If you're referring to the fact that I've requested you as the next witness, then I'm afraid it's true. I imagine that in the next few minutes, you'll be escorted to the prosecutor's lobby."

The man grew flustered. "Do not put me on that stand. Do anything besides that. I implore you."

Phoenix shook his head. "I'm sorry, Mr. Sycamore, but this time, I can't honor that request. I am a defense attorney, after all. My job is to defend you until the very end, even if that means getting you to defend yourself."

"There is no point in forcing me to testify," Sycamore insisted. "It will not change the outcome of this trial."

"Which outcome do you mean?"

"I beg your pardon?"

"Are you talking about the actual outcome, or the one you've already played out in your mind? You know, the one where the judge slams his gavel and shouts 'Guilty!' before anyone catches on to the fact that maybe you're not some irredeemable monster?" As the query was met with silence, Phoenix said, "A good friend once told me that everyone deserves a proper defense, regardless of who they are or what they did. And I'm not asking you to lie or anything. I just want you to tell your side of the story. Until you do, none of us will be closer to the truth."

"M-Mr. Wright...I...I don't..."

"Look, I get it. I've taken the stand before, so I know the pressure. But here's the thing: it's not fair for you to make as much of a splash as you did and then leave everyone wondering why. Of course there are those who have already decided you deserve the maximum punishment. Fortunately, they're not sitting in the judge's seat. If it helps, you only have to tell your story to three parties: the judge, the prosecution, and the defense. Everyone else is just a spectator. But if you ask me, I think it would benefit everyone if you told your story. People can be quick to judge, but they also have the capacity to understand."

"I..." Sycamore stood there, taking in the words. His arms were down and crossed at the wrist; at one point, he had begun to fiddle with one of the cuffs of his jacket sleeve. "...I don't know."

"Well then, think about it this way. There are people in the audience today who got caught up in your schemes, and are here for the sake of closure. You keep pushing for jail time as though that would magically solve everything...but it won't. Guilty verdict or no, not everyone can move on until they've heard your reasons for what you did. It's not about whether or not they believe a word you say. I think you owe it to them to answer their questions. You don't get to punish yourself before the testimony has been given, and expect the rest of us to do the same. Please. If you won't do it for yourself, then at least do it for the sake of everyone whose lives you affected."

Sycamore had calmed down, but his expression remained somber. "Do you...really think they would be willing to listen...to someone such as myself?"

"Well, I'm sure some of them will be," Phoenix responded. "They might even make sense of whatever chain of events led to you becoming this 'Descole' character. And people know the world isn't black and white. Humans are complex. So why shouldn't their reasons be?"

"You truly are the most persistent barrister I've ever met, Mr. Wright. A bit stubborn, perhaps. But...you've given me hope." A warm smile finally emerged from the man, and he nodded. "All right. I shall take my place at the stand, and testify."

"Thank you, Mr. Sycamore. I'm glad to hear it." Not so much that other part, though. Is that how people really see me? Hiding the fact that he was bothered, Phoenix took a look around the room. "By the way, has Professor Layton been by?"

"No, Mr. Wright. He briefly visited me in the infirmary, and then took off, saying he needed to tend to something important."

That's unusual, thought Phoenix. I would think he'd want to be here for his brother, at a critical part of the trial. Well, he must have a good reason...

Half an hour later, the trial had reconvened. Bronev was gone, and in his place, a solemn Sycamore.

"Witness," Edgeworth addressed him, "Rather, the defendant. Please state your name and occupation for the court."

"Desmond Sycamore," the man replied. "Once an archaeologist, I, too, am in between occupations...at present."

"Mr. Sycamore, you admit to all the crimes with which you are charged?"

Sycamore nodded. "I do. I am guilty...of everything."

