Date: Saturday, August 31st, 2013

Time: 2:30 pm

Location: Diego's Hospital Room, ICU, Los Tokyo General Medical Center

That day, I had started to worry around 1:00 pm. He had said that the meeting should only take about an hour, but we've all been there: crazy talkative clients who turn that one hour into two.

When over two hours had passed, I sent him a text message, asking him how it went. He said he would text me about it, but I thought maybe he was so tired, he had just fallen asleep at the apartment. Without caffeine to help him, he was more liable than me to walk in and pass out in an instant after those really long days, despite how much he insinuates the opposite.

It wasn't like him not to text at all though. Unless he fell asleep in his car, he would've normally messaged right after the meeting.

Unfortunately, at almost 2:00 pm, I got the phone call that validated all my fears, just not in the way I had expected. It was Mr. Grossberg and he sounded frantic. I thought maybe Diego had left directly from the meeting to surprise us early but got into a car accident. Mr. Grossberg told me that Diego was rushed to the hospital. His mom had been notified and was there with him now. She had wanted to call me, but she didn't know my number.

She was his emergency contact, of course. Despite how much time we spent together these past six months, we hadn't had to deal with any legal minutia like this yet. It made sense, but it still stung to have my boss find out about it before I did.

I asked Mr. Grossberg what had happened, and he said that the doctors still didn't know. They suspected that he was poisoned, but they couldn't confirm with what yet.

My heart sank when I heard this. It suddenly clicked why he was so nervous about that meeting. Why he was so distant the day before. Why he couldn't sleep.

I got confirmation about what I had suspected from Mr. Grossberg when I asked him about the client meeting. He was sheepish, even though this situation wasn't his fault. He told me that one of the partners had taken the meeting that I had described. Until he got the call from Maria, he thought Diego was off with me.

I instructed him to call the hospital and ask the staff to call the Ivy University Pharmacology Lab. I told him that they would need to talk to Doug Swallow. I would have done it myself, I wanted desperately to be useful, but I figured they would be able to respond appropriately once they knew what had poisoned him. Time was of the essence and all the catching up I had to do would just put us further behind.

Mr. Grossberg was confused but agreed. He offered me a drive to the hospital, but I told him that I would take the train. There was one scheduled for a half hour from then and I thought I could catch it in time. Even with stops, it would still be quicker than him driving two hours to get me and then driving two hours back. He offered to at least pick me up from the train station and I gratefully accepted.

I told Maya what had happened and apologized for leaving. I knew how much this week meant to both of us. Because she's the best, she didn't ask any questions, or make me feel guilty at all. She just gave me a big hug and said that she'd do a get-well chant for him.

I left all our stuff there, his suitcase and mine, and said that she could order whatever pay-per-view movies and room service she wanted until I got back. I swore that I would be back, but I wasn't sure when or if that promise was even realistic.

By the time I got off the phone, explained the situation to Maya, and grabbed all my necessary belongings, I had just barely made it to the station in time to catch the train. It was almost completely full, typical for the last week of summer before a new school year. While I was somehow able to grab a prized window seat, the aisle seat next to me was occupied by the time the train rolled out of the station.

It had made me anxious to not be alone with everything that was going on and to be seated mere inches away from someone else as I tried not to cry. Luckily, the man next to me wasn't the chatty type, keeping his headphones on during the whole ride. Still, I had to find a way to keep myself from melting down in a public place.

I settled on anger. Anger at Diego for not telling me about his meeting with Dahlia and allowing this to happen. The sadness, fear, and worry were multitudes stronger than the anger, but the anger was the only thing that kept me from hyperventilating and causing a scene.

When I got off the train, Mr. Grossberg was standing outside with a rain umbrella, waiting for me. It was the rainiest day I could remember in a long time, falling hard the whole day with no breaks.

Mr. Grossberg could normally be quite talkative, in that annoying have-to-fill-the-silence kind of way. He always seemed uncomfortable if anyone took too long to gather their thoughts or take a breath. He managed to stay mostly silent though, only clearing his throat on occasion as he drove me the 40 minutes, in bumper-to-bumper traffic, from the station to the hospital.

