Practically from infancy, nine-year-old Miles Edgeworth had possessed an affinity for learning. It hadn't taken his father, Gregory, terribly long to recognize the trait in his son, for it was one that he himself had groomed and garnered for years within his own heart. He could remember with astonishing clarity and an equal level of fondness the hunger that had always roared within him whenever presented with the opportunity to gather more information about the world around him, the tingling on the tips of his fingers whenever he thought he was close to getting the answers he had always craved. It was an insatiable thirst that only seemed to strengthen as the years of his life went by, and even now, at only nine years old, he could tell that his Miles felt the same way.

Though, of course, he supposed he couldn't claim all the credit for his son's ambition and ever-present inquisitiveness. Miles' mother, a charming young woman named Lila to whom Gregory had been married for five years before her untimely death, had been just as curious about the world and all its machinations. It was one of the qualities in her that Gregory had always most cherished, especially since while it was so similar to his own knack for gathering information, at the same time she was so different; while he had always been driven by logic and reason, cold facts and statistics, Lila had seen the world in so many shades and hues, and had been fascinated more by music and the arts, forms of self-expression. She'd always been levelheaded and rational, but beneath that was an adventurousness he'd never known in anyone else. He'd always wanted to nurture that quality in Miles as much as he could, but now that she was gone, Gregory was slowly beginning to come to the dismaying conclusion that he didn't have a clue how to do that.

But, he surmised that taking his son to the local library was just as good a start as any.

It was a mildly cool October afternoon, and for the first time in months, rainclouds had marched along the Los Angeles skyline since the arrival of the dawn. In order to escape the inevitable precipitation and the dreariness it would bring along with it, Gregory had proposed over breakfast that as soon as he finished the day's errands, he and Miles ought to take a trip to the library for a while. Not at all to his surprise, his son had enthusiastically agreed; though the library they most often frequented was modest and small enough that each of them had read through its contents at least two times over, there was nothing Miles loved quite so much as books, and as such, he was always eager for a chance to re-read them.

And that made no mention of the simple fact that, well, Miles and Gregory Edgeworth rather enjoyed one another's company. In truth, this was largely because they were all that each other had left. Lila had passed away when Miles was only four years old, and though he seemed to have retained some memories of his mother, his father was the only parental figure in his life at a time when he needed guidance most. Knowing that all too well, Gregory had always tried his best to be the father that his son deserved; though Miles certainly seemed to greatly admire him, he still couldn't always manage to fight back those creeping insecurities that perhaps his influence wasn't enough.

Along with those insecurities came guilt. Gregory Edgeworth was a prominent defense attorney, and in recent years, it seemed that his law firm had reached an all-new level of popularity that still, even now, managed to astound him. Though that was certainly fortunate for his paycheck, he couldn't help but feel that his extended work hours would eventually begin to have an adverse effect upon his son. Much as he appreciated that he was getting so much work these days, he couldn't calm the growing fear that perhaps he wasn't spending enough time with Miles, a factor that, though it may not bother the boy now, might eventually cause him to feel neglected or unloved.

Every time the thought so much as crossed his mind, he could practically hear Lila's voice in his head, whispering, you worry too much. Perhaps so, but his son meant the world to him, and Gregory knew that he wasn't exactly what one would call the best with displaying emotions. It was his worst quality, his awkwardness – even downright sheepishness – towards the very idea of putting one's feelings on display. He'd always been a quiet, reserved man, and while he did feel things very deeply, he had never been very accomplished at showing it. As extraverted as Lila had been while living, she'd never had any trouble making her love for her husband and son known; Gregory only wished he could be as skilled with it as she.

Miles, he caught himself thinking as he strode through the front doors to the library, nine-year-old son by his side, I hope for your sake as well as whomever you may come to love one day that you will not inherit my tactlessness when it comes to affairs of the heart. May you grow to acquire your mother's warmth and openness towards the idea of loving another, rather than share in my uncertainty towards affection.

Still, one look at the boy and Gregory knew that this likely would not be the case. His son had always been grounded and obedient for his age, serious-faced and stern as though he'd seen a thousand years, rather than nine. He possessed a bewildering sense of honor and integrity for one so young, and seemed to hold himself to even higher standards than the strict ones he set for others. But this was not to suggest that his son was unkind; no, despite his generally austere disposition, Gregory knew that Miles had a good heart. He was motivated and optimistic for the future, and determined beyond anything else to achieve the goals he set for himself. He would grow into a fine young man one day, and Gregory Edgeworth could hardly wait to see it for himself.