"Well, surprisingly, not everyone agrees on that point, or they don't find it necessary to hold you accountable for all that you've done," Edgeworth said. "The institutions that funded your research decided that since you ultimately did solve the final riddle of the Azran, they do not wish to retrieve any of the money, or even press charges. And of course, there was the matter of the city of Monte d'Or. This does not make you innocent - far from it - but as was stated during the first day of the trial, you will be able to escape some of the charges. But enough about that. You were brought out here for one reason only...to answer the question: Why? We know you schemed to find the Azran sites, and caused harm to many people as a result. What we don't know are your reasons. Why did you do this? Why did you go after the Azran? And why did you involve and injure so many innocents along the way? You will tell this court, and in great detail."

"No pressure there," Maya said dryly.

"The Azran...were a part of my life...since the very beginning," Sycamore said. "My father, an archaeologist, lived and breathed every finding, so completely devoted to their secrets. He wished for his children to share in his passion. It...wasn't long before Targent discovered his interest. That was when they took him and my mother away. That was when...they destroyed our family."

I guess he's still having a hard time talking about his past, thought Phoenix. Not that I can blame him...

"So Targent targeted your family due to the interest in the Azran," said the judge. "Mr. Wright, you may cross-examine the witness."

Here goes...

"Mr. Sycamore," Phoenix started, "You said that learning about the Azran civilization was your father's passion. You were referring to Leon Bronev as he was back then, correct?"

Sycamore looked uncomfortable but managed to mask his disgust at the name. "Yes."

"And as far as wanting to share this interest with his children, do you have any clear memories of that?"

"Not of anything specific, although I recall the joy in his eyes whenever he spoke to us about something related to the Azran. He was...warm, somehow, and kind. Not that he wasn't at other times, but archaeology seemed to inspire goodness, especially where the Azran were concerned."

"The day that Targent came for your father...could you go into detail about that?"

As tense as Sycamore was being in the last few moments, he suddenly let go, resigned. "My mother thought it was just another knock upon the door. We all did. The moment she answered, several men barged in with weapons. My father immediately acted; he tried to shield all of us. My little brother held on to me while my mother tried to comfort us both. No matter how much my father begged and pleaded, the armed men refused to listen. Finally, they threatened harm to us, the children. It was only then my parents agreed to go with them."

"Despicable!" the judge said suddenly, outraged. "To threaten even children..."

That goes without saying, Phoenix thought. "And what happened after your parents were taken? What happened to you?"

"My parents were taken to Targent headquarters, to a place called the Nest," Sycamore replied. "My mother died in captivity not long afterward, while my father..." Darkness clouded the man's eyes for a moment. "...well, you all know what he became. As for my brother and me, we were left alone until the time we were adopted."

"Earlier, Mr. Bronev said than you allowed your brother to take your place in the first adoption."

"Yes. Theodore was barely six years of age, and we could not be adopted at the same time. I was older and could handle being on my own for a little while."

"Putting your brother's needs ahead of yours, at that age, is to be commended," Phoenix said.

"I don't agree, Mr. Wright."

"Why is that?"

"From the outside, it may have appeared that I was sacrificing a better future for the sake of my brother," said Sycamore. "But truthfully, I needed to be alone for a while. There were tasks I needed to perform, and I could not afford any distractions."

"What were the tasks?" Phoenix asked.

"I needed to learn about the organization that took our parents from us...and get my revenge upon them. That extended to the accursed civilization of the Azran as well - if not for their existence, I would still have my family."

"And this is where it began," Edgeworth commented. "That seed of hatred, nursed by years of bitterness...eventually blooming into a series of cruel and calculated schemes."

Sycamore briefly looked over at the prosecutor's bench but did not respond; instead, he slowly brought his gaze back down.

"Mr. Edgeworth," Phoenix said, "If it were really that simple, then my client would not have waited this long to carry out his plot!"

"What are you saying, Mr. Wright?" Edgeworth asked. "That you believe something served to delay your client's actions?"

"I'm saying that, for a long time, Mr. Sycamore lacked conviction. It was only until a specific event happened, that he knew he couldn't live for anything else."

