60 Stalemate

 “When it feels hardest to give love, it is the most important moment to give without measure.”

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Miles Edgeworth and Franziska Von Karma
Von Karma Estate, Germany
December 22, 2024, 8:16 AM

Miles had just thrown on his robe over his pyjamas and he was about to head downstairs for some breakfast when he heard Franziska’s furious shriek coming from the master bedroom.

“Warum sind Sie einfach nur da du tor Frau?” She yelled. “Von meinem Bad laufen!”

“Ich glaube nicht, gnädige Frau zu verstehen!” He heard Helga, the Von Karma long-time faithful maid, cry plaintively.

CRASH!

There was an earsplitting clatter from the room along with a howl of dismay from the housekeeper and a steady stream of German curses from Franziska.

Alarmed, the prosecutor raced down the hall and flung open the door to find his fiancée sitting up in bed, her whip in her hand, glaring at the elderly salt-and-pepper-haired servant, who stood there wringing her hands against her starched white apron in hopeless dismay.

Both women appeared unharmed, the sole casualty being the porcelain vase that’d been sitting on a wooden pillar in the corner of the room, which was presently smashed into a million pieces.

“Now look what you have made me do!” Franziska snapped at the housekeeper. “If you had not moved, I would not have missed and gotten the vase instead!”

“Meine – Franziska,” he corrected himself quickly when he saw her scowl at the now unwanted affectionate term. “Why have you resorted to using your whip on the staff?”

“I don’t know what language I need to speak to make this Dummkopf Dienerin understand me!” She crossed her arms and glared at the maid and Miles, evidently forgetting that their longtime help spoke fluent English. “I asked her to run my bath and she just stared back at me with a look of foolish mystification on her face!”

Miles knitted his brow with confusion as he looked down at the plump German maid, whose eyes were round with alarm. Helga was clearly too terrified to speak within her incensed mistress’s presence in her own defense, so he put a reassuring arm around her shoulders, held his finger up to Franziska to signal they would be right back, and steered the overwrought serf out into the hallway.

“Helga, what’s going on?” Miles asked gently as the maid stared at the ground and attempted to smooth back an errant strand of hair back into its tightly scraped back bun. “Why was Franziska so upset with you?”

He waited patiently for the head housekeeper to speak and when she finally looked up at him, her face was wreathed with helpless despair.

“I don’t know what to do to make gnädige Frau happy anymore!” Wailed Helga, her dark eyes filling with tears. “She’s so – irrational lately! The staff is terrified of her, Meister Edgeworth! At the mere drop of a hat, she’s ready with that whip of hers! My husband Hans and I have been serving the Von Karma family for over 40 years now – and she’s never tried to strike either of us before – we’ve helped raise her since Mätresse Von Karma passed…May Gott rest her sainted soul.”

She buried her head in her hands.

“Nowadays, it seems all she wants to do is lash out at us. She’s been like this ever since the two of you came back from your latest Interpol operation…”

He sighed and awkwardly patted the poor sobbing woman on the shoulder.

“I just don’t understand her anymore, Meister!” Helga attempted to wipe her tears on her apron.

Miles felt simultaneously miserable and contritely aware that he was partially to blame for Franziska’s foul, abhorrent disposition and worsened temperament. He also had no idea how to console Helga about matters either; not without airing their dirty laundry.

“My fiancée is not too far from her due date now, Helga, so please don’t take it personally,” he mumbled. “I’m sure she doesn’t mean to be this way…a lot of it is hormonal, after all…”

“I mean, I literally don’t understand her!” Helga cried. “Her German is godawful! Why can’t she just speak to me in English? I could translate for the rest of the servants! Just now she broke into a rage when I didn’t understand what she meant when she told me von meinem bad laufen!”

Being fluent in German, despite not having needed to speak the language in years, Miles’ lips twitched with amusement at the misunderstanding.

“I am positive, Helga,” he said, somehow keeping a straight face, “that she meant to say, Führen Sie mein Bad.”

A look of understanding came over the housekeeper’s mien then, and she bit back an amused smile as he continued.

“I can assure you Franziska was attempting to say run my bath, as opposed to saying that she was running from my bathroom!”

“Danke, Meister,” Helga sounded relieved. “But first I should go try to soothe my poor, frazzled Hans, who she ordered to ringt mir mein Frühstück im Bett.”

Miles swallowed back a chuckle.

