Chapter 33
Facio ut Facias
Damon Gant exited the elevator on the twelfth floor and sauntered through the corridor toward the Chief Prosecutor's office. He was grinning broadly and puffing out his chest—the better to show off his garish new suit—after all it was a great day. A red-letter day. The looks thrown his way as he passed only fed his desire for attention. Never mind what these slimy little lawyers were saying—he had won the day.
He rapped on Lana's door with his knuckles and entered without waiting for her to acknowledge. He found her smoothing her skirt and sitting back down—having just stood to let him in.
"Damon," she said with a forced smile and a tone better suited to reprimand, "To what do we owe the pleasure?"
Damon locked her door behind him and plopped onto her leather sofa and leaned back, resting right ankle on his left knee.
"Cheer up kiddo—this'll be fun!" He said grinning.
"Em," Lana said, "I saw Starr was let go."
"It had to happen," Damon said and his smile faded, "Marshall went home to bury his brother."
Lana looked away from him. So, she was still infatuated with that idiot detective, he rubbed his chin thoughtfully—time will let it fade.
"Time and maybe a little effort to hide him away…" he muttered under his breath.
"What was that?" Lana said.
He sat up and cleared his throat, "Tell me, how are you fitting in?"
"As well as can be," Lana said, "And as you'd expect, a lot of the more senior prosecutors aren't very enthused about my appointment."
"Just stick to Manfred, nobody knows this business like he does," Damon glanced at his fingernails.
"Him especially," Lana said, "Pretty much the only prosecutor who isn't giving me grief is Edgeworth."
"Hm," Damon snorted absently.
"You can do this," he said and stood, "I'm going to have a chat with Manfred. You know where to find me if you need anything."
With that, he departed her office and strutted back down the corridor past the elevators and into the High Prosecutor's Office. The door was already open so he went in and looked around. No sign of Von Karma—but the kid was there. Damon grinned and approached Manfred Von Karma's desk. Miles Edgeworth was standing to one side of it pulling case files from the shelf.
"May I help you?" Edgeworth said, but those gray eyes weren't quite so welcoming. He added the file he was holding to the stack on the desk then straightened and crossed his arms.
"I was looking for Manfred," Damon said and he couldn't help smiling at the young man's stance.
"I'm sorry," Edgeworth said, "Mister Von Karma isn't here."
Damon stared wistfully at the young man's face—he'd grown up to be very handsome—and still, the smooth cheek and the gray eyes made almost translucent by the sunlight streaming in through the window pointed to the boy he'd remembered.
"He didn't say when he'd be back," Edgeworth said probably taking Damon's silence as a request for elaboration.
"I've got time," Damon said, and he pulled one of the heavy leather chairs away from Von Karma's desk and sat down. Edgeworth didn't even spare him a look before returning to his chore. Damon watched him, fascinated.
'Put me down,' large gray eyes, lashes stuck together—still wet from his tears—the boy looked determined in spite of his recent emotion, 'I'm not a little kid.'
'Oh all right,' Damon had told him smiling as he set the skinny little boy on his feet. Miles Edgeworth stared up at him, knobby knees poking out at the bottoms of his shorts, socks pulled up over his calves, a little clip-on bow tie at the throat of his button down shirt.
"You know," Edgeworth said interrupting his reverie, "There's a visitor's room in the prosecution lobby—on the ninth floor."
"Thank you," Damon said, "But I'm fine right here."
Edgeworth faced him and scratched at his hairline, suddenly looking a little flustered, "It's just that…"
"Don't worry about me—Manfred and I are old friends."
"He prefers not to keep his office unlocked when he's not here—I have to lock up."
"Edgeworth? Is it?"
"Yes, and you're Detective Gant—"
"Police Chief," Damon corrected.
"That's right…" Edgeworth paused, "Congratulations on your appointment."
"Thank you," Damon grinned, "I was starting to think you'd forgotten who I was."
Edgeworth gave him a dark look, "You were involved in the Joe Darke investigation.."