"Alright, Miles," Gregory said at last when they had entered the public library, instantly washed over with a gust of warm air to combat the chill outside. "Here we are. You're free to look around however much you like, and if you find something, you know you can use your library card to check it out at the front desk. In the meantime, I'll be over here in the reference section if you wish to come find me."

Miles beamed in response, excitement bright in his slate-gray eyes. It was a rare expression of enthusiasm from the boy, as he usually attempted to contain himself and cover up happiness in an attempt to appear more grown than he actually was, but it warmed Mr. Edgeworth's heart to see it, nonetheless. "Yes, Father," he answered. "Thank you!"

And off he bounded into the maze of towering bookshelves, leaving his father behind to quirk the tiniest of smiles in the direction of his son's retreating form.

Here among the aisles upon aisles of books, Miles Edgeworth couldn't have possibly felt more at home.

Every detail spoke of familiarity; the air, thick and stale with dust, settled into his lungs as though it were a long-lost friend, greeting him again after a long absence from one another's company. He recognized the spine of nearly every book upon the shelves, give or take a few; he hadn't paid a visit in weeks, so there were a few volumes that had recently been added to the ranks that he didn't recall from the past. That was just as well; he would never turn down the opportunity to get to read something new. In the light streaming in through the tall, fingerprint-stained window on the far left of the room, Miles could see dust motes dancing through the air, tickling and teasing his nostrils. As generally awful as this humble old place was for his allergies, he couldn't help but love it.

More often than not, Miles preferred to read non-fiction works. Though it was difficult to find anything in the library that was dated recently, it was still interesting to read older books and see what peoples' viewpoints were on things before scientific reasons came and possibly altered those stands. The world was filled with questions that he longed to see answered, and everything that he read made him feel as if he were close to approaching the truth he so often craved.

Today, though, he'd decided to venture a glance into the fiction section, just to see if there were anything that they had added here that he might be interested in reading. Imaginary creatures and fanciful things such as that had never truly been his "style", but he would be lying if he said that he didn't appreciate even a little bit of escapist literature every now and then. He was a nine-year-old boy, after all, and even the most mature nine-year-old boys still had soft spots in their hearts for fantasy literature and films.

His best friends, Phoenix Wright and Larry Butz, were neither very avid readers, and so they didn't exactly understand his fascination with the written word or the world it entailed.

His father, however, always did.

Miles liked to think that he and his dad were fairly similar; although admittedly, Gregory Edgeworth could prove on occasion to be somewhat enigmatic, from what Miles understood of him, they weren't terribly different. And when he grew older, perhaps that would be even more the case! He looked forward to that most of all; when he was an adult, people would take him seriously and he would be well-respected, just like his father. No longer would his opinions be laughed off or treated as cute or impressive for his age; he just wanted to be seen as a thoughtful individual, someone commanding and authoritative. That was what Gregory Edgeworth was to others; he was kind and fair and just, but at the same time, very rarely disrespected. Miles' greatest aspiration was to be just like his father when he grew up, and he certainly wasn't afraid to make that fact known.

Given how much he looked up to his dad, he had to admit, he was grateful for today. His father had been increasingly busy of late, and as a result, hadn't had much time to spare to do anything other than work. Not that Miles didn't understand; his father's job was an honorable one, and he knew that the time not spent at home was used helping others that couldn't save themselves. He was proud of that. But pride only extended so far, so naturally he was relieved and beyond thrilled for the opportunity to get to spend the day at the library with the man he most admired.

As Miles meandered through the 'K-L' section, flanked on either side by tall bookcases, a title on one shelf close to his eye level jumped out at him, catching his attention and pulling him away from his thoughts. He was certain that he hadn't seen this book before, though it didn't appear to be particularly new. It was a brown paperback, pages yellowed and weathered with age. The spine was ragged and worn with time, splintered and frayed from having been read over and over again. Still, Miles could just barely make out the title, written across the side in a simple gold script: "To Kill a Mockingbird".

"Hm. . ."

Lifting his eyebrows, mildest curiosity flashing in his eyes, Miles reached out and took the book from the shelf, holding it gingerly in his hands, almost fearing it would crumble to pieces in his touch. Now that he had turned it over to the front, he could see that the cover displayed a picture of a large hollow tree against the backdrop of a moonlit night, with a black bird soaring to meet the stars. The title was emblazoned above the picture, this time in proud red lettering, serving to even further incite his intrigue. He scanned the cover quickly, and at the bottom, he found what he was looking for: the author's name, also in red letters, printed clearly just below the picture of the tree. Harper Lee.