Wrestles me with my breakfast in bed. Ah, meine Dame, please stick with English, your German is atrocious enough to bring tears to my eyes, never mind to those of these confused servants!

“Please have Hans know the clarified instructions should have been Bringt mir mein Frühstück im Bett,” Miles said pleasantly. “While you go and fulfill Franziska’s intended request to bring her breakfast in bed, I shall take the task of drawing her bath off your hands in the meantime. And could you please have Hans prepare my usual breakfast?”

“I can do it,” Helga assured him, all smiles again. “He’s too busy preparing a special brunch for when gnädige Frau Katharina and her daughter arrive shortly. One chamomile tea, no sugar, and an egg-white omelet with Hirtenkäse cheese? Shall I bring it up along with gnädige Frau’s breakfast?”

“No, it’s fine, Helga,” Miles assured her, positive his partner – in name only at this point! – was in no mindset to want to share a meal with him in her current state; she barely had done so for the past two months, after all. “I shall be down shortly.”

He patted the housekeeper once more on the shoulder as she headed downstairs, idly wondering if his niece’s dog, Phoenix, would be joining Anneliese and Katarina on their trip to the manor. He hoped so. Pess would love the four-legged company!

It certainly was a testament to how rattled he had been; in all the morning chaos, Miles had nearly forgotten about the holiday arrival of Franziska’s 36-year-old sister, Katharina Rudolf, and her 15-year-old daughter, Anneliese. The two women would be flying in from Switzerland, where the elder Von Karma sibling had been residing since her divorce from her husband, Günther, for the past nine years. Their company would be a welcome distraction from the otherwise quiet, sullen halls of the mansion, where the atmosphere had been far from festive despite the lavish Yuletide décor.

He adored his future sister-in-law and niece and hoped the exciting presence of the cheery duo coming home for the holidays would lift the dismal spirits that seemed to loom throughout the manor.

Maybe their visit would be the Christmas miracle he and Franziska so desperately needed. After all, it was supposed to be a time for loved ones. Moreover, the two sisters had always been close, in spite of living in separate countries. Perhaps reminding Franziska of their arrival would cheer her somewhat. Or, that very least, make her temporarily retire her whip. For the day, anyway! They hadn’t had a family Christmas in ages.

He cautiously opened the door to the master bedroom and saw the expecting mama was still sitting in the bed, but staring forlornly in the direction of the window, where the curtains were only partially opened, and a sliver of sunlight streamed through the otherwise darkened shaded room.

Miles walked over to the window, drew up the shades, and pulled back the curtains, bathing the room in the bright morning sunlight, and affording them a view of the outside world.

It was breathtaking.

The sky was clear now, a perfect uninterrupted blue. A chilled squirrel hopped from tree to tree, carefully trotting on branches. Upon the numerous trees that lined the Von Karma backgrounds, the branches hung low with the weight of the snow. After yesterday’s snowfall, the top layer was perfect powder, glittering under the morning sun like white sequins laying all over the floor. The green was still slightly visible under the brilliant white, contrasting perfectly in that “winter wonderland” sort of way. It was odd to think that the grass was down there, surviving as best it could until the spring melted, entombed in the compacted and icy layers lower down. The white blanketed layer on the ground looked as solid as a forest floor where one would sink right up to their knees or beyond.

Miles had forgotten how beautiful white Christmas weather, specifically in Germany, could be, as he’d grown so accustomed to sunny green ones in LA. Smiling slightly, he walked over and sat down near the foot of the bed and tried to read Franziska’s expression. She was still facing the window, but rather than being taken by the outside beauty as he had been, she looked even more morose than ever. In fact, she seemed to be fighting back tears.

It didn’t even take him a minute to realize that she was not doing well.

He strode over to her and softly asked, “What’s wrong?”

No answer from Franziska.

He put his palm on her right cheek and leaned his face closer. She shoved his hand away.

“Get your foolish hands off me.” Just a few words but they brought tears to her eyes as she spoke.

He swallowed back a lump in his throat. Never had he ever dreamed things would be the way they were now between them. How could he be so close, yet still be so far away from the Frau he loved? He needed to believe she was still there underneath this sullen, angry woman who had taken over her body for the last few months. He would have given anything in the world to thaw her anger, to return that loving spark to her eyes.

“What happened?” he asked, covering her cheeks with his hands and wiping away her tears with his thumbs.

She jerked back and shook her head, her hair falling like a glossy silvery curtain in front of her face, obstructing it from his view.