Damon frowned as Edgeworth walked out of the office with an armload of case files. He glared around the office, heavy imposing furniture crowded the space. The massive desk sparse, save for a small desk organizer with pens and other accoutrements necessary for an office. The computer was shoved to one side looking abandoned.
Edgeworth entered the office again without the case files, but there was a touch of pink on his cheeks. He glanced at Damon once before piling together another load of case files. Damon smiled at Edgeworth's back—he had on a pair of magenta slacks with a very unflattering pleat at his narrow hips. But his black vest clung garishly to angles of his body, the crisp white shirt ballooned at the sleeves and it bunched at the bottom of the vest where his movements had caused the garment to rise.
"I could give you a hand," Damon said. Edgeworth looked up at him as if only just remembering he'd been sitting there.
"Um," Edgeworth said and Damon grinned at his hesitation, "Very good. That way I lock the office."
Damon grabbed up the remaining case files and watched Edgeworth put on his jacket before picking up his load. There was a pause for Edgeworth to lock the door and then he led Damon toward the stairwell.
The tenth floor had several open workspaces for paralegals, interns—whatever the DA needed to keep running—Damon didn't work here. Several closed offices stood at the periphery and Edgeworth led Damon toward one of them.
The office was cramped and windowless. It was spare with only the bare necessities to call it an office, and tidy save for the stacked files and books. Damon was still studying the room when his eyes fell on Edgeworth.
"Please excuse the clutter, I'm quite busy as you can see."
"A bit of light reading?" Damon said.
"If you go down one level you'll see reception—they can point you toward the visitor's area. They'll also be able to notify you upon Mister Von Karma's return."
"I'd rather stay here with you," Damon said.
"Hmm," Edgeworth said, "I'd rather you didn't Chief Gant."
Damon smiled, the kid was getting nervous—he didn't want to push his luck.
"I'll see you around, then Edgeworth," and he went back up to bother Chief Skye.
He finally caught Manfred Von Karma in the garage after he'd given up and decided to leave. Von Karma had just arrived and was distracted in removing his briefcase from a late model Mercedes Benz.
"Manfred," Damon boomed at him from his end of the parking garage.
"What are you doing here Gant? This area is for Prosecutors only."
Damon grinned, "I know people."
"Hmph," Von Karma said, "This place is falling apart."
"Actually, I was here to call on you," he clapped, "Aren't you lucky?"
"What do you need now?"
"Shush, Manny," Damon said approaching near enough to clap Von Karma's shoulder, "You don't need to take that tone of voice with me."
"Really Detective," Von Karma said, "I really must get to the office."
"Ah—Chief of Police, if you please Manny," Damon said, "You're right, you should get to your office, you haven't been in all day."
"I had a trial this morning," Von Karma said, "Some of us have to maintain the status quo."
"I see," Damon grinned, "Well, I am truly sorry for implying that you weren't doing something constructive for the district. You should train the brat to pass on proper information."
"Did Edgeworth tell you otherwise?" Von Karma sighed and set his briefcase on the floor, "He's been distracted lately."
Damon let out his booming laugh, "I like him, Manfred. He's a very nice kid—Little Worthy."
"One more time," Manfred said and crossed his arms, "What do you need?"
"I thought we could go upstairs," Damon said—suddenly serious, "Somewhere less… public."
"I don't have time for your games Gant," Von Karma said.
"Trust me Manny, I'm not here for games."
"Get on with it or good day!"
"What do you think of Lana Skye?"
"Really, Gant? You came here—to me—to advocate for your little puppet?"
"I'd appreciate it if you helped the kid out—show her the ropes."
"I am not going to validate your obvious machinations by training your imbed as well."
"I thought we were friends Manny? What are friends for?"
"I don't think so, Gant. This little move was the last straw."
"You know, I've always liked working with you Manfred—I find your methods very… Efficient. A wonderful complement to my own labors. I'd hate to see this symbiosis dissolve for no good reason."
"Then put me in her place," Manfred said, "She can work her way up from a more reasonable position."
"I like my girl more than I like you. I like her where she's at. I can always find someone more… malleable… if you're ready to retire."