Interesting, Miles thought, pensively cocking his head to the side ever so slightly. I wonder why I've never seen or heard of this book before? Then again, I don't read much fiction, so maybe it escaped my notice.

Inquisitiveness piqued, the young boy gave a quiet hum from the back of his throat, contemplating the book with all the thoughtful scrutiny of a lawyer cross-examining a particularly difficult witness. He aimed a concentrated glare in the direction of the bird flying across the front cover, not so much angry as deep within his own mind, the gears in his analytical brain turning at full speed. At last concluding that a book he'd never read before certainly warranted at least a cursory glance at the front page, he shrugged his shoulders and flipped past the copyright information and the dedication to a page that simply displayed a quotation.

"'Lawyers, I suppose, were children once,'" he recited aloud, eyes widening slightly with surprise. A book about lawyers that he'd never read before?! Impossible! He flipped as fast as he possibly could, heart pounding in eagerness to see what the first page held; when he found it, he continued to read it softly to himself. "'When he was nearly thirteen, my brother Jem got his arm badly broken at the elbow . . .'" Voice trailing off, he proceeded to silently scan the page, captivated more and more by every syllable that he read.

It didn't take much further investigating to convince him – for once. Though he knew little of it (there was no description on the back, so he had to simply infer from what he'd glanced over so far) he couldn't help but find it engaging. As interested as he was in lawyers, he couldn't believe that he'd never noticed this book before. And this story appeared to be narrated by a child only a few years younger than he! Very rarely did he ever come across things of that nature in the fiction section. (Of course, if he were looking for younger heroes, he could always venture to the children's section, but Miles had always had more mature tastes in literature.) That settled it – he had to read this book.

Feeling as though his library card were burning a hole in his pocket, Miles tucked the book into the crook of his arm and made his way to the front desk. There was a short line that stretched from the desk, consisting of perhaps two or three people, so Miles decided to take his place quickly or else risk being trapped at the end of a line that could turn longer if he hesitated. Though the boy was usually quite stoic and controlled, as he waited his turn in line, he almost felt like bouncing with excitement.

Just wait until my father sees what I've managed to find, he couldn't help but think, a self-congratulatory little smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth. I wonder if he's ever read it. Perhaps he can tell me if it's really good or not.

At last, it was his turn to approach the front desk. Miles edged close and slid his book across the countertop, where it was received by a pair of long, skinny fingers, the nails painted a bright shade of pink. Miles lifted his eyes from the fingers to the face of the woman that owned them, a dour-faced blonde with a face so pale that her lips appeared to be only a smear of red curved into a deep frown. Her hair was scraped up into a bun, but thin wisps were falling into her face, giving her a generally overworked appearance. She spared a quick glance down at the book, then looked back up at Miles once again, quirking a dark eyebrow in apparent disbelief.

"Are you checkin' this one out yourself, kid?" she asked, a touch of exasperation working its way into her tone. "If it's for your mom or dad, you just tell 'em to come back and use their own library card to get it. Got me?"

Miles blinked, for a moment temporarily thrown by the woman's . . . abrasiveness. Still, he swallowed hard and squared his shoulders, trying his best to be calm and polite, as he knew his father would be. If he ever wanted to start being seen as an adult, after all, he'd need his actions to reflect that.

"Oh – oh, no, ma'am," he answered, giving his head the slightest shake. "I'm afraid you're mistaken. That book's not for my father – I'm checking it out for myself! I want to read it!" As if to punctuate his sentence, he tried a barely-there smile, but his nerves and the woman's stern gaze quickly chased it away from his features.

The woman at the front desk laughed in response to his reasoning, but the sound was nasty and without humor. "You? Read this? Look, sorry, but I'm not exactly sure that this sort of thing is your type. It's got a lot of themes that are way over your head. What are you, seven?"

"I'm nine!" Miles replied indignantly, hardly able to help the spike of anger flaring in his chest. "A-and I'm nearly ten – I'll be ten in January, that's only three months! What on Earth makes you believe I can't handle that book?"

"Don't you have any idea what kinds of things are in this book?" The librarian asked, folding her arms obstinately across her chest. "Sure, by the standards of most adults, it's pretty tame, but I don't know of any nine-year-olds that would understand some of the stuff that goes on in it."