“The servants think I am a fool, do they not?” She asked woodenly, finally lifting her head to meet his eyes with her own lachrymose, watery ones. “Do not try to hide it from me. I already know.”

“No!” Miles assured her, alarmed by the tears – Franziska so rarely cried. “Why would you say such a thing, meine Dame?”

“I can’t do anything right,” she replied dully. “Meinem Deutsch … my ability to speak my mother tongue…fading like the sunset over the horizon…”

Slipping through my fingers, like sands through the hourglass…much like our relationship.

She didn’t need to voice her additional thoughts. They both knew it.

She choked back a sob. She wanted to be perfect so much, even as a small child, and it killed her that she wasn’t. She’d tried so hard to follow the Von Karma ways from her earliest memories, yet still, she’d strayed from the path. Ergo, it was exceptionally hard to move past her mistakes. She owned them, hold them as her own, and inwardly lashed at herself for all her follies that had led up to this moment; the one when Miles had caught her being weak and self-pitying. She wished she could accept that despite everything, he still loved her regardless. She only hoped that by the time all was said and done, she could fully believe it.

“I –I heard you and the maid outside the door, Miles. The day has come when I need you, of all people, who was originally a foreigner to this country, to speak on my behalf to people I have known my entire life.” She looked down. “I have no idea what came over me, lashing out like Helga this morning, like some sort of monster. I no longer know what is happening to me…with anything. Nothing makes much sense anymore.”

Miles flushed slightly. Even though he’d thought he’d kept his voice down, Franziska had heard the conversation with Helga, nevertheless. While it hadn’t been an unkind discussion, it was more than likely embarrassing for such a proud Dame like his fiancée to have the speaking flaws of her native language noted by the servants.

“She is aware of your delicate condition, Franziska,” he told her gently, putting his hands in his robe pockets so he wouldn’t give in to the urge to touch her again. “I don’t mind being your translator…or helping matters in any way that is required. I’m sorry you feel bad about this, but she holds no grudges, meine Dame, only concern. Hans and Helga both care about you. We all do.”

She didn’t answer, just sniffled slightly. He plucked a tissue from the box on the night table and discreetly handed her one, forcing himself to smile for her sake.

“Come now, I will draw your bath if you wish, Franziska. Please, be happy. Today is a joyful day, as your niece and sister are arriving around noon, and you don’t want them to see you looking so downtrodden before Christmas, do you?”

“I can draw my own bath.” Her countenance was once again haughty despite her still saddened eyes. “I shall be ready when they arrive. It will be nice to be with family. You go on and have your breakfast, Miles. I will meet you downstairs later.”

She had dismissed him as easily as she would have the servants. She wouldn’t even allow him to fill her tub with water for her. That was how estranged they now were, even though they lived under the same roof. His heart lurched painfully.

Two months later, the guilt was ice in his guts. It could be a hundred degrees out and he still felt frozen on the inside. He couldn’t melt it on his own, he couldn’t shift it at all. He needed her to bring her warmth, to show him that he could be better, that he could still be worthy of her.

“Franziska…” He began hesitantly, trying to find the right words.

She swung her legs off the bed and attempted to shimmy past him, en route to the en-suite bathroom, but he caught her arm.

“Please…” Miles beseeched, although he had no idea what he was begging for anymore.

She regarded him coolly with a challenging lift of her brows, waiting for him to continue, and when he didn’t, shrugged her arm away from his grasp and attempted to brush past him again. He caught her by the hand this time, stilling her in mid-stride as he gazed at her with disheartened eyes.

“Meine Dame, do you think you will ever find it in your heart to forgive me?” He asked desperately, having no clue what else to say at that moment but the obvious query hanging over both their heads like an ever-present Tachi blade. “Are we ever, ever going to be all right again?”

There was a slight pause and for a moment he wondered if she was even going to reply to the query, but to his surprise, rather than responding, she rebutted with one of her own.

“I could state the obvious yet again, Miles, and tell you that once trust is shattered, nothing can but a miracle can mend the rift it creates,” she replied staunchly. “But I will not this time. Instead, I need you to answer the one thing that has been niggling my mind. Just tell me, why?”

“Wh –what?” He stammered, startled. “Why what, Franziska? If it’s about why I didn’t give you full disclosure, I’ve explained that I didn’t want to upset you in your current condition and …”

She waved away the explanation with a dismissive hand.