"What exactly are you insinuating, Gant?" Manfred said meeting his eye.
"Nothing," Damon said grinning, "Be nice to my girl, Manny."
He knocked once and entered, grinning when he saw Lana standing as if to answer the door.
"Lana," he bellowed excitedly, she flinched and stared up at him like a rabbit in a cage.
"Good morning, Damon," she said, "I wasn't expecting a visit so soon after—"
"Do you have good news?"
"Uh… Well, nothing terrible has happened—since the thing with Von Karma…"
"I'm talking about Edgeworth," Damon said glaring at her over the top of his tinted glasses, "Were you able to… secure his cooperation—"
"No Damon," Lana said looking worried, "But not for lack of trying. He's not exactly receptive to my—um—persuasion…"
Damon raised an eyebrow, "You said you had everything under control."
"Well," she said rubbing her forehead, "I feel like I have a good working relationship with him… I feel like he trusts me—at least in that regard."
"Lana, Lana, Lana… Sweetheart… I need a High Prosecutor I can work with. Worthy's got his nose buried so deep in regulations, half my detectives are afraid to work with him. I need something to control him with…"
"He's just not…" Lana began, "I don't think he'll ever consider a relationship with a superior—it's blatantly unethical… I mean, since he was indicted in the Hammond trial, the rumors are circulating more openly—but I don't even think that bothers him. Edgeworth is a stone. An island."
Damon started to laugh, "You've been sitting here too long Lana. You're starting to get soft—and lawyer-ish…"
"I am a lawyer now, Damon."
"What if I hire someone to 'distract' him a bit?"
"I don't think that's going to work either…"
"What is he? A virgin? Is he gay? Maybe we've been taking the wrong approach…"
"Damon, why don't we just ease off of him, and try to work around him instead? Edgeworth might be a stickler for procedure, but he isn't incorruptible. Even just taking into consideration his proximity to Von Karma is enough to taint him. I mean—you do hear folks talking, don't you? I don't think we should be worried about Edgeworth at all…"
"What about Payne?"
"He's so blinded by his ambition and envy, I think he'll do anything I ask him without question."
"So tell me again why you made Edgeworth the High Prosecutor?"
Lana glared at him for a moment, "I don't have the experience to run this department… Edgeworth is the most knowledgeable prosecutor I have in this district—despite his relative inexperience. We need to keep some semblance of order if you want to keep this going."
"Hmm," Damon said, "I can take care of him myself…"
"Damon," Lana said, "I'm glad you dropped by though, I do have some distressing news."
Damon gave her a dark look, "Distressing news?"
"Yeah," Lana said, "an inter-department memo was sent out this morning via e-mail…"
"In regard to what?"
"Our annual spring cleaning—Evidence transferral…"
Damon shrugged, "I'm concerned about it this year because—why?"
"SL-9 is on that list," Lana said.
"What? Already? Who authorized that memo?"
Lana glared at him for a moment, "Damon this is why I always tell you to read your e-mails. You authorized that memo. I haven't had the chance yet to sanitize the documents related to that case."
"Who's case was that?"
Lana looked at him incredulously, "Prosecutor Edgeworth's…"
"Is he in? Let me go talk to him," Damon said.
"He's not in today," Lana said, "His sister is visiting and she leaves tomorrow… So I let him take some personal time—ordered him to."
"That might be what saves us," Damon said.
"Hmm, maybe," Lana said unconvinced.
"Don't give me that snooty little attitude, girly," Damon said, "I've been telling you to get Edgeworth under control for months."
Lana crossed her arms stubbornly.
"Do you have access to his office?"
"Yes," she said, "Just the main door. I won't have access to his desk or his safe."
"We better see what we can find," Damon said.
Damon saw it sitting in the parking lot in front of the police department. He couldn't believe his eyes, he had to back up and look again. An Alfa Romeo GTV—2001 GTV Cup Limited Edition —in pristine condition… There were less than two hundred of these cars ever made.
