Disclaimer: Ace Attorney and all characters are copyright by CAPCOM; I'm just a fan imitating. The stories presented are influenced by the multiple games as well as the comic (Manga written by Kenji Kuroda).

¡Guadalupe!

Chapter 1:

¿Quién mató a Daniel Cornado?

Miles Edgeworth sat in one of the heavy wooden chairs in front of Manfred Von Karma's imposing desk and stared at the legal book in his lap.

"There is a pace you must control and timing you must follow," Mister Von Karma said, "Even the girl understands that with no trouble—and she's fifteen."

Edgeworth's brow twitched slightly, but he did not reply and he did not react.

"Do you understand me, Miles Edgeworth?"

"Yes sir," Edgeworth said.

"Next time, Edgeworth, I won't be so forgiving," Mister Von Karma said, "Was that all?"

"Well, sir," Edgeworth sat up a little in his chair, "I was going to ask you about something unrelated…"

"Go ahead," Mister Von Karma glared but his tone was impassive.

"Can I have this weekend off?"

Manfred Von Karma's steeply arched eyebrows arched more steeply and rose so high Edgeworth thought they might run into his hairline.

"Is there a reason for this?"

Edgeworth hesitated, "It's the weekend... And it's my..."

"It's what?"

"My birthday, sir," Edgeworth's gaze fell to the cover of the volume resting on his lap.

"I just need one day, really. I can take Saturday and work on Sunday."

Mister Von Karma reached over the expanse of his desk and rapped Edgeworth on his forehead with his cold boney knuckles. Edgeworth started to flinch but caught himself and held still. It humiliated more than it hurt.

"Your birthday is on Sunday—don't think you can pull one over on me Miles Edgeworth!"

"Actually, it's on Saturday."

"Are you being flippant with me?"

"No sir."

"I don't care for your surliness, boy!"

Edgeworth had to concentrate very hard to stop himself glaring at the man. What difference did it make if it was on Saturday or Sunday—it was on Saturday, by the way—nobody else worked on Saturdays or Sundays as regularly as he did. He just wanted one day—and it had to be Saturday. Too many things were closed on Sunday.

"Get out of my office," Mister Von Karma said, "I'm tired of looking at you."

Edgeworth closed Mister Von Karma's door behind him and sighed heavily.

"That you pardner?"

Edgeworth startled—he didn't think there was anyone around. Prosecutor Marshall was leaning out of his office and staring.

"You okay?"

Edgeworth straightened and glared at him, "Why wouldn't I be…"

"But I see you standing there, sighing like the wind on the prairie—"

"Just stop," Edgeworth said and he tucked his book under his arm and went to the stairwell door.

"I'll be twenty-one," Edgeworth said.

"Finally! Now I can take you to the bar, and we can drink beers and relax after a hard week of investigating!"

Edgeworth took a moment to wipe the look of horror off of his face before rounding on the detective with a cold silent glare. Gumshoe only grinned and shuddered in silent laughter, one hand on the back of is head.

"That's not why it matters," he muttered.

"Why do you have to work on the weekends just because Mister Von Karma tells you? He's not in charge over there, Pal."

Edgeworth glanced sidelong at the big detective; he had a point.

"You what?" The old man looked up from his meal, his voice still ringing in the expansive but empty hall.

Edgeworth stared at his cold dinner and steeled himself, "I'm moving out."

"Why?"

"Because, I'm twenty-one. Surely, I must learn to make my own way in the world."

Edgeworth put his head back down and shoved the chicken around the plate with his fork. Mister Von Karma said nothing.

"Sir," Edgeworth added finally, thinking that the old man must've been waiting for the honorific.

Mister Von Karma stewed at his end of the table. Edgeworth gritted his teeth. The silence stretched out maddeningly and Edgeworth was beginning to lose his resolve. Maybe he should just give up and stay in the big house with the old man. It's not like they had to see much of each other—aside from their awkward dinner six times a week.