"So your client lacked conviction in his plot?" Edgeworth said. "He knew from a young age that he wanted revenge. What could he suddenly find more important than that?"

"I'll let my client tell you all about that." He shared a quick glance with Sycamore, who gave him a nod.

"Very well, then," said Edgeworth. "Mr. Sycamore, the court will hear your reasons for suspending your plans for revenge."

"It started fifteen years ago," the man began. "I'd walked into a café one day, and saw a woman sitting at a table, teacup in one hand, an open book in the other. The book title caught my interest and I asked her if I could join her. She accepted. Her name was Anna...and she would become my wife in the years that followed."

"Ah, so you met someone and got married," the judge said. "I'm starting to see the picture. Mr. Wright, please proceed."

"Mr. Sycamore," Phoenix started, "When you first met your wife, how high a priority was the revenge plot?"

"Very high, Mr. Wright," Sycamore told him.

"Would you say that meeting Anna made you forget about the plot?"

"No. In fact, it was the opposite. I thought about the plot every day, but...at the same time, I wondered how it could fit into my life, now that I'd found another purpose. To get revenge seemed less important, and I realized I could fill my life with true happiness. This feeling grew stronger after the birth of my daughter, Mildred."

Hushed conversations sprang up all throughout the audience. Seems like everyone else is getting the picture. "So when you started a family of your own, was revenge still on your mind?"

"I'm not proud to say it...but yes, Mr. Wright," Sycamore replied. "I'd swore I would make Targent and the Azran pay for what they did to my birth family. Naturally, I felt guilty for looking backward while so many wonderful people were in my life. Ultimately, I decided to let go and focus on my future. I would only deal with Targent should they be foolish enough to approach me."

"And that is exactly what they did, according to the previous witness' testimony," said the judge. "I don't imagine there was anything pleasant about that encounter, but the court must hear those events as they happened from the defendant's side. Mr. Sycamore, you will tell us what happened that day."

Sycamore balked, some angry force stirring within him. "I...they..." He closed his mouth, looking as though he were fighting the urge to say something potentially scandalous.

"Murderers," perhaps? Phoenix wondered. "It's okay, Mr. Sycamore. You can tell it just to me if you want."

That seemed to calm the man's mood. "They approached me while I was doing some research. That was about...ten years ago? Imagine my shock to see the leader of Targent with them...and to find out it had been my father all along! They had discovered some ancient stone tablets, and wanted me to decipher the text for them...permanently. Even if I hadn't been disgusted with what my father had become, I would have refused. I knew what they did to archaeologists unfortunate enough to be in their 'service.'"

"Witness," Edgeworth said. "I beg your pardon, but could I get clarification on one thing? Where exactly were you when Targent approached you?"

"They were waiting for me in my office after hours," Sycamore replied. "I admit it was careless of me to have left it unlocked...not that this would have deterred them."

"So that leaves no witnesses," said the judge."That is...unfortunate."

"Mr. Sycamore, how were the Targent agents when you saw them?" asked Phoenix.

"They certainly did what they could in the hopes of intimidating me," Sycamore told him. "They brought along guns, and they were just as smug as they were aggressive. They threatened my life, but I still refused."

"Even after having your life threatened?!" the judge exclaimed. "I admire your courage and your ability to keep a clear head, but why?"

"My life...my purpose...these had changed within a few short years. If I lost my life, then I had already made peace with that...but I would protect what was most precious to me. If I could do that with my death, then it would have been worth it."

"'What was most precious,'" Phoenix repeated. "I assume you are referring to your wife and daughter?"

"Yes, Mr. Wright," the man replied.

"What happened after you refused Targent?"

"They told me I would rue my decision...and then left. Of course, that was not the end of it, nor did I expect it to be. However...I underestimated just how underhanded they could be, and...I overestimated the amount of mercy my birth father would show me."

Maybe it's just me, Phoenix thought, but Mr. Sycamore suddenly seems detached for a guy recounting some seriously traumatic events. Then again, I'm sure he knows it's only going to get uglier from here. I don't envy his position. He looked over at the judge. "Your Honor."