Miles scoffed; well, that had to be just about the most ridiculously flimsy argument he'd ever heard in his life. Clenching his hands into fists at his sides, he allowed his nails to bite into his palms in order to prevent himself from outright rolling his eyes. Though this woman obviously had no qualms with being rude, he wasn't about to stoop to her level of iniquity quite yet. Still, he couldn't help the angry flush of color rushing to his cheeks, even going as far as to turn the backs of his ears a deep crimson.

"Well, you hardly stand a chance of knowing that I won't understand if you won't let me give it a try," he reasoned, his tone making it sound as if the answer should be obvious. That much could scarcely be helped – he'd always had the unfortunate tendency to be a bit of a know-it-all, even towards those older than he.

The woman shook her head, apparently already firm in her decision despite the fact that his argument had all the merit in the world. "I don't know. Just hold out on this one for a little while, alright? Give it a few years, and come back when you're not a kid. Maybe then it won't fly completely over your head."

Snatching the book up from where it sat on the desktop, the librarian reached over and placed it on a small cart just behind her, letting it drop with a 'thunk' into the pile of other books that had been returned earlier. Miles watched in silent befuddlement as the book fell out of his line of sight, then directed his gaze back up to the woman's face, eyes questioning and angry all at once. She had no authority whatsoever to tell him what he could and could not read! Why did it always seem that nobody ever took him seriously, ever listened to him long enough to have the true measure of his intelligence? Biting back a frustrated snarl, the boy turned on his heel and stalked away, face burning with embarrassment as he moved away from the line to find his father.

True to his word, Gregory Edgeworth was deep in the reference section when Miles found him at last, looking over a particularly substantial stack of red encyclopedias. His eyes were narrowed thoughtfully as they scanned the length of the shelves before him, his hands buried casually in the pockets of his crisp trench coat. His fedora cast a shadow over his features, making him appear slightly more serious and stony than Miles actually knew him to be. That effect was quickly chased away, however, when Gregory caught sight of his son approaching him, melting his expression from one of quiet pensiveness to that of surprise.

"Why, Miles," he greeted, the thinnest quirk of a smile touching the corners of his lips. "There you are. Finished already? I would have thought that you would have wanted to look around for a bit longer before you made a decision."

Miles huffed, his annoyance with that woman from the front desk flooding back to him almost immediately. "Well, as a matter of fact, I did make a decision," he grumbled, "but apparently the librarian doesn't approve of my reading choices." He resisted the urge to give a sarcastic little snort at the end of his sentence, knowing that his father would scold him if he were too insolent in public.

The amused surprise on Gregory's face almost instantly turned into concern, his brow knitting in response to his son's words. Attention caught, he turned from the books he'd been previously examining and moved closer to Miles, sinking down to a crouch so he could be at the boy's level. "What are you talking about?" he asked, clearly catching on to Miles' dismay. "What's the matter, son? Did the woman at the desk say something to you?"

With a sigh, the younger Edgeworth launched into his story, careful to be as clear and concise as possible. As he spoke, his father listened patiently, nodding ever so often or prompting him to elaborate in certain places. Miles was almost reminded of the videos of courtroom proceedings they sometimes showed on television, where the defense attorney would carefully and painstakingly cross-examine the witness, paying attention to their every movement and vocal inflection. Thankfully, his father's gaze was not nearly so intimidating.

"Sh-she was most likely right, now that I think about it," Miles tacked on hurriedly as he finished his explanation, just in case his father happened to side with the librarian instead of him. "I have no idea what the book is about, after all." Even as the words left his lips, they were stilted and awkward, making it all the more obvious that he didn't even believe them, himself.

Knowing better, Gregory gave his head the slightest shake. "Come with me, Miles," he said after a brief pause, rising to his feet and taking his son's hand. "I'd like to have a talk with this librarian, myself."

"Excuse me," said Gregory Edgeworth as he approached the library's front desk, his son in tow. In response to his greeting, a blonde woman looked up from a stack of books she was piling into a cart just behind the counter. "May I have a moment of your time? I'd like a word with you, if you don't mind."

When he and Miles drew close enough to the desk, he could see more clearly that the woman was looking them both carefully over. He couldn't help but take note of the fact that the faintest flicker of recognition flashed through her eyes when she caught sight of his son; so, this was the one who had denied Miles the opportunity to read one of the greatest pieces of American literature to date. Interesting. Gregory lifted a curious eyebrow as he gave her a quick once-over himself, wondering what exactly made this woman believe that she possessed the ultimate authority where Miles' reading level was concerned.

