Chapter 36

Vultures

It had been a whirlwind summer—hotels and jet lag—halls of learning—courts of law—and always a precedent. Miles was tired—they'd never travelled for quite so long; almost three months. It might be the kind of summer one tucks away in their journals or their deepest memories. The kind one recalls decades later in stories around a fire, or at a gathering.

But not when your travelling companion is an angry and crotchety old man. Miles had never really seen Mister Von Karma from this perspective, his irritability, his social lack and his flaws. People didn't like him. Many of them did things to get him to be quiet or leave.

They spent their days at universities or courthouses. There were books, trials, and debates and discussions to be had. This was the first time Miles had spoken up in a discussion—this one a discourse on the International Criminal Court and certain states declination to become states parties to the statutes of the court—and made an impression on the dusty old legislators and judges in attendance. Mister Von Karma had grown angry with him—probably because they had differing opinions on the Lotus Principle and rights of one nation to judge the actions of citizens of another—because he'd dared to speak his opinion.

Mister Von Karma should have been happy, right? After all, what had he been groomed for if not to embody the principles of all aspects of law—to uncover truth and contribute to the triumph of justice? Maybe he was still too young and idealistic to understand.

Nights were in a way the most terrible—Miles had grown used to the short hops, three days here; a week there; overnight up north—but this was nearly three full months. He was always torn those nights that summer. He was sixteen, after all. Mister Von Karma expected him to study at night and go to bed early so he could wake up early. Though only a week or two into the trip, Miles learned that Mister Von Karma didn't wake up so early.

They started in Munich so Miles could attend summer studies there for the first several weeks. He shared a flat with Mister Von Karma—but they saw little of each other while Miles was in class and Mister Von Karma seemed to be very occupied in the city.

He'd never really been allowed very much autonomy—not since he left the International School—and he was much younger than most of the others in the program. Aside from what he was learning in school, there was very little stimulation or socialization. Miles was quite accustomed to that and had no complaints for the first week or two.

Then he met Sofie. Sofie was a freshman at LMU, eighteen years old with honey-blonde hair and a wide disarming smile that accompanied the kind of eyes one could dive into and drown in. He accidentally dropped a book on her. She'd called him a few names, and Miles was never the same after that.

Despite his reservations, Miles took advantage of Mister Von Karma's absences to see Sofie. It was his first time exploring the very idea of independence.

Miles was very shy at first—he been conditioned to avoid this kind of contact with the rest of the world. At sixteen he'd been cursed with a thin, lank build—the kind that only seemed to attract fat mothers and old women who always wanted to give him cookies. But somehow he'd managed to befriend Sofie.

The month spent in Munich passed too quickly. They'd moved on to three other locations before Mister Von Karma began to notice Miles' subtle shift in mood. The yearning and the bittersweet pain of young love—and he asked Miles directly. Miles would never lie to Mister Von Karma.

The rest of the trip was shrouded in a dark curtain of barely disguised hatred or jealousy or something. So when Miles spent his nights alone in whatever hotel they'd landed in, pining after the first girl who ever thought he was good enough to kiss, while studying some meandering treatise on international law or the latest interpretation of constitutional rights in Sheng Fa, Mister Von Karma was drowning some simmering hatred or jealousy or something in the hotel bar with whatever fellow traveler he'd met.

But monotonous nights and overzealous studying didn't make that summer traumatic. Miles had learned to be very good at pushing away the things that made him upset or uncomfortable. Even the nightmares he still endured almost every night, were but a private burden for him and him alone.

He never really remembered if they were in Belgium or France—fast on their way home. The hotel they were staying in was an historic one and there were cobbles in the streets and though the lamps were electric, they were made to look like real gas lamps. They'd been there for a day or two—Miles remembered sitting in on a criminal trial in one of the area's small local courts. He remembered vividly too that Mister Von Karma was angry with him, but he couldn't remember what for.

The old man had entered his room for a moment in the evening, to let him know that he would be downstairs, and Miles had been left to the company of his books. After several hours, the phone in his room rang and an attendant from the hotel told him in French that he could barely understand that he needed to come downstairs and collect his father.

Miles was already troubled before he'd arrived. Mister Von Karma was sitting on a bench in the hotel lobby—having been placed there to end some altercation that had occurred. Miles could read that sad story easily by the sound of laughter coming from the bar and the purpling bruise on his mentor's cheek. His hair and his clothes were roughed up.