The judge nodded in understanding. "Mr. Sycamore, please describe the aftermath of this confrontation."

"Unbeknownst to me, Targent broke into my home one day and planted explosives. They were to be detonated when I returned from work. It was a message, punishment for refusing them. But, as fate would have it..." Sycamore stopped without a warning.

"Mr. Sycamore?" Phoenix asked.

"...they weren't supposed to be there," the man continued. "The leisurely trip my wife and daughter took, accompanied by my butler Raymond, should have lasted three days. Unexpectedly, they returned home early. As a result...I was not the one caught up in the explosion. Those Targent scum...destroyed my family...once again."

"I..." The judge blinked, horrified by the testimony. "I can't even imagine. Mr. Wright, please proceed."

Phoenix let out a sigh. Once again, I'm here, playing the role of the bad guy who rips apart witnesses' stories to allow the truth to emerge whole. But this time, it feels like I'm about to rip apart my own client, a man who has kept the truth to himself all these years. "Um, Mr. Sycamore, where were you when your family came home?"

"I was in the city, taking care of some personal business."

"What happened when you returned home?"

"I found myself facing a house being consumed by flames. The only thing to penetrate the sound of the roaring fire were the screams...of my wife and daughter. The windows had been sealed shut, so they couldn't escape. I broke in, but it was too late."

"Oh my god," Maya whispered, placing a hand over her mouth. "So that's how it happened..."

"So, your wife and daughter perished that night," said Phoenix.

"That is correct," Sycamore said, his response stripped of all emotion.

"S...such evil!" exclaimed the judge. "But...planting explosives, taking lives in the process...surely Targent did not get away with these atrocities!"

"And why do you say that, Your Honor?"

The question left the elder man speechless, at first. "Do you mean to say there were no arrests?!"

"Why would there be?" The calmness in Sycamore's tone was unsettling. "There wasn't enough evidence. Yes, the windows had been tampered with, but the explosives couldn't be traced. Who would they arrest? Targent itself didn't catch the interest of the Yard until recently."

"Are you saying you didn't tell them anything?"

"I gave them my statement. Somehow, having your home blown up by a cult organization sounds less credible in person."

"So you weren't believed," said Phoenix.

"No. And because I wasn't believed, nothing was done. I grew frustrated...and that's when I decided...I needed to commit to the idea of revenge. Because this time, I knew they would continue. I knew they would do the same to someone else."

Finally... Phoenix then stopped, noticing that Edgeworth had been quiet for a while, and looked deep in thought.

"So, this is the motive," Edgeworth said, as if to answer Phoenix's unspoken question. "A man loses his family to, as he puts it, a cult organization, so he suddenly sees it as his right to not only get revenge on those who injured him, but to also injure unrelated persons along the way."

"It's not that I saw it as my right," Sycamore replied. "At that point, I simply didn't care who I hurt. I was, after all, a husk."

"Hmm...yet it should have occurred to you that you were only repeating what had been done to you, which would have made you no better than the ones who took away your family."

Sycamore gave a mirthless laugh. "I...cannot argue against that, I suppose. As I said, it didn't matter to me. With the deaths of my wife and daughter, the man named Desmond Sycamore ceased to exist. I have no defense for the way I acted. I don't blame anyone for thinking I was heartless, because as Jean Descole, I could be nothing else."

"Even so, it seems a rather extreme reaction."

"Mr. Edgeworth, have you ever lost someone dear to you?"

"I..." The question caught the man by surprise. "...yes, I have. Seventeen years ago, in fact."

"Then you know the crippling pain and grief that comes with loss. Judging by your age, you must have been very young when that happened. You bore your loss because children are resilient, but that does not diminish what you experienced. It was similar for me, but I also knew the malice that brought about my loss, and I refused to stand by while evil prevailed. It was only after I met my wife that I started to question that, that perhaps I didn't have to live for revenge, and...just perhaps, I also deserved happiness. I...paid a price for believing that. The family Anna and I had created for ourselves...destroyed in a matter of moments. That's when I'd lost all hope of achieving happiness...of ever connecting with anyone else."

