'So, uh, Gregsy. What's this keynote speech about?' I leave my fedora on a hook at the entrance of Gregory Edgeworth's home. I'm sure my mentor could've afforded something swankier like the spiraling staircases and Greek statues on Manfred Von Karma's estate.

'The university where my wife works asked me to give an address to their graduating class.' Gregory preferred the life of simple, middle-class folk: he took public transport and walked. His home is one story, about 30 minutes by bus from the city centre. 'You've recently graduated so perhaps would know what will hold young people's attention.'

The house feels airy with large windows and light wood flooring. I could see right through to the backyard where a woman in a sky-blue dress holds a watering can.

'Jean,' Edgeworth hangs his trench coat, the one he had promised to me when I graduated into a fully-fledged attorney. 'I've brought my assistant, Eddie Fender.'

'Good afternoon, Mr Fender.' The woman slips into linen slippers when she reenters the house from the backyard. A ribbon bundles her brown hair into a neat ponytail over one shoulder. Only up close is the precision of an otherwise plain dress' pleats apparent. 'I am Greg's wife, Jean-Greta. But just call me Jean.'

'P-Pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Edgeworth.' I bow too steeply. My mentor really has it all figured out, 'boy, Greg-stegs, you've really got it all figured out. A spotless career, respect among legal professionals – and a gorgeous wife to top it off!'

'Greg, he's much more normal than you described…' Jean cocks her eyebrow. 'I'm a little disappointed. When will he eat the notepad paper?'

'That was your introduction of me to your wife?!' I squeak at Gregory as he loosens his tie.

'Eddie only does that when he needs to digest his thoughts.' Gregory bundles his tie in one hand.

'Darling, you say everything so seriously that it's hard to tell when you're just jesting.' Jean's fingers comb through the ends of her ponytail as she watches her husband. 'But I suppose it's obvious. No one just scrunches up their notes and starts chewing them, do they now?'

'N-No, that would be unsanitary – obviously.' I exchange glances with Gregory. His grin surprises me. I haven't even seen him that happy ever, not even when obtaining an essential piece of evidence.

'And incredibly idiotic,' Jean adds, intensifying the embarrassment in my stomach. Suddenly, the frills along her dress' sleeves remind me of Von Karma. 'Every attorney has their quirks. But all an opposing party would need to do is spray some household toxin on your notepad to completely derail the search for truth.'

I shudder. She's right. I promise not to eat my notepad pages. Ever again. Gregory's hand hovers over the teapot's surface before pouring three cups. 'I've asked Eddie for some help with the keynote speech. They want me to talk about the IS-7 case we just finished at Mr. Tangaroa's mansion.'

'Yes, the students had been following the live updates since the case was publicised.' Jean stands on her tiptoes to push back a stray hair over her husband's forehead. 'But why don't you tell Ed the real reason you invited him?'

'Real reason?!' I eye Gregory. He tries to conceal his eyes under the rim of his hat only to realise it is already hanging up. 'Come on, we're buddies. Don't make me play mind chess for this.'

'Alright, Jean, just tell him,' Gregory grumbles, 'the last time you cross-examined me was during mock trial at university. I don't think I'll ever put myself through that again. Ed, if you want to learn how to efficiently extract testimonies and iron out any inconsistencies, you should attend my wife's lectures. I'm sure you could slip into a class without anyone noticing.'

'Greg! We really must stop this talk about work and university. I can see you're trying to distract from the real matter at hand.' Jean laughs while straightening out the back of his button-up shirt's collar. 'We need to settle our disagreement about Miles' surprise birthday party plans.'

'Yes… My wife thinks we should set up a mock trial for the children to play. But I'm arguing that none of his classmates will come. Miles will be even more isolated than he already is at school.' Gregory rubs his cleanshaven chin between his thumb and second finger. He only does that when he's trying to obtain a testimony from a difficult witness. 'Please help me talk her out of it, Ed. A child's birthday party should include games like… Um… Running around the neighbourhood, pin the tail on the donkey – well, you might know more since you're young.'

'I'm sorry, Greggles.' I slide over to join Jean. 'But I'm with J. G. on this one. You worry so much about Miles being a normal child. Yet you're not a normal father. You're the most fearless attorney there ever was! And that's what your son admires. There's nothing he'd love more than to be his dad for a day!'

'Well, that's all well.' Gregory points as if he's about to shout 'objection' across the bench. 'But who's going to come to this… Uniquely designed birthday party?'

A glint of victory appears in Gregory's eyes. He must sense my inability to come up with something. But Jean answers without missing a beat, 'why, I've already asked the von Karmas and Wrights. Each of them has one child who has an odd interest in the legal profession. That's enough to have a defense, prosecutor and judge. I could ask the Butzs and some other colleagues if their children would like to come. They could be witnesses and the accused. Worst case scenario, the adults can take turns in those roles.'

