Around this time last year, I began writing a fic centred around the Gavin brothers as children. It was poorly-written, had a clunky-at-best concept, and generally needed a lot of work. And I've finally decided to revise it.

As with all stories focusing on hazy at best backstories, there are a good few OCs. However, I've tried to keep them all closely-linked to canon characters; hopefully this'll make sense later on.

I do not own Ace Attorney, of course. If I did, there'd be much more Simon Blackquill merch.

My dear Mrs Reinhardt,

I was delighted indeed to hear from you after all these years. I am as well as one can be in my position, and I wish the same for yourself and your family. It is a pity, though, that we left so long since last exchanging sentiments; I shall take some time now, a decade too late, albeit, to express my condolences for your father's death. But, one would almost think that you are avoiding me.

I must regretfully inform you, though, that your letter left me rather cold. I found it most presumptuous, really, in both its accusations and your overconfidence in this so-called proof that you claim to have obtained—it is almost laughable. Although, perhaps my feelings are unjustified; I would not have expected anything less from you.

I am curious, though, of your intentions. What exactly are your plans for this information, as you insisted on calling it. Forgive me for my impertinence, but what you seem to possess is circumstantial evidence for a fourteen-year-old case—the defendant of which is long-dead, one of the secondary victims on death row, and the other has successfully (in the opinion of the majority) rebuilt his life. There is no advantage in a retrial that I can see, and no court which would accept it. This is ignoring the very fact that this case cannot be reopened. From what I can see, you are intent on dragging up the past with no real objective in mind.

I implore you, Marta; give up. Your father taught you far better than this.

Yours sincerely,

Kristoph

Franziska carefully folded the letter and placed it back in the envelope, folding the flap inside it. She turned to the expectantly-waiting guard, and gave a short, curt nod. The man stepped back, knowing that the prosecutor would not tolerate his standing so close. And her lack of tolerance hurt—really hurt.

The blue-haired woman returned her attention to the serenely-smiling man on the opposite side of the glass. "Well? Care to explain?"

He gave a small chuckle at her scowl, and shook his head. "I do not."

"What? How dare you?" she snapped. "Kristoph Gavin, I am—"

"Not Martina Reinhardt—the one whose name is written on the envelope. The only reason I allowed you to read it was, quite frankly, because you came here in your sister's place. I do hope you understand," he folded his arms, amused at the woman's short temper. How she became a successful prosecutor like that was something he'd never understand. Law was about being calm, being collected, being the 'coolest defence in the west', as they liked to call him. "Why are you here, Franziska?"

She looked away, clearly finding the dull grey of the wall far more interesting than the man beyond the glass. "You required that the letter be collected by someone in the legal profession. Hence, I am here. Are you growing forgetful in your box, Kristoph?"

"I believe," he began, adding a thoughtful pause for nothing more than emphasis, "that I asked for your sister."

"And I believe I informed you that Martina was unavailable to meet your request," she replied, shortly. A series of short, staccato beeps sounded from her purse; she took it, studied it, and dropped it back again, with a look of satisfaction. "She is meeting with your dear brother as we speak."

Something within Kristoph clicked; he tensed. "Martina? With Klavier? Why? What does she have to say to him?"

"I should imagine just the same as she said to you in the letter. I do not know the details, she declined to speak of them to me. But, whatever it was, she said to me that 'he deserved to know, it affected him too'. Whatever that means."

He released a long, drawn-out breath. So that was it, then. Perhaps Klavier wouldn't believe her. Yes! He wasn't as stupid as he seemed. Surely he, too, would see that Martina's claim held no water…

Franziska stood from her chair, pulling a long, black coat around her shoulders, which she tied with a red scarf. She met Kristoph's eyes with a narrow gaze. "She always preferred Klavier, you know."

"Did she, now?"

"Undoubtedly."

She moved towards the door, and the guard jumped to open it for her. Her heels clicked on the cold flooring, with the air of one who is truly confident in every aspect of themselves. About halfway there, she stopped. "It was good to see you again, Kristoph."

She didn't look back, and, just as effortlessly as before, exited the room.