"You're not twenty-one yet!"

"I will be on Saturday."

"So! You'll be twenty-one and you think you deserve to live in your own flat so you can throw parties and bring home girlfriends and other such nonsense!"

"I—" Edgeworth began.

"I didn't take you in and raise you for the last twelve years so you could party in America like all of the other idiots."

"I just wanted to live on my own…" Edgeworth stared hard at his noodles, why did he need the old man's permission anyway?

"If you must," Mister Von Karma said finally. Edgeworth bit his lip to stop himself from smiling.

"Where will you go?"

Edgeworth clenched his fists under the table to reign in his excitement, "I've found an apartment—" he relayed the neighborhood and the name of the complex, "and it's well within the limits of my stipend. Plus, by virtue of your generosity, and your kindness in allowing me to live with you, I've been able to set aside a substantial amount in savings for my expenses."

"Fine," Mister Von Karma snapped, "But this isn't an excuse to get distracted and lazy. I will certainly expect more from you."

Edgeworth swallowed.

"I suppose you will need time to move your things and set up your apartment. You may take the weekend off. But I will expect you early Monday morning and ready to work!"

"Yes sir," Edgeworth said and he almost grinned—almost. He managed to stop his smiling mouth with a large forkful of cold spätzle.

It made him gag.

"So where did the killer enter from?" Edgeworth asked aloud. He knew Gumshoe wouldn't have the answer—he was mostly thinking aloud.

"I don't know," Gumshoe said, confirming his suspicions, "but I sent a couple guys to search the perimeter outside the building."

"And the roof?" Edgeworth said—now staring intently at the ceiling.

"The roof! Yes, sir!" Gumshoe saluted and ran off before Edgeworth realized where the detective had gone. He went back to studying the ceiling, glancing once or twice at the body to help him estimate the trajectory of the fall.

It was so obvious. Why did he—the prosecutor—have to explain this to Gumshoe—the detective?

"There he goes…"

"Gumshoe?"

"Yeah… I reckon the twerp is wanting a cup of coffee…"

"Nah… Jake, you don't even know the guy. Ain't right to call a feller names and you don't know him…"

"Just look at that pink jacket and that high leather collar. I reckon he's got more rope on that sleeve, than I'd need to lasso El Peligro…"

"I can't even blame him for his rig, I reckon Von Karma tells him when to take care of his business—if you take my meanin'."

"I don't like the way he treats Gumshoe."

"Look lively, boys," Angel approached them with her sultry strut and a confident cock to her head that let her long blonde locks fall over one eye. She had a hand on her service weapon—a G23—that was holstered on her hip. Her badge was hanging in the hollow between her breasts—made even more vulgar and obvious by the fact that the button down shirt she was wearing was at least one size—but probably two sizes—too small.

"Wey-ll, howdy Bambina," Jake touched the brim of his fedora, "I weren't expecting to see you come round."

Detective Starr made a face at him and then nodded in the direction of the victim, "He's well known."

"Ain't no one talkin' yet," Jake said, "I reckon he might've just ended it himself…"

"Detective Marshall," another woman spoke up behind them and they all turned to look at her, "What did I tell you about jumping to conclusions?'

Detective Lana Skye was beautiful when she smiled. She had poise—a certain brand of confidence that elevated her above other women he'd known. Detective Jake Marshall grinned at her and touched his hat. Behind him, Angel Starr crossed her arms.

"Neil is the prospector assigned to this case, but Mister Von Karma asked him to let the choir boy assist," Jake said when he and Lana were alone.

"Is that him?" Lana nodded toward the perimeter cordoned off from the rest of the warehouse. Edgeworth and a woman wearing a jacket denoting her affiliation with the department's Crime Scene Investigators were crouched near the body. She was surprised; he looked very young.

"How old is he?"

"Twenty," Jake said absently, he'd pulled out a bowie knife and started scraping at the stubble on his chin.