“Nein, not that.” She sighed. “We have beaten that long-dead horse far too many times already. What I want to know is why… her, Miles? As in: why, Lana?”

He gawked at her; not sure he understood the question.

“I can see the attraction, surely,” Franziska stated bluntly, peering up at him with an unwavering gray gaze. “Surely Lana Skye is attractive enough – in a cheap, tawdry sort of way – I suppose. Thence, if such was your preference, so be it. I do not mean why in that sense. What I mean is…why…her?”

He stared at her, still utterly bewildered.

She swallowed and tears suddenly sparkled in those beautiful orbs once more.

“Why her…and not me?” Her voice shook. “I have loved you my entire life! I had always thought I had made that almost painfully obvious for so damn long. You have always known me so well; seen through any walls or shields I ever tried to draw up and sent them crumbling to the ground. There was a time I wondered if you had always known me better than I had ever known myself and were aware that I loved you even before I was! Yet ultimately, I was not enough. You chose her. Why Miles? Where was I lacking?”

Miles felt as if the rug had been yanked from beneath him as he struggled for words. He had no idea what the right ones could possibly be to utter back.

Franziska had just claimed to have always loved him. But since when? Childhood? Teenage years? Both times when it would have been illegal, even by comparatively relaxed European standards, to entertain the notion of her, even in his mind?! He ran through the mental math in his head and hissed through his teeth.

“God’s knuckles! For one thing, at the time Lana and I were together, you were only 15, meine Dame!” He exclaimed. “Back when I was 22 and already a prosecutor in the States and I wasn’t even in the same country! Ergo, I could hardly have been aware of any developing, non-sisterly affections you might have been harboring for me!”

“I essentially threw myself at you on more than one occasion – surely you must have at least suspected!” She snapped, narrowing her eyes. “Or was I simply not mature enough for you at the time, Little Brother?”

Miles shook his head. She couldn’t be serious! This had to be due to the pregnancy hormones. His fiery fiancée was being even more maddeningly irrational than ever!

“Christ on a cross bike, that has little to do with anything Franziska!” He exclaimed. “At the time, given the age difference betwixt us, it would have been unlawful in America and pretty much every country on The Continent! Not to mention the fact that up until you were of legal age in both countries, it would have just been wrong on so many different levels!”

Franziska still didn’t seem convinced, and he had a sudden urge to want to bash his forehead against the wall in the manner of Manfred Von Karma. Instead, Miles expelled a ragged breath.

“Last but not least, how about including the fact that your father, had he ever suspected any of this, would have had me castrated, beheaded, and then drawn and quartered – and not even necessarily in that order! You were his baby daughter and raised as my Big Sister, for the love of the saints!”

“Legalities aside, I still would have waited for you,” her lip trembled. “Forever, if I had needed to. Because there was nobody else for me but you Miles! But you…”

She paused, as if for courage, then blurted out the next words as though they were painful to even ask.

“Tell me the truth – did you love her?”

“No,” he stated, without hesitation. “She was never mine to love.”

“What does that even mean?” Her eyes were barely visible slits now. “Was it just some sleazy little non-love liaison, then?”

He looked away guiltily then, and she sucked in a sharp breath.

“Mein Gott. Did she … belong to another?”

“It was a long time ago, Franziska,” he said tiredly. “I will lament and try to atone my sins until the day my heart ceases beating, but what need is there to rehash the gory details of days long past now?”

“Who ended the affair?” She demanded, putting her hands on her hips. “Was it you or das Miststück?”

“What does that matter?”

“Because I have seen the way you acted around your erstwhile paramour, and it all indicated that your previous trysts with her meant more than just a few meaningless rolls in the hay,” Franziska informed him loftily. “If your history with that Schlampe had merely been a few casual romps and then you had simply discarded her like a filthy Hure and sent her back to her cuckolded lover, you never would have seemed so conflicted when she came back into your life again.”

“Franziska, please stop this,” he implored.  “I already told you that I didn’t love her.”

“Yet you were not the one to end the affair were you, Miles?” Realization dawned on her face. “Which means that you may have never entirely gotten over her, either.”

“Meine Dame, this is ridiculous. I love you now. None of this even matters anymore.”

“Whatever history you had with Lana Skye, you felt it was significant enough to lie to your fiancée about, Miles.” Her tone was filled with wariness and lament. “Therefore, I am afraid I do not agree with you in that regard. It does matter. And clearly, to a certain degree, it seems, so does she.”