He supposed he could understand her concern easily enough. It wasn't every day that a nine-year-old approached the librarian with the intent to check out To Kill a Mockingbird, of all things. And she knew so little of Miles' actual personality or connections to the legal profession; for all this woman knew, he was simply another average child, with everyday interests and little regard for reading as a whole. Nor did she know that Miles' father happened to be a defense attorney, who was perfectly open to the idea of his son reading the book. Perhaps her trepidation simply stemmed from her wish to avoid a potential conflict with an easily-offended parent. He couldn't blame her entirely, then, for being so apprehensive to allow him to check out the book to begin with.

Still . . . Miles was different from most boys his age, more intellectually driven than his two best friends, more keen to understand things typically thought beyond his years. Perhaps Gregory's pride in his son was clouding his judgment, but he thought Miles more than capable of comprehending the book's material. And for that matter, it was ultimately the parent's decision, not the librarian's, to allow or disallow their child to read a particular selection; she could have easily asked to speak to Gregory himself if she felt that his son was potentially involving himself in a book far too difficult for him.

Whatever her reasoning, Gregory decided that now was the time to simply set aside his preconceived notions of this woman's actions and give her the benefit of the doubt. He'd come over here for the purpose of hearing her side of the story and he intended to hear her out, even if he believed this entire ordeal to be rather ridiculous.

"Oh," the woman breathed at last, reaching up to absently tuck a lock of wispy blonde hair behind her ear. "Yeah – yeah, of course. Now, you're this boy's . . . ?"

"Father, yes," Gregory confirmed with a nod of his head. "And he tells me that you seemed rather keen to dismiss his desire to read a particular book? To Kill a Mockingbird, I believe?" He glanced down to Miles for a brief moment, long enough to see him nod once in confirmation of Gregory's earlier statement, then lifted his gaze back to the woman once more.

For a moment, surprise flitted across her features, as if this were the first she'd heard of this. After a beat passed in silence between them, the expression turned into one of slight sheepishness. "Well – I mean – yeah. I just, I've read it a lot and I mean – I mean, you've read it, haven't you? You know what kind of stuff's in that book. It's not controversial, per se, it's just . . . well, nothin' a kid can handle." A chuckle punctuated her sentence, as if her reasoning were so obvious that it ought to be laughable.

"I believe that remains to be seen," Gregory Edgeworth responded coolly. Offering the tiniest hint of a rueful smile, he continued, "Ma'am, seeing as I truthfully understand you are only attempting to do your job and do it well, I respect your opinion. However, you don't know Miles. Believe me when I tell you that he is a boy who possesses the most remarkable breadth of intelligence I have ever seen in one so young. You are right, I have read the aforementioned novel before, and I am of the opinion that my son is more than capable of reading it, himself."

As the last words of his final sentence left his lips, he turned his gaze to Miles for a few seconds, delighted to discover that the boy's eyes were filled with both a glowing admiration and an unabashed gratitude. That was just like Miles; he was never hesitant to show how proud he was of his father, and no matter how many times he did it, it never failed to completely take Gregory off-guard in the best of ways. His son was hardly the type of boy to dole out empty compliments to those he felt undeserving; his poor friends knew that all too well. Perhaps it was silly, but Gregory took a ridiculous amount of pride in the wealth of affection that his son seemed to hold for him.

When the older Edgeworth turned his attention back to the desk, the librarian almost seemed to concede for a moment, the barest hints of a smile beginning to twitch into place at the corners of her full mouth. However, the moment passed without much fanfare and her expression melted back into the dubious reluctance she'd worn so well seconds earlier. She looked over the two of them for a few long, calculated seconds, and Mr. Edgeworth bit back an oddly-timed laugh he felt brewing in the center of his chest. Even those who were not involved in the legal profession seemed to fancy themselves excellent analysts, it seemed; the thought was amusing, to say the least. He had to wonder what she must be thinking of the two of them, to make her so incredibly hesitant to let them check out a book, of all things.

"Yeah, well . . ." she muttered at last, chewing her lower lip thoughtfully. "I dunno. I guess it's none of my business anyway. Here – sir, I can let you check that book out on your library card, if you want." She gestured to the card held betwixt his index and middle fingers a bit impatiently, prompting him to hand it over.

"That will do, thank you," he responded calmly, relinquishing the library card to her without further incident, knowing full well how the others behind them in line must be getting tired of waiting by this point. Now, was that quite so difficult? He couldn't help but think, trying to keep the momentary flash of spite from showing on his face.