"With all due respect, Mr. Sycamore," Phoenix suddenly said. "I don't believe that."

Sycamore was caught off guard. "Wh-what? What do you mean?"

"I think that, even as your alter ego, you were reaching out to people in your own way. You had this...habit of seeking out those who experienced losses of their own, and connecting with them. For example, Mr. Oswald Whistler-"

"That is nonsense, Mr. Wright," scolded Edgeworth. "Not to mention irrelevant to Mr. Sycamore's motive."

"Is it?! Think back to yesterday, when Mr. Whistler was testifying. Mr. Whistler, a man who was desperately trying to bring back his daughter. Whistler, who was approached by my client, a man who had his own daughter taken from him years before. A man who offered to build a machine that could bring Whistler's daughter back to life, if only through a memory. Do you think that was simply a coincidence?"

"W-well, I..." Not having expected the argument, Edgeworth could only stumble over his words. "...that is..."

"Maybe it was a long shot, but he went along with it anyway. True, he had his own agenda, but why carry it out in such an unusual manner? By building the Detragan for Whistler, my client was keeping the dream alive...for the both of them. It was too late for my client, but if he could help someone else be reunited with his child..."

Edgeworth finally recovered, shaking his head. "That's quite the tale, Mr. Wright, but even if any of that were true-"

"I couldn't help myself," Sycamore interrupted. "Perhaps it was a form of vicarious living. I knew my daughter was gone forever, but every time I saw Mr. Whistler with that little girl, calling her 'Melina'...something about that felt right to me. Call me selfish, or delusional, but no one should have to lose a family member...especially an only child."

"Mr. Sycamore, you realize two terrified parents temporarily lost their own child because of the foolishness of your plot? Not to mention the parents of the other girls you and Mr. Whistler abducted?"

Sycamore brought his gaze down. "You're right. No matter what happened, someone experienced a loss. I knew the 'reunion' would only be temporary for Mr. Whistler, but I went along with it anyway. The fact that life isn't fair...didn't stop me."

"So you say."

"What is it you wish for me to tell you, Mr. Edgeworth?" the man asked, his tone finally shifting to one of exasperation. "Do you want to hear something to the contrary? I make no excuses for my behavior. I'm sorry for what I've done, and I deeply regret my actions. From the kidnapping to the blackmailing, to the violent assaults I've inflicted, to the deception and the manipulation...I've caused so much pain and hurt to others, and I can never erase that. So if you want to call for a guilty verdict, then do it now. It doesn't matter to me either way."

"Objection!" shouted Phoenix. "Mr. Sycamore, I understand you're eager to end the trial, but a verdict at this point would be premature."

"Hmm..." Edgeworth looked to be contemplating something. "For once, the prosecution is in agreement with the defense. Mr. Sycamore, whether you realize it or not...you have yet to tell the absolute truth."

Sycamore was stunned by the sudden alliance. "What...what more is there to be said? You wanted my motive, and I gave it to you..."

"Yes, we know of your motive, which you explained to us matter-of-factly. But doesn't that strike you as odd? You were the one who suffered multiple losses, spoke of 'losing hope' and 'crippling pain,' and your own lawyer described you as someone who couldn't live for anything besides revenge. Yet you revealed your experiences the way one delivers a mildly interesting story about some individual to whom he has no connection." A brief silence followed. "Mr. Sycamore, again we ask...why were you driven to such reckless methods in this revenge plot? Didn't you have anyone to talk you out of doing this?"

"...No."

"No one at all?" Phoenix asked. "A grief counselor, a friend?"