Miles didn't speak to him only offered his thin shoulder and an arm. He struggled a bit to pull the man into a standing position and they made their way slowly and awkwardly toward their rooms.

While they walked Mister Von Karma talked about Silke. His Silke who was perfect in every way. Silke was Adelheid's mother, and she would've been the mother of his son if she hadn't been murdered for the handful of Marks she had in her purse. Miles remembered feeling like a voyeur while the story was told to him. That wasn't something he should be privy to. It wasn't something he wanted to be privy to.

Once inside his hotel room, Mister Von Karma wouldn't let Miles leave. He took Miles' arm and held fast—and Miles was frightened because the man was drunk and barely coherent.

He yanked at Miles until he fell over and dragged him into a confining embrace. His breath stank and he smelled like sweat. Miles struggled to pull away from him.

"You are mine," Mister Von Karma said, "Mine!"

Miles struggled harder against those cloistering arms. The harder he fought the more tightly Mister Von Karma held him. Miles was at least as tall as the old man but he was still a boy, and all of his angles and bones were no match for the strength of a grown man. Mister Von Karma had flipped himself, crushing Miles into the floor.

Miles found himself gripped in a cold panic, he stopped fighting and stared into Mister Von Karma's pale eyes. They were rimmed red and watering from exertion and drink. His breath, dank and putrid and amplified with the vapor of liquor puffed into Miles' face—adding to his claustrophobia and fear.

Mister Von Karma awkwardly lifted himself into a sitting position, never loosening his hold on Miles. In his panic, Miles breath started to come in short rapid gasps. Mister Von Karma sat there, cradling Miles possessively like a child with a doll. He stared at Miles' face—his pale eyes, watery and bloodshot, roved hungrily over his face—studying it like some treasure he'd only just discovered.

"So perfect," Mister Von Karma mumbled, spittle flecked onto Miles' face. He brought up one of his hands and ran his thick fingers over Miles' cheek.

"So perfect," he said again brought up Miles' shoulders so he could plant a wet stubble-roughened kiss on Miles' smooth forehead.

"My boy," Mister Von Karma sobbed into Miles' shoulder, "You mustn't do those things. Mustn't meddle with whores and liars—you should be good. You should be perfect."

Miles sat in his car in the garage with his head on the steering wheel. At least it was quiet in here. He checked his watch and then lay his head back down.

Manfred Von Karma was dead. So dead. So completely and irrevocably dead. Dead as a doornail. Dead.

So what was the big deal? Let's bury him already and be done with it.

Miles picked his head up and sighed at the windshield. Nothing could ever be simple in this life. Not even death, apparently.

Slowly he checked the key was in the ignition and then started the car letting her rumble aloud before shifting back down to roll out of the garage. He took the most round about way he could manage in the timeframe he had and parked in the arrivals exit at the airport. The attendant from the last time he'd visited waved at him and gave a thumbs up—he must've recognized the car.

"Twenty minutes," Miles said.

"Take your time, buddy," the guy said with a wink.

Miles entered the airport and headed toward the baggage claim.

"Miles!" Heidi was waving at him while dragging a beat up wheeled duffel.

He smiled and met her halfway and she threw her arms around him squeezing him tight.

"Welcome," Miles said.

"My goodness, Miles," she said, "You get more handsome every time I see you."

He blushed slightly and took her bag from her, "So when are you going to leave that Eddie guy and marry me?"

She only gave him a laugh in reply. He paused outside the exit to tip the attendant and opened the trunk of his car. He eyed the bag carefully turning his head to gauge the angle he should turn it—it took a little shoving but he got it in there.

He opened her door for her and then got into the driver's seat, he paused to look at her.

"I wish you were visiting under better circumstances," he said, "I have missed you."

"Don't worry about me Miles," she said, "There are so many other things to worry about now."

Miles nodded emphatically and started the car.

"This is fancy, Miles," she said, "When did you become such a hot shot?"

"This is the car I told you about," Miles said shifting to pull out of the arrivals area and connect back to the main road, "My Christmas present."

"Are you okay, Miles?"

He found himself speechless for a moment, then he glanced at her and nodded, "I'm fine."