'S-See—wait, the von Karmas?!' I jump back to Gregory's side. 'Ginny! What're you thinking?! That Manfred von Karma is liar! And you would –you would…'

'Ed, you cannot convict a suspect based on their past actions, let alone the actions of their father. That's a basic principle in law.' Jean clasps her hands in front of her. 'Whatever kind of man Manfred von Karma is, his wife is my dear friend. She has baked birthday cakes for her daughter Franziska and my son for several years. Her cakes put professional bakers to shame.'

So von Karma was telling the truth when he said that about his wife at Mr. Tangaroa's mansion.

'Alright, Jean…' Gregory chuckles, 'you both win. Miles will have a court-themed birthday party.'

'Thank you for your help, Ed. I knew Greg would come around with your vote.' Jean lowers a refilled tea tray onto the table. Chrysanthemum buds blossom in the tea pot. Brown sugar wafers sit like Jenga blocks on a square plate. 'Miles will love this surprise.'

'No problemo!' My afro feels fluffier than usual. If only I could beat my mentor at a real legal challenge. For now, siding with the superior birthday party plan will suffice. 'I must ask though: why didn't you become an attorney yourself? Even the great Gregory Edgeworth can't seem to win against you.'

'I needed to look after Miles in his early years. University teaching gave me a bit more flexibility once I felt ready to start working again.' Jean suddenly appears serious when warming the backs of her fingers against her teacup. 'More importantly, I wanted to ensure that Miles would have at least parent if something happened to Greg. A high-profile attorney is as susceptible to death threats and assassination attempts as the diplomats and celebrities he serves.'

'Uh, that's true…' I had forgotten that Jean had probably read her fair share of gruesome legal cases and investigations too.

Jean removes a wilted flower from the vase on the table. She places it beside her saucer when the front door latch clicks open.

'Mother.' A young boy in a red bow tie and maroon blazer kicks his shoes off at the door. His voice is deeper than expected from a scrawny child. 'The teacher almost put Timmy in detention for stealing my lunch. But I saved him. There was no evidence. Father says that only evidence speaks in court.'

'I'm so proud of you, Miles.' Jean's honeyed 'mother's voice' and applause seems affected. Miles gives a smug grin and bow as if he has just perfected a Shakespearean soliloquy.

'He's going to love our birthday party idea,' Jean whispers to me as her son hurries upstairs to find Gregory, 'you'll come, won't you, Ed? Mrs. Von Karma and Franziska will be there, along with some of my colleagues and their children.'

Before I can reply with a 'super', Jean hands me an invitation then follows her son, 'Miles! You must be so hungry if you've not had any lunch. Would you like grilled fish or casserole?'

I pick up the wilted flower that Jean left. What was she planning to do with it? Although the petals are limp, the stem retains some turgor.

As Jean-Greta Edgeworth had forewarned, Gregory Edgeworth – my mentor and greatest living attorney – died in an elevator at the age of 35. The case became known as the DL-6 incident. I visited his wife the week after the incident, groveling about how I'd do anything to help her and Miles to repay my mentor. My heart only sank when she murmured, 'thank you, Ed. But there is nothing either of us can do but move forward.' She might as well have said, 'the one thing you could've done was be beside him. But you failed.' Perhaps I imagined the resentment because she only ever smiled while serving tea and fruit slices. Once she apologised for Miles' refusal to speak with me. He continued to have nightmares that he was the real perpetrator, even when he had already become a prodigy prosecutor.

I could not bring myself to visit the Edgeworths until the birthday party. Jean's court-themed birthday party was a success, providing Miles some reprieve from the grief of losing his father. I like to emphasise that I endorsed the idea. Miles and Franziska kept making up cases to scream across old coffee tables that Jean and I set up as court benches. I tried to roleplay as judge, but Franziska eventually whipped me with her party popper while demanding to know why an 'idiotic old man' was joining in. Somehow, even the rolled-up bit of paper hurt when she flicked her wrist and sent it hurtling against my skin.

Miles piped up to his mother after winning the children's final case, 'what did you think of my turnabout, Mother? I reframed the evidence to make Larry innocent and Phoenix the real culprit. Not even Franziska could've wormed her way out of that one!'

'Yes, that was just like your father…' Jean tilted her face behind her sleeve.

'M-Mrs. Edgeworth, where should the rubbish go?' I held a dustpan full of confetti that had been strewn about to celebrate Larry's 'acquittal'.

'I will clean afterwards.' Jean spoke with her back to me. She opened the sliding glass door to the backyard. The gust from outside carried the scent of frangipanis and freshly cut grass. 'Thank you for coming, Ed. But please go home— Go home.'