I thanked him profusely as he pulled in by the front doors of the hospital and waved as he drove away before rushing inside. I had to talk to so many hospital personnel before I was led to the right place, finally seeing Maria seated in a blue vinyl armchair in the ICU. She got up and hugged me, something she never did. She wasn't the hugging type, not with me anyway, but this situation had warranted it.

She told me how grateful she was that they got a hold of me. They weren't sure what antidote to use on Diego without knowing what he had been poisoned with. After calling Doug, they had a better idea of what to do although the treatment plan wasn't immediately clear. While the Pharmacology Lab primarily worked on human or pet therapeutics, what Diego ingested was a lethal poison intended for a pest control company.

Metha-X is what they called it in the lab, although the company was still working on the brand name. It was a Frankenstein concoction of pure methanol, antifreeze Maria had explained, and combined with other toxic substances.

Methanol was already dirt cheap to produce and lethal in small doses, but by purifying it and combining it with other concentrated substances, the company could save pennies on the dollar. This was considered worthwhile savings with a product being sold on a mass scale across the world.

She told me that Doug was remorseful on the phone when the hospital called him. He had said that the team in the lab was so proud of themselves when they found a way to mask the harsh smell and taste of the methanol, perfect for tricking pests into ingesting it. However, that made it easier for it to go undetected in Diego's coffee.

Maria told me that methanol poisoning could be dire but treatable. There was an antidote called fomepizole that they usually administered that could be effective so long as treatment was timely. It was the other substances that made his case challenging.

This product was still only being used in a controlled lab setting so there hadn't been case studies on its effects on humans yet. His medical team had to balance so many priorities too, trying to counteract the various substances he had ingested while also keeping him stable.

In addition to the fomepizole, they had given him activated charcoal through a feeding tube to try and stop the absorption of some of the poison. However, they thought it was likely too late to be effective by the time he arrived, and they had determined his issue. With Diego unconscious and without witnesses, it wasn't immediately apparent to the medical team what had happened.

They received a list of the various properties in the Metha-X from Doug and provided what they could. Some compounds had antidotes and others didn't and then there was the risk that a cocktail of medications and treatments would destabilize his condition. They had to keep him from having seizures; keep his breathing, blood pressure, and heart rate normal; and provide him with oxygen.

That first day in the hospital was agonizing. Maria and I just sat and sobbed as we waited around for news that was doled sporadically throughout the day. She told me how hard it was for her to just sit and not help. She works in the stroke unit of her hospital now, but she had spent a year working in the ER.

I had called Maya to provide an update, and she said that she was doing okay. She had never stayed in a hotel before, so she enjoyed the novelty and having the freedom to explore the seaside town on her own even if she felt sadness for Diego. She was empathetic, but could always keep a smile on, even in bad times, and it made me feel a little better.

I apologized again and told her to keep charging everything to my credit card. I didn't give her any limitations on her purchasing, but I knew she wouldn't take advantage during a time like this. Money was the least of my concerns right now anyway.

That Wednesday was the worst of all though. They had managed to keep him alive for over 24 hours and his vitals had mostly normalized. Nevertheless, later that evening, he started to get worse again, and they identified the problem. Sometime during his slip from consciousness to unconsciousness, he had aspirated on his vomit. He had pneumonia and they needed antibiotics and more advanced respiratory therapy to keep him alive.

Later that night, around midnight, the doctor sat down with us in the waiting area and told us to prepare for the worst-case scenario. He said that they would throw everything at Diego to keep him alive, but the lung infection had severely exacerbated his issues.

We hadn't been allowed into his room before with all the chaos, and what appeared to be a 15-person team in and out of his room at all hours of the day. They allowed us inside that night though to say goodbye, each of us on one side of his bed, holding both of his hands.

We sobbed even harder that night, something we didn't think was possible. We really thought that was the end. Maria had even called her priest and he had arrived at around 2 am to give last rites.

Diego was always very agnostic about the church. He told me that once he learned about spirit channeling, he believed in something greater but, what exactly? He said he wasn't sure. Those we channeled in the Village never gave details about what lay beyond, but we had our own theories.

The ritual meant a lot to Maria though. If he was conscious, he probably wouldn't have protested anyway, just to make her happy.