Damon slid his sunglasses away from his face and stared a moment longer. He wanted to go up and touch it. He continued toward his own parking space located within an enclosed parking area with a separate entrance into the building.
But Damon decided not to enter through the back. After parking he walked back out toward the main entrance to the building to look at the little car in the parking lot. The driver had a parking pass—so he was city employee. Interesting, that a city employee could afford a car like that. Damon smiled and rubbed his chin.
It took a lot of willpower to turn his attention—and his steps—back toward the building. One more glance at the parking lot before he passed through the sliding glass doors.
"Good morning Chief!" the security officer greeted him—the young man looked startled to see the Police Chief enter through the main entrance.
Damon swaggered through the corridors and onto the open work floor of the Criminal Affairs Department—his old stomping ground.
"Chief," a couple of detectives greeted as they passed him.
Damon nodded at them—but gave no other acknowledgement. He did, however, something that definitely needed an acknowledgement…
"Gumshoe!"
"Chief!" Gumshoe nearly jumped up from his chair, "Morning Pal—uh… Chief. How 'bout those Dodgers?"
"Are you browsing the internet, detective?"
"Uh… Yeah Chief," Gumshoe grinned stupidly up at him.
"This part of your investigation?"
"Well," Gumshoe said, "Kinda…"
Damon shoved the detective over and looked at the screen, "The SPCA? What does this have to do with—"
"It's a dog, pal," Gumshoe said, sliding his rolling chair over to reclaim the computer.
"A dog?"
"The culprit," Gumshoe said, "and I got a lead that he's already landed in the dog house."
"What are you really up to?"
Gumshoe looked at him frowning, "I was just… I have a friend that lives alone, and I don't think he likes it… So I thought I'd find a dog for him…"
"A dog?"
Gumshoe nodded.
"For your friend?"
"Yeah pal—I mean Chief," Gumshoe said, "I had a few minutes to spare and my internet got turned off again… so… so I…"
"So you used government resources to help your 'friend' while taxpayers basically gave up their wages to pay you to waste time…"
"Huh…" Gumshoe said, "Yeah… I guess…"
Damon shook his head and stood to walk away, "Why don't you get to work Gumshoe? You're single-handedly ruining this department's reputation."
"Sorry, Chief," Gumshoe said.
Damon turned in the direction of his office—but he paused when he heard that haughty baritone ring out across the work floor…
"Gumshoe, stop playing around, let's go."
Damon turned to see Edgeworth approaching Gumshoe's desk with a file under his arm. The young prosecutor looked harried—there was subtle blush over his nose and cheeks and his hair stood up in places—and despite the climate controlled interior of the building, he was wearing a raincoat over his suit.
"Worthy!" Damon said and grinned. Edgeworth looked up to meet his eye but didn't answer.
"Take care Chief!" Gumshoe said as he lumbered after Edgeworth.
Damon turned to follow them and stopped them in the corridor just outside the glass doors of the criminal affairs division.
"Edgeworth," Damon said, "Where're you off to in such a hurry?"
"Chief Gant," Edgeworth said by way of greeting, he made a show of checking his obnoxious watch, "I've a meeting to get to, but I was going to drop Detective Gumshoe at his crime scene."
Gumshoe was nodding emphatically at what Edgeworth said—grinning when the prosecutor mentioned his name.
"Was there something you needed, Chief?" Edgeworth finished in a tone that said he didn't really want to stay and chat.
Damon grinned—oh, yeah… That made a lot of sense… "Edgeworth, you don't happen to know who drives that little Alfa out in the parking lot, do you?"
Edgeworth's expression changed suddenly and he smiled a little, "The red GTV?"
Damon grinned, "Is that one of the GTV Cup Specials from 2001?"
"Number 146," Edgeworth said and his smile widened, "I didn't know you were that interested in European sports cars, Chief."
Damon shrugged, "That's a race car, Worthy… Where the hell did you find one in that condition?"
"Oh, well," Edgeworth said, "I'm the original owner."
"It's a 2001…"
"My Aunt bought it for me as a Christmas present… When I was nine."