“You’re wrong, Franziska!” His voice was hoarse as he regarded her pleadingly. “So, so wrong…”

She held up her hand to stop him.

“Closure, Miles,” Franziska said quietly, defeatedly. “Until you and Lana have that, I do not think you will ever fully be free to love me, no matter what you say. Ergo, until you achieve that with her, there is naught more for you and me to say to one another regarding this matter.”

With that, she released her hand from his grip and walked into the bathroom then, shutting the door behind her and leaving the distraught prosecutor in her wake.

Their argument was cold. Every word was over-pronounced; slicing, rather than tumbling through the dry air. The love hadn’t gone, it had been distorted into a close mimic of hatred; and just as love endured, so would the wall of bitterness that separated them, growing more thorns every day.

I stay on the 64 squares, while patrolling the center,
Trading space from material, the time zone I enter.
It’s calculated by movement, from pushed pieces,
Advancements and development, once the pawn reaches,
To eighth-ranked now heavily armed with a tank,
My opponent’s base is threatened, soldiers cut with shanks.
Moved all my small pieces, MC’s are driven back,
Unable to avoid capture from the attack.

Miles Edgeworth
Nur Herren, Herren Assoziation
December 22, 2024, 3:30 PM

The chilly environment within the house had gotten to be too much for Miles after that. After forcing himself to smile and play the congenial host and loving fiancé throughout the delicious brunch that Hans had prepared, (although he’d scarcely had an appetite after the altercation with his betrothed earlier) for the benefit of Katharina and Anneliese, he’d finally been able to murmur his polite excuses and leave the mansion, citing the need for some fresh air.

His sister-in-law had offered to come with him, but he’d insisted she stay with Franziska and play catch up. They had indeed brought along Phoenix, who had still been prancing gleefully out in the snowy backyard with Pess when he’d set out.

He needed to clear his head. And luckily, within walking distance, he knew just the place he could do it, as well.

The wind whispered as the snow fell like confetti on his wooly cap. He gazed at the untouched snow in front of me. The swirling white and the lush grass collided. The shrubs and trees were stained with frozen powder. The ground was as smooth as a cake and the snow fell like icing powder, perfecting it to its finest point.

Intricate patterns of ice floated weightlessly downward from the pure white sky above, each flake swirling and dancing, as an icy wind carried it toward a group of intrepid travelers.

Once upon a time, Miles had been used to this kind of weather, so he had no qualms walking through the whitened landscape. The trek took over half an hour on foot, but he didn’t mind.

Large flakes fell from the sky as if angels in heaven were having a pillow fight. Although the snow was beautiful, it was cold and sharp. Crisp, white, pristine, shining covering transformed the landscape making it a magical land full of wonder and undiscovered mysteries.

He enjoyed everything about this kind of weather, the satisfaction of being the first to make an impression in a blanket of freshly lain snow, the subtle crunch underfoot as he strode forward, and the best bit of all … the sight of low-hanging shafts of sunlight illuminating the sparkling whitened scene before him.

By now, sitting in the soft leather chaise lounge by the roaring fireplace, he was settled, toasty, and feeling in somewhat more raised spirits as he slowly sipped from his tumbler of brandy at Nur Herren¸ a members-only haven of serenity, as well as his favorite gentlemen’s club in all of Europe.

The restricted club was no regular drop-in center. Acquiring a new membership required a proposal from an existing member, and the final decision was made by a secret ballot. Not for individuals of arid and fusty character, the club’s original criterion was that ‘it would be better that ten objectionable men should be excluded than one terrible bore should be admitted.’

Gaining entry to such an elite establishment was often a nepotistic endeavor for most but being the adopted ward of Manfred Von Karma certainly had had a few elite societal privileges; his membership at the exclusive, prestigious club was among them.

The ancient building was one of the oldest gentlemen’s clubs in Germany, first established in 1762 as a private society. The club was now housed in a grand yellow brick and Portland stone building, which mimicked the style of early Dutch country houses. Amongst the blathering, enunciated by its raffish members, were its famous gaming rooms, where fortunes were slung at the feet of Lady Luck.

The organization offered its associates a variety of facilities, including a fully equipped gym, swimming pool, a billiards room, a business room (as no working papers were allowed in the public rooms), and club sports teams to partake in. Nur Herren also offered its members access to an abundant, majestic bar, dining room, and library. Members also enjoyed the privilege of chambers for overnight stays and an extensive wine cellar.