She and I both couldn't sleep that night. We were drained, our eyes blurry from all the tears, and our heads aching from the crying. We just couldn't risk falling asleep and waking up to find that he was gone.

When the sun broke that Thursday morning, and he was still alive, we got a little hopeful. When it set again, and he was still hanging on, we breathed a sigh of relief. He still wasn't doing well, but he was winning his fight against the infection.

Maria said it was God and prayer that saved him, and I just nodded silently, even though I didn't share her sentiments. Khura'inism holds a belief in a Holy Mother, not a God, and our relationship with her is different. Despite our disagreements, I agreed that it felt like a miracle had happened that day. The doctors had said that death was imminent, but he made it through.

Unfortunately, even though we won one battle, a small one, we lost the war. While we were hoping and praying that he would continue to improve, the police and prosecutors were trying to determine if they should bring forward an attempted murder case.

When the doctors had determined that Diego was poisoned, and Maria had insisted that it wouldn't have been intentional, someone from the hospital had called the police to report a crime. Luckily, the courthouse was always teeming with cops, and they were quickly able to lock down the building and question everyone before Dahlia left.

She was on the courthouse steps, about to leave, when they escorted her back into the building. I don't even know why she was still there. Someone as conniving as her would have naturally fled, right? Was she really that arrogant?

At first, I thought we had been handed a gift. He was still touch and go, but at least his suffering wouldn't be in vain. His poisoner would be apprehended and sent to prison where she belonged. Two detectives had even come by on Thursday to talk to me about his case. They asked me what I knew, and I told them about our investigation into Dahlia.

Diego's phone was at the hospital. It was in his pants pocket when he was taken into the ICU. I unlocked it for them and showed them the texts: the four I knew about and the two I didn't. I had never gone into his phone before, but he had unlocked it in front of me several times and I knew his pin.

I also gave them the recording device that was in his pocket. It had nothing on it, but I assured them that it did at some point. Dahlia must have deleted the recording once he passed out, I told them. I asked if there were any witnesses who could confirm this, and they only said that they were still investigating.

While I was still frazzled and emotional, it suddenly struck me how odd their visit was, two days after the crime. Normally, they were in such a rush to convict, and the trial should be on its second day by now.

When I asked them about the delay, they simply said that the crime was so complex and that they needed more time than usual. It didn't make sense; due diligence had never stopped them from pursuing a trial before, but I chose to believe them anyway.

Most of yesterday, I had heard nothing more about the case. Diego was stabilizing again, and we were getting more comfortable in that regard, but what about his justice?

I called Mr. Grossberg that afternoon to ask if any requests came to the firm for Dahlia's defense and he paused for a long time. He told me that the courts were dropping the case. They had apprehended Dahlia and had searched her, but they couldn't find the poison. They tore up the whole building and couldn't find it. The only traces of poison were those left on her cup and Diego's.

I wanted to scream, but I stopped myself. I knew I shouldn't shoot the messenger. I asked him about all the other evidence: the text messages, the courthouse meeting, Dahlia's clear motive, the deleted recording, and the poison being a new product in development at her boyfriend's lab.

Mr. Grossberg said that he agreed with me, but that it was complicated. Without the poison bottle being found, any witnesses, and with poison in both of their cups, the cops said that there was a chance that the real killer had fled the scene and had unsuccessfully tried to poison Dahlia too. Security wasn't the best at the Pharmacology Lab and, while no break-ins had been reported, the cops said it wouldn't have been hard for someone else to access it.

He sighed before saying that human nature and politics had come into play as well. The Chief Prosecutor is set to retire in a year or two, and he isn't as hungry as he used to be. If any case seemed a little too complicated to get a win, he was less inclined to take it on. With an intricate case like this, whether he took it on or not really depended on his mood that day.

Then, of course, there were his connections. Dahlia's father, Reginald Hawthorne, was friends with the Chief Prosecutor. They played golf together every two weeks.

The diamond that Dahlia stole from her dad to stage a kidnapping and ransom negotiation and then lost in the Eagle River was insured, so he never really suffered any losses from its theft. Given the "duress" Dahlia has suffered and the extenuating circumstances of the ransom, he was able to successfully argue a claim. How he felt about his stepdaughter's murder must have been lukewarm because he was still happy to advocate for his darling daughter's innocence.