"I'm not going to ask—I don't think I'd understand… I don't suppose you'd let me take a spin—"
"Perhaps," Edgeworth said, "as a passenger."
"Have you had a chance to take her out on a course—maybe over at the old airfield…?"
"No," Edgeworth said, "But I've… Well, I don't think I should be telling the Chief of Police how fast I drive…"
Damon slapped Edgeworth on the shoulder so hard the kid almost dropped his files, he laughed enthusiastically at Edgeworth's little joke. The prosecutor blushed a little and checked his fancy watch.
"We have to get going, sir," Edgeworth said.
"Gumshoe, don't do anything to ruin that passenger seat," Damon said—still laughing.
Gumshoe looked lost, but he nodded, "Uh… Sure, Chief…"
"At least he keeps it organized in here," Damon said pulling the files off of the shelf in groups of four and five.
"Please, Damon," Lana said, "He can't know that anyone's done this. Edgeworth can be as paranoid as Von Karma, sometimes."
Damon grunted in annoyance and joined Lana on the divan and began to thumb through the old cases. He glared at the rest of the room, in spite of the large piles of case files stacked haphazardly around the room, they kept it as Edgeworth had left it. Tidy, pristine—kind of like the prosecutor himself.
"So what part of these are we actually looking for?" Lana said, "I thought you had the evidence squared away."
"I need the prosecution's case. We need to make sure it's clean before it gets reviewed."
"Most of these are very old," Lana said setting aside another large file, "Von Karma's cases. These were put together by Faraday. Why does he have these—"
"Neil Marshall," Damon said, "I remember some of these cases—investigating them."
"I don't think we're looking in the right place," Lana said, "None of these cases were put together by Edgeworth—so far at least. He's got to have them squirreled away somewhere else."
"Heh, do you remember this?" Damon slid the oversized binder he was flipping through onto her lap and grinned, "Serenade Bridge—"
"Damon this isn't the time for reminiscence. What if he comes in while we've got all of these spread on the floor?"
"Bah," Damon said and shut the binder with a snap, "It's after four. If he was coming in he'd have come in sooner. Besides that e-mail was sent today, he probably hasn't seen it yet."
"Hmm. I don't think it's too far fetched to assume he checks his e-mail at home."
Damon stood up and started bundling together the files they'd already gone through and placing them on the shelf. Lana thumbed through another binder pausing in her perusal to read through a few case summaries.
"If there was something you needed, you might've just asked," they both froze; no one had heard him come in, probably because Edgeworth never used the elevator.
Miles Edgeworth stood just inside the door to his office, arms crossed and jaw clenched. His calm anger in startling contrast to the checkered shorts and fuchsia golf shirt he was wearing with a pair of brown leather boat shoes.
"Miles," Lana said. Damon grinned.
"What's the meaning of this?" Edgeworth said.
"Miles," Lana said, "You've got the largest library of case files in the building, we just needed to…"
Edgeworth's glare left the Chief Prosecutor and flew to the Police Chief, "You don't even work here."
Damon grinned and let go of the files he was returning to the shelf, letting them slide so that they lay haphazardly. He moved immediately to tower over the young man. He wasn't very much taller than Edgeworth, but he had much more bulk than him—and most of that was solid muscle. It was like a deer facing off against a rhinoceros. Edgeworth didn't move from where he was standing. He hadn't even flinched at Damon's sudden approach.
Damon hesitated; shocked that the young prosecutor seemed unfazed by his presence. Edgeworth shook his head and his hands moved to his hips, then he put his head down and pulled off his sunglasses.
"This is appalling…" Edgeworth said still calm, he looked up at Damon directly. Edgeworth's eyes were slightly bloodshot and it made him look a little wild. Damon started to laugh.
"Ho," he said pausing to catch his breath after his booming outburst, "Little Worthy, I thought you were on leave?"
Damon turned to look at Lana. Edgeworth didn't answer but his eyes started moving around the room assessing the damage.
"Like I said," Lana repeated, "I am the Chief Prosecutor, and we needed access to your archive—I am perfectly in my right."