The librarian flipped the book over, stamped it in the back, and then slid it across the counter to Gregory, who accepted it without another word. At last, after this travesty, the volume was theirs to read. With a sigh and a brief nod in the woman's direction, he handed it over to Miles, hardly able to suppress a smile at the victorious gleam in his son's eyes.

"Have a good day, you two," the woman said at last, sounding as though she were forcing every syllable from the back of her throat. "And sorry about all the trouble."

"Not at all," responded Gregory, placing a hand near the base of Miles' neck as he prepared to lead the way out of the building. "Good day." And with a turn of his heel and a murmured, "Come, son," the two began their trip home.

The sun was just beginning to sink down below the horizon when the Edgeworths returned home for the evening, the clouds of the earlier rainstorm at last breaking away until they were naught but pearl-gray streaks along the edge of the treetops. A gentle breeze blew as the two strode briskly across the lawn to the front door. It was a perfect, relaxing end to a rather arduous – though certainly exciting – day.

As they headed back into the house, Miles couldn't help but stare with rapt wonder at the book in his hands, wondering all the while just what could be inside it that would be so terribly controversial. Thankfully, though, his father had thought him perfectly capable of reading it . . . a fact which Miles had been replaying over and over again in his head ever since hearing it from his father in the library. Getting the book he'd wanted and hearing such glowing compliments from Gregory himself was almost too gleefully much to bear! His father, the man he so admired, not only thought him intelligent and mature, but respected him as he would an adult! Miles could scarcely keep himself from grinning like an incompetent fool the entire way home.

Still . . . the question as to the book's specific content yet lingered in the back of his mind, causing his brain to buzz with curiosity. He'd not yet been given the chance to find out Gregory's opinion on the book – not particularly, as their encounter with the librarian had been rather brief – and now seemed as good a time as any.

"Father?" Miles asked, moving to sit down onto the couch as his father sank into his favorite armchair.

"Hm?"

"What exactly was it about this book that the librarian seemed so afraid of me reading?"

There was a brief pause, during which his father seemed to carefully consider the question from a multitude of angles. Much like Miles himself, his dad had a way of being quite obviously deep in thought, with a furrowed brow and eyes that darkened as the gears in his head began to turn at full speed. Still, he didn't mind, as this let the younger Edgeworth know better than anything else that whatever answer he received would be a compelling one.

"Well . . . though I can't speak for our dear librarian myself, I believe perhaps she was intimidated by the idea of one as young as you reading about the particular . . . crimes that take place within the novel." Gregory swept his gaze over to his son now, looking as thoughtful and even polite in his shy way as ever.

Miles gave a sputtering little laugh. "Why, that's ridiculous! You're a defense attorney – how on Earth would I not have been exposed to at least some crime?"

Gregory gave a mild chuckle at this, reclining slightly in his chair. "Yes, well, while I would be compelled to agree with you, son, I'm afraid that that isn't always the case. You see, society has come to the deplorable state where we automatically assume that youth immediately equates to obliviousness. I have found in my years that oftentimes, children possess a wisdom that occasionally surpasses even that of their adult counterparts." There was a beat of silence before he added, "And I learned that, Miles, from my years as your father. I learned it from you."

Young Miles couldn't keep the surprise from dancing onto his features, his mouth falling open into a tiny 'O'. "From – from me?" he replied lamely, giving a bemused little shake of his head. All this time he'd been trying his hardest to learn from his father, and it turned out that Gregory had learned something from him? "R-really, Father?"

"Of course," said Mr. Edgeworth, as calmly and naturally as if he'd just been asked if the grass was green or the sky blue. "At the risk of inflating your ego, you're far wiser than you give yourself credit for, my boy. May I confess something to you?" Pausing just long enough for Miles to nod his head, he added, "I used to fear that, due to my inexperience with parenthood and my lack of tact regarding matters of the heart, you would never grow to one day know the true measure of a man and what makes us different, what truly separates human from beast. But every day, I appear to be reminded all the more that perhaps you know that already – and I suspect that one day, you will possess an understanding of that much which will far surpass even my own."

And, Gregory realized, he couldn't wait to see it when his son did.

Disclaimer: Just briefly, I would like to mention that I - obviously - am not Harper Lee, nor do I claim ownership of the excerpts of her work displayed in this fanfiction. The quotations from the book belong to her, and the quotation "Lawyers, I suppose, were children once" to Charles Lamb. I am not making any profit from this work. Thank you!