Klavier and Klaire knew something was wrong that Tuesday.
They did not know how they knew. The weather was nice, the sky was clear, and school had just ended. The two of them were walking home together. And yet, neither of them could deny the atmosphere that would consume their home at night. They would stay upstairs in the apartment constructed above the bakery, huddled in the three-person bedroom they shared with Kristoph. They had all but already memorized the lines that their parents would inevitably say:
"You should not have borrowed so much..."
"If we just do this..."
"They want to call a favor..."
"You can't trust them."
"They just need this place..."
It had been a surprise to Klavier and Klaire to hear absolutely nothing from their perch Monday night. Nothing at all. They had tried to cautiously accept the semblance of peace that seemed to present itself.
They were right to be afraid of giving in completely. Kurtis and Kristina were found dead in their living room the followingTuesday, poisoned.
Oh, the prosecutors did their best to put the bakery's last visitor to the test. Evidence, eyewitnesses, everything. But the defense lawyer, brimming with maliciousness and glee over what could be assumed to be his paycheck, did not give so much as an inch. In the end, the Judge gave up, as did the prosecutor.
Klaire and Kristoph never forgot the look of defeat etched on the prosecutor's face.
They never forgot the lawyer's unfriendly grin.
They never forgot the defendant's smug grin.
They never forgot how Kristoph, who usually spent most of his off-hours behind at school for music practice, offered his hand to the defendant for a shake when they thought they were alone in the lobby.
They never forgot the hours spent waiting for prospective parents
Klaire thought she would have to relearn how to smile. She did, in fact. She practiced every morning before breakfast, picking up on how to tilt her head ever so slightly, letting the light shine on her teeth. She fit back in at school.
Klavier did not have so simple a process. He had to repeat his grade the following year, and he drifted out of his usual circle of friends. The next year, however, he seemed to be more at ease. He was not talkative to Klaire, let alone their new guardians, but he did regain his interest in studying. Klaire, however, noticed that he did not limit himself to school subjects.
He began to visit the library more often, and even managed a visit to the courtroom at least once a week. The faint expression that kept coming back to his face seemed to promise that, if he could not be the best lawyer around, he would not be worse than the ones he witnessed in the fateful case.
Kristoph was feeling a little better than he did the previous day. Not by much, but even a drop could be good enough for a fire.
A year ago he would never have imagined himself in this position; sitting alone in a windowless cell, with no amenities except for the bed and the toilet in the corner. He had nothing left over from his own cell; no books, chairs, or nail polish. The guards would open a tiny slot in the door just long enough to send a meal tray through and shut it again just as quickly. When he had been dragged here, practically frothing at the mouth, one guard had given him a solid punch to the face to shut him up. It had taken some time, but he had finally managed to put his broken glasses together with a few stray strands of cloth from his uniform.
Once again, he was left alone to his thoughts. All his life, he had followed the singular rule that would guide him through life: fight for the strongest side.
If there was a strong partner and a weak partner, one would naturally pick the stronger. He would take on a client if they had a good chance of surviving the courtroom, and turn them away if they did not. While he would not work with any ordinary criminal gang as a matter of course, he did have his price.
And the Red Carnation ring was always able to meet it.
A year ago he had been free, proud, carefully groomed, set for life, and in the care of the Red Carnation syndicate as long as he followed their orders. He had just been ready to celebrate the anniversary of his defeat of Phoenix Wright. Now each of those things had been reversed.
But even someone in Kristoph's position could overhear the gossip of the guards. Manny Coachen's lifelong stroke of luck, as it seemed, was finally reaching the end. He had finally reached out too far and put too many eggs in one basket.
Kristoph smiled to himself. Coachen was one of the most paranoid men in the world. He would not have dared to take the risk the guards attributed to him.
Of course, not without someone guiding him to the path.
The closest associate shared by both Kristoph and Coachen, walking the streets in plain sight...
-A multi-chapter story; Chapter 30; story idea by CRed1988 and writing by Jerviss.