"How is Franziska?"

"Better today than yesterday," Miles said, "She wants to go to the house, but I didn't want to leave her by herself."

"Where is she staying?"

"With me," Miles said, "She stayed with me for her entire visit."

"And both of you are still alive? Amazing."

Miles chuckled a little at that.

The short modicum of peace and quiet ended as soon as they pulled into the garage. Miles could feel the tension rising in his chest and shoulders. He opened Heidi's door and went to retrieve her bag. He carried it up near his shoulder and started toward the stairwell.

"Miles," Heidi said, and jerked her head toward the elevator.

"It's on the ninth floor," he said, "I'll see you up there."

"Come on Miles," she said, "You were doing so well the last time."

"That was like, ten years ago."

She motioned toward the gaping door of that death trap in reply. He walked toward it and hesitated before stepping inside. He dropped her bag on the floor and she took his hand.

"Miles!"

"WHAT?" He nearly jumped in fright, "What?"

"What happened to you?"

She was talking about the bandages on his hands and fingers—good thing he had long sleeves on.

"I uh… It was an accident," he said, "Let's just get this over with."

She took his hand and led him toward the console so he could push the number nine. Immediately he was fixated on the numbers—he started to tremble.

Heidi poked him in his side, "What's your favorite color?"

"Um, red."

"What's the square root of two thousand three hundred fifty-six?"

"Huh?"

"What is it?"

"Um… forty-eight point… five… three… eight… six… four—"

The elevator dinged and the doors whooshed open.

"Ding! We're here," Heidi said.

Miles staggered out of the elevator panting as if he'd run up the stairs. Heidi grabbed her bag and followed him into his flat.

"Mister Edgeworth. Misses Krause," Wellington greeted them at the door.

Heidi looked around in awe of his flat. Miles left her and went to get Franziska.

She was lying in her bed and staring off into space, "Franziska, love, I told you Heidi was coming."

She sat up and glared at him, "I wasn't asleep. I was thinking."

She was still dressed at least.

"Well, come and see your sister," Miles said.

"Are we going to Papa's house today?"

"Yes," Miles said, "Come on."

She slid out of bed and stood to walk out of the door, Miles swayed and sat on her bed. His hands were shaking.

"Miles?"

"I'm fine, Heidi is in the drawing room. I just need to sit for a minute."

Franziska hesitated, looking at him with concern, and then left the room. Miles cursed his bravado—he shouldn't have let Heidi do that to him. He pulled a handkerchief out of his pocket and put it over his nose and mouth. Fortunately, aside from a bit of shakiness, his reaction to the elevator hadn't been so severe. He managed to return to his adoptive sisters with his dignity in tact.

Mrs. Kucharka had made sandwiches for them, and set them out on the small table in the breakfast nook. Heidi and Franziska were holding each other and crying and patting shoulders and touching hair. It might have been fun to watch if the circumstances were different. Miles frowned guiltily and made his way to toward the breakfast nook. He was starving.

He'd just finished his second sandwich and was eyeing a third—wondering how much further he'd have to run to make up for it—when Heidi and Franziska entered.

"Miles Edgeworth," Franziska said icily, "Are you hiding in here and stuffing your fat face?"

"Yes," Miles said and picked up another sandwich.

"Miles you're such a foolish fool!"

Miles paused in his chewing and glared at her—his cheek bulging with sandwich.

"What are they?" Heidi said and went to the table. She picked up a sandwich and sat down beside Miles.

"Chicken and something," Miles said.

"du sollen etwas essen," Heidi said.

"No. I don't feel like it," Franziska said, "Miles how can you just sit there and eat?"

"I was hungry," he said, "so I sat down and picked up a sandwich."

"I hate you!" Franziska said, "You and your stupid fat face!"

Miles made a face at her and then wiped his mouth with a napkin.

"When you two are ready let me know," he got up and started toward his room, "I'll be brushing the stupid fat teeth in my stupid fat face."

"Miles," Heidi said, "Are we all going to fit in your car?"

"No," Miles said, "I'll take you in the Town Car."

"How many cars does he have?" he heard Heidi ask Franziska.