"I spoke to a professional, but he seemed to think my talk of Targent was a delusion and a product of my grief, instead of the cause. Not the most insightful or empathetic man. I stopped seeing him immediately. I suppose I could have spoken to another, but I was...spent. And I didn't trust others aside from my butler Raymond, but he would not have stopped me."

"Still...nothing else to keep you holding on?" Phoenix pressed. "Did you ever think of your wife and daughter outside of revenge? Didn't you have any good memories to hold on to?"

Sycamore's demeanor changed then. "Memories...?" he repeated. "Why, Mr. Wright, I could recall a hundred memories with my family, easily...so many wonderful memories. I treasured them all. It was truly a blissful time in my life."

Hmm...if I could get him to open up..."That's good to hear, Mr. Sycamore," said Phoenix, giving the man a small but reassuring smile. "So when you look back, you recall a lot of good moments?"

"Oh, yes." Sycamore's face lit up then, genuine warmth in his eyes. "I'll always remember the first time I laid eyes on Anna, and our conversations over tea."

"What did you talk about?"

"Many things, but mostly our shared interests. The productions we attended, the books we read..." The corners of his mouth formed the beginnings of a timid smile. "...how she once stood in a queue for eight hours, just so that I could have an autographed copy of Douglas Rose Sorensen's latest novel...on a cold, rainy day, no less. Extraordinary woman, she was. And to my regret, bedridden after she caught a terrible cold! She feared not being well enough to visit family that weekend. You see, Sunday nights we dined with her father, months before he passed. The man was always in good spirits, despite his diagnosis. I truly enjoyed his company...and learned much from him." The smile grew the further he delved into the memories.

"I recall the weeks I'd spent planning a proposal, only for Anna to propose instead. The day we married...how I every time held her, I feared I would awaken at any moment, for surely, this happiness was a dream." A wistful sigh drew forth from the man. "Our first home, we'd made the mistake of attempting to renovate the kitchen. Ah! A constant source of worry, the value of that house. Fortunately, Anna was acquainted with someone who restored the room as much as possible. When she told me I was going to be a father...many nights I feared I was incapable, or unworthy...but when Millie - Mildred - was born, I was filled with an undeniable strength, as though I could take on anything."

It wasn't Phoenix's intention, but out of the corner of his eye, he caught a glimpse of the audience, whose eyes were trained on Sycamore. Several members seemed as invested in Sycamore's story as he was in sharing it. If the audience can be won over, or at least be convinced he's not evil, maybe the judge can show him some mercy as well. Though I guess it doesn't really work that way...

"Millie...my sweet precious girl...she was always drawing, or telling stories...when she wasn't getting into something else. Hahaha. Her favorite film – A Heart's Treasure – I was to give her a copy that Christmas. It was a secret, of course...one that my butler Raymond had faithfully guarded. Raymond...he did so much for our family. I remember our last holiday together – we'd gone to the beach. It was too cold to go into the water on that last day, but Millie insisted on getting her feet wet." Sycamore seemed to finally relax then, immersing himself in the memory. "What a lovely afternoon that was – the picnic, the walk on the shore. Raymond took so many photographs. I had to beg him to take at least one with him in it." He chuckled. "The man had a mischievous side to him, I'm afraid – I was lying down on the picnic blanket beside Anna, and Raymond had snapped a photo just as I had fallen asleep! At least, this was according to my dear wife. Later, I remember being awakened by little arms around my neck, whispers of 'Daddy, Daddy' in my ear. Millie was ready to go home, as were we all. I never slept as well as I did that night..." And just like that, the light in his expression dissipated. "I don't think I did...ever again."

I wonder if I should ask him- no, thought Phoenix. Just let him tell his story.