Edgeworth folded his sunglasses and stuck them in the collar of his shirt, "Why didn't you call? I would've found your case for you in a matter of seconds."
Damon grinned while Edgeworth's gaze swept the room again, "You didn't have to tear the place apart."
Edgeworth stepped past him and moved to look at the files on the shelf, "You've gone and mixed them up too."
Damon caught Lana's eye; he couldn't stop smiling. Edgeworth was already stacking files together using some method of organization that seemed only to make sense to him. Lana stood and followed Damon into the hall. He pulled Edgeworth's door closed and pushed her up against the wall beside it.
"Damon."
"Don't say anything," he whispered harshly at her, "You've already failed a couple of times. That was a very close call."
"Damon, what are you—"
"I'm just going to talk to him," Damon said, "He's picking sides today."
"Don't hurt—"
"I'm just going to talk to him," Damon said and gave her a slight shove in the direction of her office. He turned and entered Edgeworth's office again. Damon locked the door behind him.
Edgeworth looked at him and shook his head as if reprimanding a child. Damon grinned.
"Something from Prosecutor Marshall?" Edgeworth asked.
"Actually," Damon said as he walked up to stand just behind Edgeworth, "We were looking for one of your cases."
"Mine?" Edgeworth turned to look at Damon directly, "Unfortunately, I don't keep those here."
Damon laughed, "Oh Worthy, always such a clever boy."
Edgeworth was staring at the files with disappointment; then he paused and checked his watch, "I have an engagement—I suppose these will have to lie put until tomorrow. Which case were you looking for? I can have it sent to Chief Skye in the morning."
"Edgeworth," Damon said.
"Chief?"
"What did you come in for?"
"What?" Edgeworth turned to face him with a frown, "Now, it seems I've quite forgotten what I came in for."
"Interesting," Damon said.
"Hmm," Edgeworth said, "Well, I wouldn't want to be late. So I must ask you to leave the office so I can lock up."
Damon smirked down at him, "Why bother? Obviously others have keys for this room."
"Chief Gant," Edgeworth said, "Please leave my office."
Damon grinned down at the young man. He tugged at Edgeworth's boldly colored golf-shirt. The material was thin—one of those breathable, stay-dry plastics, that everyone wore now a days, "What is this Edgeworth? A day at the beach?"
"No," Edgeworth said, "Golf."
Damon laughed, "and right in the middle of your game—where were you Worthy, nine? Eleven?"
"I didn't play today," Edgeworth said, "I just felt like driving."
"Oh you felt like driving? And right in the middle of that—whacking those little balls –you felt the need to swing by the office."
Edgeworth shrugged, "What difference does it make to you, Chief?"
Damon laughed out loud. Edgeworth raised an eyebrow.
"I like this look on you, kid—casual but arrogant in its own way—it suits you."
Edgeworth answered him with a glare. Haughty little prick…
"You got nice legs Worthy, like a dancer," Damon continued as he closed in on the prosecutor, "Do you dance?"
"That's quite enough of that, sir," Edgeworth said, "Now, it's getting to be rather late in the afternoon, I'm sure the both of us have other places to be. If you would be so kind, Chief Gant…"
"You're my friend aren't you, Worthy?"
Edgeworth's brow twitched but he gave no other response.
"I know that I can ask my friends a favor, if I need one."
Silence.
Damon put a hand on Edgeworth's shoulder—the kid nearly jumped—ah so that's what it took.
"My friends always help me out," Damon said, "So I take care of them."
Edgeworth tried to shrug out of his grasp but Damon only clasped his taught little shoulder more tightly. Their eyes met, and he was pleasantly surprised to find a little bit of shock in those pale eyes. Damon grinned at him, tracing his collarbone beneath that shirt to where it brought him back to that hollow at the base of his throat. Edgeworth was frozen and stiff. Damon brought his face close to Edgeworth's—the kid smelled like sunscreen.