When I got off the phone, I was determined to do something to make them change their minds. I called Lana and asked if she could use her connections as a police officer to help bring forward a case. She said that she had no jurisdiction over Diego's case, but she would talk to her boss, Deputy Chief Gant. He was very well-connected and would likely be able to pull some strings.

However, she warned me up front that he was unlikely to help her. He had been hounding her for months to join the prosecutor's office so he could better maintain his connections to both law and order. He would likely just throw it in her face how not listening to him meant she had no way to pursue this case. She texted me later to confirm that what she had expected to happen, had happened.

In my biggest act of desperation, I took a cab to the Prosecutor's Building to meet with Miles Edgeworth. I got there at 4:30 pm, half an hour before he was about to leave for the day.

I pleaded with him to do something. I acknowledged that he and I weren't friendly with one another after our case in February, but I didn't know what else to do. I didn't know anyone else on that side of the law; I had only served on one case. Besides, while he was still only 21, he had already made a name for himself, and he was the legendary Manfred von Karma's adopted son. I knew they would listen to him.

He didn't say much at first, just stating that the Chief Prosecutor is well-respected and is unlikely to be mistaken in his decision. I asked him to please think back to the case in February and what was about to happen before the suicide. He and I both knew that I would have won that case, and that Dahlia would be in jail if that hadn't happened.

This tactic didn't work, only making him irritable. He had served on numerous cases since then and had won every time. He didn't like being reminded of a case that would have tarnished his perfect record before it had even started.

He brushed me off after that, saying he was very busy and that he didn't have time for this. He said that he had other, much more important, cases to conduct.

I shouldn't have, I knew this, but I insulted him on my way out the door. Over the past six months, Diego had told me about his experiences against dozens of prosecutors. He said it wasn't uncommon for them to lie, act in bad faith, or even forge evidence to get their conviction. I lobbed these same accusations at Edgeworth and told him that he was just as bad as the rest of them. He scoffed and turned away from me, but he didn't argue with me as I walked out.

Today, it finally came time for me to go back to the hotel, gather our belongings, and check out. I told Maya that we could go to the beach and eat a meal together before she had to go back to the Village. Aunt Morgan and Pearl would be back soon.

On my way out, I said goodbye to Maria. "I have to go back to our hotel room and grab our things," I said. "I can't put it off any longer. I'll be back tomorrow though."

"I understand," she replied plainly. She was seated next to Diego's bed, looking at him, and stroking his hair. She didn't look up at me as she answered.

"I wish I didn't, but Mr. Grossberg needs me back in the office next week. I won't be able to visit as much as I would like to," I said contritely.

She finally looked up at me and smiled reassuringly. "Me too. The hospital is so short-staffed, and they told me they're having trouble filling my shifts."

"I'm really sorry."

"It's okay; that's life. He would understand." She smiled again. "I have some good news. While you went to lunch, the doctor came by. He said that if Diego stays stable for the next week and they can get him off the ventilator, he can move out of the ICU."

"That's such great news," I said relievedly. "Looks like he'll make a full recovery."

"I hope so," she replied. "I asked if they could move him to my hospital if he becomes well enough. They said they would consider it."

I smiled halfheartedly. Her hospital was harder for me to visit; I would have to take two buses instead of one to get there. I was happy that he would have regular company though. "That will be really nice for you."

"Yes." She paused. "If you ever need a ride there, maybe a Saturday when I'm not working or after my shift. I can take you."

My eyes widened. Was this an invitation? Did she want to keep our weekly routine going, even with Diego in the hospital? "Maria, I would love that. Thank you," I said graciously.

She nodded. "I have your number now, so I'll call you."

I smiled and nodded back. "Did you want me to get you anything before I go?" I asked. "A coffee maybe? Neither of us has slept much."

She tutted. "No, no. Thanks anyway. My boy...I know how much he loves coffee. I can't drink it in front of him knowing he can't have any. I'll get one at the cafeteria later."

"Right, of course. I'll see you tomorrow."