The Demon Prosecutor

'Another day, another hard-earned dollar.' Not that the money really meant anything to him. Despite appearances, that had never been a prevailing factor behind his choice in career, even in his misspent youth. Moments like this, when his tireless efforts were rewarded with the sweet ache of overwork in his head and limbs and the ring of the judge's verdict still echoed in his ears—this was why he did what he did.

Though the soft leather seats of his Benz were a welcome bonus to be enjoyed at the end of a long day…as was the exquisite dinner he intended to have at Chez Panisse on his way home…

All right. He had to admit, the money did mean something to him.

Edgeworth smirked lightly to himself as his brisk stride finally brought him to his car. The headlights flashed a warm greeting as he approached, illuminating the immediate area in the dimly lit car park. He opened the door with a smooth but slow movement, hefted his briefcase into the passenger seat, and half-slid, half-fell into the driver's seat with a soft, weary sigh. He took a moment to settle himself, leaning his head back, closing his eyes, and allowing his tired body to sink into the bucket seat. The trial seemed to have taken more out of him than he had realized.