Miles Edgeworth didn't, in reality, like the Christmas season.
It was cold, wet, and damp; he preferred heat and warmth.
It was snowy; he was more used to the hot, extremely sunny weather around his area.

It was happy and jolly; he had no reason to be. Especially since, in this very month, his father had been murdered and therefore taken away from him for good.
But he didn't want to think about that.

Miles' dislike of Christmas and his rather workaholic tendencies went hand-in-hand in December as, much like the harsh wind and cold forced people into donning coats, hats and scarves, all the parts of Christmas that annoyed him increased his drive to work even harder- and he fell into the habit of working late hours and arriving back home, exhausted, the following morning.

Miles particularly enjoyed his long working hours; he concluded that not only would he be able to get many things done that could cause him great stress and pressure were they left late and have an excuse to finally be alone for once, but he could also drink much more tea than usual and also catch up on Season 8 of The Steel Samurai: Warrior of Neo Olde Tokyo, which he had recently bought on DVD the previous week. As confusing and hilarious as it may seem, Miles loved The Steel Samurai and tended to accidentally blurt out things related to the show that clearly showed his deep interest in it, and so any chance he got to watch it was a well-earned one.

At ten o' clock precisely on the 7th of December, Miles' red sports car pulled up into an empty parking space of the parking lot at the Prosecutor's Offices. Miles made his way up to office 1202 which on the mahogany door bore the plaque, 'High Prosecutor's Office, 1202- Miles Edgeworth', opening the door gently to find nothing out of place. With a sigh of relief he crossed the room to his desk, sitting down at it and immediately beginning to start, with a sharp HB pencil in hand, to work on a case file from a case he was to prosecute in three weeks' time.

It was a surprise, therefore, to find a stuttering secretary deliver a package to him ten minutes later. Opening it, Miles found a hardback copy of 'A Christmas Carol' by Charles Dickens and a note which read the following:

Hey, Miles, I found this in the bookstore while I was shopping for presents. I thought it'd be nice for an early Christmas present for you, and there's a certain likeness between you and the main character. It would suit you.
Have a nice day, and don't stay up too late doing paperwork, OK? I don't know how you manage two hours of the stuff but trust me, it's too much for anyone if you stay up till midnight doing it.

It will be good to see you again, Edgeworth- outside of the courtroom, I mean.
Best wishes,

Phoenix.

Miles didn't know whether to be touched at Phoenix's gift or offended that he had been compared to Ebenezer Scrooge, of all fictional characters to be compared to, and so decided to think upon the latter.

After a moment of thinking, Miles understood Phoenix's statement; it was a known fact that he didn't like Christmas and that he loved to work. He also was a little hard on his assistant, and didn't like what he didn't know or wasn't sure of…in fact, Miles definitely understood where Phoenix had come from.

…Well, this is certainly awkward. If the similarities are that noticeable…

Miles resolved to change Phoenix's mind. Yes, he still didn't like Christmas and he wasn't going to change his opinion anytime soon, but he did like one aspect of Christmas- that everyone did something and all came together in some sort of unity. For example, he often thought about how one earth his and Adrian's combined efforts managed to persuade Franziska- perhaps the most Scrooge-like person he knew- to celebrate Christmas this year, but it was nonetheless nice to see that everyone- him, Adrian, Franziska, Detective Gumshoe, Maggey, Phoenix, Maya, Pearl and many others- were all celebrating Christmas.

It made him feel a little bit better about participating in something he wasn't all that fond of.

Now a little more relaxed, he picked up the book and flipped to the first page of the story, skipping the introduction entirely and becoming slowly absorbed in it, smiling as he read the first sentences that he was all so familiar with:

'Marley was dead to begin with. There is no doubt whatever about that…'