The drive over wasn't as terrible as it could've been. Heidi sat up front next to him, since Franziska wanted to lie in the back seat. Miles started to wonder how much of her antics were truly grief and how much were just to get attention. She'd spent the first part of the drive calling him names, so he closed the screen to block her out—maybe she'd fall asleep.

"She's terrible to you, Miles," Heidi sounded surprised, " I had no idea."

Miles smiled, "She's upset. So she's lashing out—she uh… She doesn't have her riding crop. So I suppose she's decided her tongue was a reasonable substitute."

"What happened to that riding crop?"

"It… It broke," Miles said.

"Have you been back to the house at all since you moved out?"

"No."

"I hope it's not—"

"It isn't derelict," Miles said, "He had a caretaker. I'm pretty sure he was still living there until… Up until everything started."

"You know Diana is coming," Heidi said, "She's going to want to stay in the house."

Miles looked at her quizzically.

"Franziska's mom," Heidi said.

Miles thought about it for a moment and then made a face—yikes. He'd only met the woman once—he was eleven—and he'd done or said something (or not done or said something) and she'd nearly twisted his ear off. Miles' shoulders slumped.

"That Sabine woman is probably going to come too."

Miles frowned more deeply—he didn't look at Heidi.

"Sabine was his third wife," Heidi said.

Miles cocked his head slightly.

"He married my mom first," Heidi said, "Then Diana. Diana had Franziska and not a boy—plus Papa thought she was crazy. Then he married Sabine. She was angry that he wanted to adopt you. So he left her too."

Miles' brows went up.

"Papa always wanted a son."

Miles let out a sigh. After a few moments he caught himself clenching and unclenching his teeth—he hoped Heidi didn't notice.

He relaxed when she dozed off. This was already becoming too much for him to deal with.

Miles had had a dog since before he could remember. For the life of him, he couldn't remember his—or her name. That dog would follow him everywhere—he didn't remember, but Mommy and Daddy had pictures and they would show him and laugh and he would laugh too. Pictures of the dog sitting beside him as a baby both covered in spaghetti or something. The dog tugging at his diapers.

The dog was black and white and gigantic. But then, he was very small, Daddy was certainly a lot bigger than the dog. Miles and Dog played in the yard sometimes, while Mommy was tending the garden. Miles couldn't remember Mommy's face. She was a being in soft cotton and floral patterns.

"Miles stay here. Don't go too far."

He remembered her sound, just not her face. He remembered Dog's face. Dog had one white eye and one brown eye. Dog had whiskers and pink and black on its mouth. Dog's ears were big and straight but they bent down at the tips. Miles liked Dog's ears. Dog had a fluffy tail that was always moving—sometimes Daddy would say something to Dog and Dog would stare up at him turning its head and Miles would get smacked in the face by that tail.

Miles remembered sitting on the floor with his crayons. The TV would be talking about news. Mommy did the dishes, or sometimes she was cooking. Dog would sit near him chewing its bones. Daddy would come home wearing a coat and hat. Mommy and Dog were as excited to see Daddy as he was.

Dog was always with him—especially when he was outside. There were other kids in the neighborhood. Big kids. Mean kids. Mommy tried her best to keep those kids away—but Dog was even better at it. Miles never had to be scared when Dog was with him.

Miles remembered being chased by one of those kids. He tried to run away but that kid was big and fast. Dog was there. Dog growled and Miles ran to Mommy.

Mommy wouldn't let Dog inside that day. The police came with their flashing lights. Daddy came home too. Dog never came home after that.

Miles winced as the doctor dug into his arm. His body lifted from the gurney and if he wasn't strapped down he might've injured the other man.

"Hold still, we're almost done," his doctor said, "It's your own fault—if you hadn't been so careless."

He hissed again without so much movement when another piece of glass was pulled out. In a way, Miles was grateful to Wellington for this. He had avoided an all night stay in the ER and all of the questions associated with going to a major medical facility.

They'd come just in time, the doctor said. Wellington had done a commendable job with the bandages, but there was still a lot of glass in Miles' arms. That explained the heat and pain and the reddening of the skin around many of the cuts.

His doctor didn't ask too many questions after Miles had told him he'd broken a mirror he was helping carry. The doctor did make a joke about Miles diving into the broken glass after the mirror had broken—but nothing otherwise.