Some notable alumni included diplomats, socialites, politicians, and even royalty from all over the continent.

He’d initially set out to find some quiet solitude, but ultimately, such a fate was not meant to be his. As soon as he’d sat down with his filled cognac glass in front of the marble game board on the granite table, he was soon joined by another, very familiar-looking guest, who had immediately challenged the prosecutor to his favorite game.

Miles Edgeworth had never been one to refuse the cerebral pursuit known as chess.

Silence reigned within the library at the corner where the logic enthusiast furrowed his brow, his stealthy fingers silently plucking a rook from its place on the black and white battlefield and moving it towards his opponent’s side. Wincing as he realized the grave error he’d made, Miles closed his eyes and pictured the board in his mind, mentally working out that there was only one way to win from here.

If…if he moves any one of those two pieces there…Eureka! I can move my piece and take his king, securing my victory!

It was all up to Lady Luck now.

A mere game of chess was turning out much harder than the barrister had anticipated, and as he leaned back on his mahogany and leather chair, which matched the color scheme of the room, he felt the tension rising.

Purposeful resolve suddenly took over his mind, though, and a grim, determined smile came over his face.

Miles Edgeworth had never been beaten in chess. Ever.

The game of chess is like a sword fight. You must think first before you move.

If this man, of all people, beat him, he didn’t think his ego would ever be able to recover.

The sweet coincidence of Port-au-Prince! He’s slower than a snail on a treadmill! Make your move, dammit!

His opposition chortled loudly, and the cravat wearer barely suppressed a shiver of revulsion. There was no genuine mirth behind the sound; it didn’t sound real. It resounded in his ears, a devious, sardonic laugh that he knew would ring endlessly throughout his mind for days thereafter.

The chess lover knew the meaning of that laugh, though. It meant something was being hidden. A secret, a lie, or worse – the truth.

There had only been one other time in his life that the prosecutor had encountered a diabolical cackle such as this. It was eerily reminiscent of the sounds emitted by his late malevolent mentor, Manfred von Karma, while he’d been growing up. When Franziska’s late father had finally been exposed as the evil, vicious monster he was, the legal eagle had at last comprehended why, as a boy, the older man would often clutch his right shoulder whenever his protégé had come around or laugh in such an unsettling manner whenever Miles had left.

The fearsome German prosecutor’s emanated sound of alleged mirth had always made him inexplicably shudder in both fear and repulsion – much like it was now.

Such a mindset was completely illogical and ridiculous, he chastised himself. Now was hardly the time for taking unpleasant strolls down memory lane. He had a chess game to focus on!

“A most regrettable move, Edgeworth. What were you thinking?” The jeering face of the opponent seated across from him made Miles grit his teeth in frustration. “Did you get too cocky, thinking you had the upper hand till now?”

No one insults the way Miles Edgeworth plays chess. No one.

As it was, he had more than one reason to want to knock that smarmy expression off the challenger’s phizog, reasons which had naught to do with any type of board game.

However, he was a polite gentleman by nature first and foremost. Moreover, they were in a gentlemen’s club and hence, should act accordingly.

Hence, he had to satisfy himself by merely clenching his hands into tight fists under the table.

“Ludicrous on my behalf indeed.”

As he forced out an amiable chuckle, it abruptly came to a halt and effectively died in his throat as the man opposite him smiled benignly, the sight making the normally unruffled barrister’s insides tremble as suppressed memories from another lifetime began flashing through his mind.

Other than Manfred Von Karma, there had been only one other person who’d exuded similar facial arrangements. As he mentally drew the parallel to the fiend in question who’d triggered the memory, the realization was downright harrowing.

Dahlia Hawthorne.

The titian-haired, ethereal beauty had also possessed the radiant beam of an angel, which she’d used to mask the heart of a cold-blooded killer. The demonic femme fatale had also used to smile in such a beatific manner, forever leaving the legist with a desperate, burning desire to know what had been going on in her deranged mind at the time.

“No matter,” Miles nervously cleared his throat. “Let’s move on, shall we?” He made his play, then waited with bated breath. “Now, then, I shall take this piece of mine …”

His last move would determine if he was leading to the path of his downfall… or his victory. He had no way of ascertaining what the outcome would be, and he loathed relying on chance, as he had never been a gambling man.

He took a sip of liquor to calm his nerves.

“…and move it right here.”

Victory is mine! Miles crowed silently as he merrily moved his pawn to the king’s space and took it with a smug grin on his face.

