I don't own Phoenix Wright or any of the characters. That joy belongs to Capcom.
Knowledge of the "Turnabout Goodbyes" case is needed to understand this brief story.
Young Miles Edgeworth peered into the large room. He was hiding behind a large oak door, unsure about whether he had the courage to step inside uninvited. One could never be careful enough in this house.
"What is it, boy? Stop cowering and come here so that I can see you."
He jumped a little at the deep, commanding voice and took a nervous step into the room. He stopped right in front of the dark mahogany desk and bowed. The man sitting behind the desk didn't lift his gaze from the letter he was writing.
The sound of a pen against paper was the only thing one could hear in the room. Miles swallowed. In his small hands he was holding a sheet of paper. He had spent the past hour drawing with fine, black lines. There was a spot of ink on his left sleeve, but he didn't notice it.
"Yes?" The old man still refused to look at him.
"Today is Father's Day and… I drew this."
That finally got a reaction. The writing stopped and Manfred von Karma turned to look at his apprentice. His sharp eyes no longer scared Miles. He had grown out of that.
"Stop wasting your time. You have no father." With that von Karma turned back to his work.
"I know, sir, but…"
"What is it?" The tone was no longer just commanding, it now had irritation in it. Von Karma could be patient when he wanted but not when someone interrupted his work.
"This is for you." Miles gathered his courage and took one step further. He handed over the picture and retreated quickly.
Von Karma looked surprised for a second. He eyed the picture critically. Miles held his breath. After his father had died, he had had only one important man in his life. Everything he did or said was aimed to please this strict man who in turn would teach him everything he wanted to know.
"Pathetic," von Karma said then. He crumpled the picture in his hand and threw it into a wastepaper basket. "You aren't here for this kind of nonsense. Now leave me. I have no time for you."
"Yes, sir." Miles bowed quickly and left the room, careful not to show his hurt. He had long since understood that crying was a weakness not tolerated in this house.
Years later, Miles Edgeworth found himself in that same room. This time he was the one sitting behind the large desk. It had taken him a moment to find the courage to do that. Eventually he had realised that there was no danger in taking over the sacred spot. The man who had used to sit there could do nothing to him anymore.
He buried his face into his hands. Just being in this room made the freshly opened wounds hurt. Within a few days he had had to relive the tragedy of his father's death and come to terms with the horrible possibility that he might be the one responsible. When that had turned out to be untrue, he had been presented with yet another shock.
Who could have thought that the man he had learnt to trust and look up to could be responsible for everything?
He had lost his real father fifteen years ago, now he had lost the man who had given him support for most of his life. Or rather, he had realised that he had never had that trusting relationship in the first place. Everything had been a lie, a part of von Karma's plan to get revenge on him and his father.
Having been declared innocent didn't feel like a victory, somehow.
With an angry growl and one swipe of his hand, Edgeworth threw everything on the desk to the floor. A lamp shattered into a dozen pieces. Law books scattered around the dark carpet.
He was about to turn away, but then one of them caught his attention. He went to pick up a thick volume, bound in red leather. Something had fallen from between the pages.
A sheet of paper. It was yellowed and wrinkled, but looked like someone had done their best to straighten and preserve it.
His eyes widened. The carefully hidden paper was none other than the picture he had drawn so many years ago on Father's Day.