This was the earliest appointment he could get—another consequence of private physicians—but it worked out for the better. It allowed Miles to get away from everyone else and everything that went into dealing with the deceased. The whole thing made him want to jump into another mirror—or maybe through a window.

He went back to his flat after leaving the doctor's office. It was gloriously quiet. Miles sat on the floor in front of the closet in the entryway and reached out to receive Pess who'd come to greet him. He put his arms around the base of her neck—not caring that she was licking his hair and it was probably standing up. She sat quietly while he hugged her.

He leaned back and sighed. He rubbed his face—the new bandages were much less bulky and intrusive. He didn't want to leave that spot. His back against the cool wooden door; his legs stretched out against the cool wood floor. Pess licked his face again until he laughed. She lay her head on his lap and stared up at him consolingly.

Miles scratched her belly and then hopped up on his hands and knees and looked at her. She met him in a playful stance, tail up forelegs flat on the floor. She barked inquisitively. His phone fell out of his pocket and startled the both of them as it clattered on the floor. Both of them stared. Miles looked at her and frowned. He remembered why he'd come by the flat.

Miles grabbed his phone reluctantly and stood. He shoved it into his pocket. Pess was looking up at him. Miles swallowed and walked back toward the library to his desk. He kept it locked in a small safe underneath a book about celestial navigation that he'd been given as a gift and several portfolios housing the papers he'd written as a very young man on statutes and rights—all of the interests of a lifetime jurist.

He set the safe on his desk and stared at it while opening another drawer containing odds and ends and several keys. He picked out a pair of keys on a thin loop and inserted one into the lock. There were several documents in the safe. His own birth certificate, several documents relating to the Trust as well as funds he'd inherited. Underneath all of that was the heavy packet of papers folded into a piece of cardstock made to look like leather. The Last Will and Testament of Manfred Von Karma.

Miles never questioned it when Mister Von Karma handed it to him and told him to keep it safe. He'd dropped it immediately into the safe and never bothered to examine it. Miles found a document case in the office and stuck the will in there. The vultures, were descending—he'd better hurry back.

The Von Karma Estate here was not as imposing or medieval as the estate in Germany—not by any stretch. Not that it wasn't as grandiose in its own way—a nod to late modern architects like Frank Lloyd Wright or Mies. Miles thought it was ugly.

The Von Karma home broke up the horizon with its flat angled roof and lines of columns. It was walled in white stucco and glass with sand-blown patterns. The gates were automated and the grounds sprawling. It was the kind of building that made one feel like they'd been transported to another time—a time without the worries of the world today.

The interior was less garish—it lent its design much more to the classic European stylings found in the Estate in Germany. As if the old man was attracting new and spunky while hiding a cold and archaic secret inside.

Miles parked the black Lincoln in the drive inside the gate. There used to be an attendant that would take your keys and bring the car to the garage. Excessive to the point of parody. Miles locked the car and walked inside.

A lot of the interior furniture had been covered with white canvas and the majority of the rooms were no longer used. As Miles walked, hands in pockets, gazing around the abandoned home, he ran into a man standing in the middle of one of the unused drawing rooms staring open mouthed at a massive blown glass chandelier hanging from a vaulted ceiling in a ballroom that had never held a ball.

"Good afternoon," Miles said, sliding his right hand out of its pocket to catch the document case he was holding between his wrist and hip, "Can I help you?"

The man startled with an audible gasp and spun around to face Miles, "Eh, eh yes. You are—? You look so young, how old are you?"

Miles gave him a dark look, "I'm twenty-four—almost twenty-five."

"Ah," the man said, " 'almost'—that's cute. Is your father here?"

Miles' brow furrowed, "Are you supposed to be in here?"

"Ah," the man said, "I am James Vermeulen, executor for the Von Karma estate."

"You've come early," Miles said, "We haven't even buried him yet."

"I was contacted by ah," he pulled out a business card and slid on a pair of glasses with thick lenses and squinted, "ah Misses Diana Von Karma."

Miles smiled—suddenly amused, "I see. I'm Miles Edgeworth—I have a copy of his most current will—I'm sure you wouldn't want to misrepresent Mister Von Karma's last wishes."

Miles handed the document to the squirrely little man. Mister Vermeulen looked a little surprised to learn that Mister Von Karma had updated his will, but he took it from Miles with a polite nod. Miles watched him as he bent down to put everything in order in his briefcase before straightening to look at Miles again.