"Raymond...never did get around to developing those photographs," Sycamore continued, looking more despondent. "It wasn't his fault. The film was one of the many things destroyed in the fire. All the other pictures were lost as well. I don't...I don't have a single photo of my wife, or of my daughter." The moment was inappropriate, but he had forced a smile. There was a vulnerability to it, and in the next instant, he ceased eye contact with all, his gaze drifting toward the floor. "The only things I have to remember them by...are a handful of items left in the car by chance...and my memories. And even those...I don't always trust." His eyes were filling with tears, his facial features twisting into a miserable shell. "It should have been me," he said, a creak in his voice. "I should have died in that fire that day, not them. They had nothing to do with it. All they did was come home early. That's not a crime. They died...because...like a damn fool, I underestimated Targent. I-I couldn't bear it, knowing I simply allowed it to happen. And so...I killed off Desmond Sycamore too..."

"So you felt guilty about your family dying in your place?" asked Edgeworth. "Was that truly enough to drive you to devise these elaborate plots?"

"Yes," Sycamore whispered, the tears sliding down his face. "I'd lost family once before. But this time...it was...it was even worse this time."

"How so?"

"I..." The man lowered his head slightly, his brow furrowing. "I can feel it...this...constant, gaping hole in my heart..." He brought a hand to the middle of his chest as if to demonstrate. "The pain...the longing. The regrets. They linger...no matter what I do. Ten years. It's been ten years... yet I can't move on. I was building a life...we were building a life together..." More tears trailed down his cheeks as he trembled. "In an instant, it was gone-" The lenses of his glasses started to fog up, and he took them off, wiping away tears on the sleeve of his jacket before returning the frames to his face. "Their bodies were badly burned, too, so I couldn't even see them one last time. Anna would have wanted me to save Millie, yet I failed to do even that..." He sniffled and kept his eyes down, his face having become noticeably red.

"Losing a parent...that was painful enough, but to lose a child...how does one even begin to mend? I didn't know what to do, so...I lashed out, and blamed others for the family I lost. But no matter how much I plotted, no matter how many masks I wore, I couldn't hide...from the fact that I had...I had let- them- die-" His chest began to heave, his own words strangling him. Fresh tears appeared as he looked on in despair. "I asked myself...time and time again...why? Why didn't I move them after Targent threatened me? Why didn't I return home earlier? Why didn't I just...say...yes...to Targent? With my refusal, I sealed their fates. Anna, the woman to whom I promised forever. Five years...that was all I could give. I still remember how she smiled at me when I spoke of my studies. She could not have cared less about archaeology, but I always had her support. She was so gracious, so patient and understanding...and she always made the best of any situation. I still recall her embrace when we last parted...how her face felt in these hands, her lips pressed against mine. How her perfume lingered hours later. Even now, when I wake at night, I turn, expecting to see her at my side. And Millie...I'll...always...remember...those little footprints on the beach, her little hand in mine. How every sign of wildlife that day was new and wondrous to her. I...I always looked forward...to her telling me about her day. Those moments grew rare...as I worked longer and longer hours."

Sycamore sounded exhausted at this point, drained of the strength it took to hide just how broken he truly was. "Still, I always made time...to listen, to hear about her dreams. She had so many dreams. She dreamt of becoming a world famous painter, or a costume designer for masquerade balls. But mostly...she dreamt of embarking on adventures with friends, just as the girl from her favorite film had done. She would have traveled to other lands...when she was older. But now...she will never grow up in this world..." With that, the man brought a hand to his face and quietly wept.

"Poor Mr. Sycamore..." Maya murmured, the expression of sympathy nearly lost in the wave of whispers coming from the audience.

When the noise had subsided, Edgeworth spoke, firmly but softly. "Thank you, Mr. Sycamore, for sharing the truth with us today. I realize this has been most difficult for you."

"Oh..." The judge cautiously turned to the defense. "Mr. Wright? Er, do you...have anything else to ask your client?"

"Uh...w-well..." Phoenix looked back and forth between Sycamore and the judge. "Your Honor," he finally said. "I would like to request a twenty minute recess to allow my client to compose himself."

"Y-yes," the judge responded. "I believe that would be best. Let us reconvene in twenty minutes. Mr. Sycamore...no one can change the past, but I hope you will find some peace and comfort in this time."