Suddenly Edgeworth threw up his arms, knocking away Damon's hold on him and walked casually toward his door. Damon followed, just as casually. He didn't chase—no sense in scaring the kid any more than he already was. Edgeworth glanced once at him over his shoulder and reached out to open the door. He hesitated—only just realizing it was locked.
Damon grinned.
Edgeworth turned to face him, his back against the door. The kid was glaring hard at him. Damon wanted to laugh. He started to clap slowly.
"Ah," Damon said his voice breathy with barely controlled laughter, "Worthy, Worthy, Worthy... You're going to help out your friend, aren't you?"
"I don't..."
"So SL-9 was your case, wasn't it?"
"SL-9?" Edgeworth repeated nervously.
Damon laughed again, "You're prettier than most women I know."
Edgeworth's glare froze and he shoved past Damon and walked back toward his desk.
"There's nothing I can help you with, Chief," Edgeworth said.
"It's part of our clean-up this year," Damon said.
"I know," Edgeworth said, "I saw your memo."
Damon laughed out loud. Edgeworth seemed like he was trying very hard to avoid his gaze.
"I want those files," Damon said.
"I don't have them," Edgeworth said.
"I gathered that after you'd said you kept your own case files somewhere else. But I need—"
"You misunderstand me," Edgeworth said, "I handed those files off."
This time the Damon glared, "You handed them off? To who—"
Edgeworth met his eye finally and seemed to scrutinize him.
"Whom," Edgeworth said.
Damon walked up to Edgeworth's desk and slammed his heavy fist against the polished surface, "Who has them?"
Edgeworth shook his head and made as if he was going to open the drawers behind his desk, "It's... I gave them to your people... I don't know why they wanted them, but as I was expecting them to be archived anyway, I didn't see anything wrong—"
"Who did you give them to!" Damon slammed the desk again. Edgeworth flinched.
"Goodman," Edgeworth said.
Damon stood slowly and took a step away from Edgeworth's desk. The young prosecutor was glaring hard at him.
"Did Goodman..." Damon crossed his arms, "Why did he ask for those files?"
Edgeworth shrugged giving his ridiculous hair a slight flip, "He didn't say."
Damon was at a loss. He opened his mouth to speak and then hesitated. Did Edgeworth know? Did Goodman? Edgeworth was poking at his phone.
"Is that—" Damon began, "That's not something you do on a regular basis—just hand your case files to the detectives..."
"No," Edgeworth said and shoved his phone back into his pocket, "I don't usually do that. But then, they don't usually ask."
Damon studied the young man. He seemed to have perked up with a little confidence. Damon gritted his teeth and then lunged over the desk toward Edgeworth. He caught the young man by the shoulders. In his shock, Edgeworth did not fight him.
"What are you plotting?" Damon said.
"Unhand me you—?"
"You are not innocent," Damon said, "Don't think I won't let your secrets out!"
He felt Edgeworth tense in his hands. The prosecutor grimaced, "Are you threatening me?"
"I can ruin you, boy!"
Edgeworth seemed to regain his bearing and pulled away from him. His gray eyes wide and his brow furrowed.
"Don't think you can stay above this," Damon said composing himself, "Now, what did Goodman tell you?"
Edgeworth dropped into his chair and put his face in his hands. Damon smiled and drew himself up as he crossed his arms over his massive chest.
A/N: Thanks for Reading! Title: I do, that you may do. [I'll do something for you, so you can do something for me]
Yo Dawg! I heard you liked flashbacks—so I put a flashback in your flashback so you could flashback while you flashback.
The first is a couple weeks after SL-9. Miles is 21 or 22.
Second flashback is from around the same time as the first—just a different day.
Were you worried that Mile? I know I was..
Damon Gant's POV—in case you weren't sure.
July 11 2015- Major change. I took out the assault and left it as a verbal threat. One, I needed there to be some kind of negative interaction between Edgeworth and Gant, but the original scene was a little gratuitous. So I toned it way down. Because of this, there will be major changes in some of the later chapters to reflect the removal of that interaction. Still have Gant antagonizing Edgeworth, and ultimately this fits in better with my climax.
But enough about that—Let's press on so you can see for yourself!