"Well, Mister Edgeworth? Do you know where anybody else might be in the house?"

"Yes," Miles said and led the little man deeper into the estate.

"I'm sorry about earlier," Mister Vermeulen said, "Usually—with men of his age—I get spouses or older children."

"Hmm," Miles said.

"When Manfred told me about you, he never said you were so young. He said you were a lawyer?"

Miles nodded.

Before they even entered the corridor where the office was located, they could hear the shouting. Miles looked at the little man—Mister Vermeulen looked frightened.

"Do you want to?" Miles said.

"No. Do you?"

"One of has to."

"Could you? Please? You're younger and stronger," Vermeulen said.

Miles glared at him and walked toward the door and banged on it with the heel of his hand.

Silence. Miles hesitated and then opened the door.

"Cousin Hansi?"

"No," Franziska spat.

"Diana," Heidi said, "you remember Miles Edgeworth?"

"Who?"

Diana glared at him—she had sharp features on her narrow face and might have been beautiful had she not pulled out all of her eyebrows and spent her days sneering at everyone—and raised one of her painted on eyebrows.

Everyone stared around the room, Miles' frown deepened.

"Er," Mister Vermeulen piped up, "Misses Von Karma, I don't know if you remember me—but we spoke on the phone this morning."

"The Exchequer, no?" Diana said looking at the little man dismissively, and then turned to Miles, "And you. The last time I saw you, you still had snot dripping from your nose and called everybody Pappi. I always saw you sticking your fat little face into everyone's business. Now here you are, begging for yours like a dog at the table."

Miles stared at her—confused.

"Mama," Franziska said, "This is Miles! Miles, not Hans."

Diana's glare softened, "Well—he's rather thin for Hansi… But you don't belong here either! Franziska, who is this again?"

"Papa adopted him when his father died."

"Oh… That one..."

Miles raised an eyebrow at them and turned to leave. Heidi followed him.

"Heidi, we're not finished discussing—"

"Yes we are, Diana!"

Miles couldn't recall ever seeing her angry. She shoved him forward into the corridor and closed the door.

"I was worried you wouldn't come back," Heidi said.

"I brought the will."

"Good."

"How is everything—apart from that woman… in there?"

"It's good," Heidi said, "Franziska had her old room still waiting—so she's comfortable. Diana—well… She refuses to leave the house, so she's in one of the south guest rooms. Sabine should be arriving tomorrow…"

"Sabine?"

"She was his little… I told you about her… The one he married after Diana? They actually seemed pretty happy."

Miles only nodded—not really wanting to explore that facet of his mentor.

"She left because she didn't want him to adopt you…" Heidi looked pointedly at him.

Miles shook his head and shrugged, "I really don't care."

"Diana and I made arrangements with one of the priests at St. Georges…"

"I found a funeral home—they're doing their thing..."

"Good."

"They'll do all that—you know with the flowers and all of that…"

"Thank goodness."

"Em… I was… Are you going to bring him back to Germany? Any of you?"

"I haven't even thought about that… I'll talk to Diana about it… Miles, I'm sorry you've had to do all of the running around for this. I don't know how we could have managed without you."

"I'm the only one local to the area."

"Still, you've been invaluable. The calm little center of this storm…"

Miles looked away from her, feeling self-conscious. He lifted a hand and ran it through his hair, "I have to be back at work tomorrow—" he said.

Heidi blinked at him, "Miles, we need you here. Can't you—"

"I've been away much too long as it is," he said.

"But what about—" Heidi was staring up at him; lost, upset. Miles frowned and something in the back of his mind marveled at how small she seemed. She'd always been larger than life. She sobbed suddenly and pressed her face into his arm—as she couldn't quite reach his shoulder.

Somewhere inside his carefully constructed defense, he felt a quiver of panic.

A/N: Thanks for Reading!

First flashback—well it's a narrative reminiscence—Miles is 16.

Second Miles is 4 or 5… yeah… I went there…

Heidi helps Miles ride the elevator—Miles is a genius hurr hurr…

Chicken something is probably chicken salad.

Miles is probably the kind of dude that has an office he goes to work in and an office he goes home to.

UPDATED 12 JUL2015 – Minor edits.