“Checkmate,” he drawled with considerable relish.

He couldn’t resist a smirk as the opposition let out a bellow of vexation and dropped his head into his hands with defeat. It was a heady feeling, triumphing over someone in this manner, the adrenaline rush just as invigorating outside the courtroom as inside of it.

That will teach him to trash talk Miles Edgeworth during a chess game!

Miles reached down for his tumbler again, the action making his eyes drop downward and at that moment, get a view of his opponent’s formerly obstructed hand.

His eyes widened in shock and horror.

The other man’s hand had acquired a deformed, demonic face on the back of it that twitched as the disfigurement moved, blood vessels showing up clearly next to the scars.

It was the most petrifying thing Miles had ever seen for a very long time and he was alarmed at how disturbed he was by the vision. He tried to think logically against the mounting fear within him. It had to be his imagination.

He blinked hard.

The hand was back to normal.

Shaking his head, he sighed with relief and let out a long breath as the fear dissipated from him.

Mayhap the alcohol he was consuming had been too strong for his sensibilities, or he’d just been shaken out of the norm after his argument with Franziska.

Don’t be foolish, Miles. Keep calm and carry on.

The other man rose from his seat and gave a begrudging smile of respect.

“How did you manage to turn things around like that? It occurred so unexpectedly that I barely had a chance to figure out what was going on.”

Miles smiled indulgently.

“I once knew a man who would appear to be losing every court trial, right up until the last moment, when he would do a complete turnabout and snatch victory from my grasp. I have only once in my life been able to defeat that man and I have never heard of anyone else beating him since then.”

The man opposite him wrinkled his forehead as if in contemplation, his eyes suddenly becoming vacant of all expression as his opponent’s words sank in. Then a diabolical expression crossed his mien.

“Herr Wright, I believe is whom you’re referring to, Edgeworth. Phoenix Wright.” The other man spat out, with such undisguised animus that Miles was taken aback.

What could this man have against his best friend, a man who’d shared his own occupational field? Whatever had caused him to speak Miles’s former courtroom rival’s name with what only be described as vindictive, contemptuous loathing?

This person is genuinely disquieting me. Despite his clean-cut, wholesome appearance, every instinct I have warns that he is nowhere as innocuous as everyone thinks. However, I could be erroneous in my thoughts. The King of the Turnabout did often chastise me for being too cynical and overly suspicious of everyone. No, I must be wrong; I have no evidence to support my sudden discomfiture. This man can’t be a criminal! Wright doesn’t even fully suspect him anymore, even though there was a time that I had thought otherwise! What evidence do I have, except this nagging, churning feeling in the pit of my stomach?

It was the disingenuous laugh, Miles realized. That horrible, malevolent cackle. Those hyperborean, shark-like eyes. That demonic hand….

Most of all, it was the unprecedented, bitter malice he’d unmistakably heard when the other man had uttered his childhood mate’s name.

The lawyer dug his hands into his pockets and curled them into fists, even tighter than he had before.

No matter what the name, we’re all the same pieces in one big chess game.

“Anyway, Edgeworth, it’s been a real treat bumping into you here, of all places.” The underdog smiled again at the attorney, although it came across as more of an awful leer. “I’d certainly be up for another game sometime if you are.”

“Verily.” He smiled politely. “I can never say no to a spirited game of chess.”

“I’m here for the holidays visiting my family but will be back in the States early in the New Year. Should you ever need anything, Mr. Prosecutor, don’t hesitate to call me. There’s a good reason I’m renowned as the Coolest Defense Attorney in the West, you know.”

“I am well aware,” he replied stiffly. “I’m sure our paths will cross again soon.”

“Auf Wiedersehen, Miles Edgeworth.”

“Farewell for now … Kristoph Gavin.”

Miles Edgeworth
Outside Nur Herren, Herren Assoziation
Germany
December 22, 2024, 4:30 PM

As soon as the German man had left, Miles listened to Kristoph’s footsteps die away down the corridor towards the elevator. Then he took a deep breath, took a quick assessment of his surroundings, grabbed his jacket, and headed outside, preparing for his journey home.

The moment he left the club, he picked up his cell and frantically dialed a number. It rang three times, and just before the voicemail message instructions began to monotonously direct Edgeworth to leave a message after the tone, someone picked up on the other end.

“Wright Talent Agency. Vice-President Phoenix Wright speaking.”

“Wright … sit down. We need to talk. Now.” 

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