Lana stared for a moment and then said, "So is this Gumshoe or Goodman's investigation?"

"Bruce will testify, but everyone is helping out," Jake said, "We even got Sunshine the Cough Up Queen."

"Who authorized this?"

"Detective Gant," Jake said, "I guess this Dan guy is a big deal."

"He was only a Mexican soap opera star," Lana said, "But his death is already a big deal. The Chief is caught in the middle between the local CNN and Fox affiliates and El Universal. So Gant is acting in his stead."

"So…" Jake said and he adjusted his fedora, "Who killed Daniel Cornado?"

Edgeworth had removed the coat. It was obvious he found the heavy brocade and the leather collar a bit much for early summer—so why wear it at all?

"Detective Starr typed up her witness statements," Edgeworth lay several printed pages on the desk, and we've got the preliminary findings as well as the initial autopsy report."

Neil could only smile—Edgeworth was on fire. Maybe that's why he put up with 'ol crazy. Neil yawned, Edgeworth was still going through the box Gumshoe had delivered and organizing the files. The Detective's case report lay untouched at the bottom.

"Ain't you gonna start there?"

Neil pointed at the report. Edgeworth looked at him but continued his own method of organization. Then suddenly he hopped up from his chair and left Neil's office.

"Edgewuh—what in the hell?"

Detective Goodman entered with another file and a grin, "Did you scare him?"

"He just took off," Neil said.

"Cute kid," Goodman said.

"That's the one everybody's talking about—Von Karma's—"

"Oh," Goodman said conspiratorially, "He sat in the chair Edgeworth had just vacated, "So guess what Gumshoe told me…"

Edgeworth hurried back up the stairs with the easel and a butcher paper block under his arm. Just wait till he had this set up, he was going to wow them—all of them. He had this case figured out to the last detail.

Maybe then everyone would stop treating him like a kid.

Edgeworth paused when he entered Marshall's office. Detective Goodman and Detective Marshall were there. They joined Prosecutor Marshall in the startled silence that fell upon Edgeworth's entrance.

"Oh," Edgeworth said, "I brought… this…"

Something seemed to break and the room swung back into action.

"Hey," Neil said, "That was a good idea Edgeworth!"

Edgeworth paused in adjusting the easel and setting the paper block on it, he stared at Prosecutor Marshall and the detectives. All he did was grab a butcher paper block and an easel so they could lay out their ideas—this wasn't a new concept. But Prosecutor Marshall had praised him—Mister Von Karma never praised him.

Edgeworth almost smiled. He finished setting up the display instead and then picked up his organizer and large felt-tipped marker.

"I know who killed Daniel Cornado," he said.

All of them looked awed as he laid out his theory on the large paper pad.

"Er, so…" Detective Marshall said and cleared his throat.

Edgeworth paused—had he written something wrong?

"I heard you had a birthday coming up," the detective said.

Edgeworth stood and gazed around the room, the other men stared intently at him.

"Well, yes," Edgeworth said, "But what importance does that have—"

"You have any plans?"

A/N: Thanks for reading! ¡Por favor, que me diga cómo le gusta este!

(Reviews totally make my day… Totally...)

Yay! We get to hang out with a much younger Miles Edgeworth (he's 20/21 if you weren't sure)

The Marshall brothers aren't really that popular, but I love them…

Poor Edgeworth, all he wants is a little acknowledgement. At this point in the game, the sum total of his experience is the aborted Mack Rell trial and the doomed Terry Fawles case.

In case it's too vague—Edgeworth still wears the crazy fancy suit inspired by Manfred Von Karma (it's kind of integral to this story… xD no no no you'll have to wait and see)

This takes place about a year or so before SL-9. So Lana Skye is still a detective.

My Spanish is atrocious (I don't think it's as bad as my German), but it's pretty bad… If you see any mistakes please let me know.

I dedicate this story to the desert Southwest of the USA… You're beautiful and I love you…