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He's away for the first several months following Wright's disbarment, and though the rumors reach him, he doesn't fully believe what he hears until he arrives on Wright's doorstep and sees the man with his own eyes.
"Edgeworth," Wright says, looking hesitant but finally stepping aside to allow him entry.
Edgeworth stops short, noticing that the lobby of Wright's modest practice now looks very unlike a place of business. Additionally, there are all sorts of items he's never associated with Wright, most notably a selection of silk hats. "... Ah," he says, putting together the pieces. Some of the media he has consumed regarding Wright's final trial mentioned a child left behind after Zak Gramarye's little disappearing act. No one had been able to determine what had happened to her. "Is there a safe place for her to go?" he asks, not bothering to ask for confirmation about her presence in the building.
"Here," Wright says with a shrug, like that's all there is to it.
Wright has made mistakes, but his moral compass is the north to which Edgeworth has oriented his own, so he bites back his lectures about the dangers of taking in the child of a man Wright must resent, about the impracticality of welcoming someone into his family when he's unemployed with no prospects, about the things people can and will imply if they learn that a supposedly crooked lawyer has adopted the young child of the client who ruined him.
Trucy Gramarye becomes Trucy Wright, and that really is all there is to it.
— — —
Edgeworth is in and out of town over the next year. His visits to the Wrights' home are necessarily scarce, due both to his travels and to Wright's insistence that they make an effort not to be seen together. When asked why, Wright responds in a bland and enigmatic way that infuriates Edgeworth and ruins the time they do get to spend together, so he has stopped asking.
Even with few opportunities to interact, Trucy, an extremely bold child, manages to wrap Edgeworth around her finger in a matter of months. It's almost terrifying, the way she seems able to interpret his carefully worded answers to her questions, the way she knows which questions to ask in the first place. She claims it's stage training, but Edgeworth finds himself comparing her much more closely to Maya and Pearl Fey than to Will Powers or Max Galactica.
To say that he is intimidated by the prospect of babysitting her is a massive understatement.
"It'll be fine," Wright promises again, settling a new knitted hat onto his head. "Like I said, she can take care of herself pretty well. I just don't want her to be lonely if I'm gone longer than I expect."
"And you're quite certain that Ms. Fey isn't a better option?"
"Nah. Truce is fighting with Pearls right now, remember? They need at least another week to miss each other enough to make up." Wright purposely rumples the shirt he's wearing.
Edgeworth seethes at the sight, wondering if it's being done just to provoke him. He decides not to be provoked. “And what exactly leads you to believe you might be gone longer than usual?”
Wright’s hands falter in their adjustment of his clothing, and he turns away to gather a few things from the dresser behind him. “I’ve been working toward something. Tonight might be the night it starts to pan out, that’s all.” He fiddles with things on the top of the dresser, very pointedly not turning around to look at Edgeworth.
Edgeworth doesn’t like anything about this situation. “Wright. If–”
“Just stay with Trucy tonight. Please? Or take her to your place if you don’t think you’ll be able to sleep without your cooling foam ergonomic whatevers.” Finally, Wright turns around, and the look on his face is somewhere between fond and regretful. His mismatched eyes are so distant these days. He used to wear his heart on his sleeve, so open and honest that it had sometimes hurt Edgeworth to look at him. There’s nothing there now but a mask so well-crafted that Edgeworth can’t see through it. “You should keep this, anyway,” he says, handing over a key. “I had a copy made for you. In case something happens to me. Someone will have to take care of Trucy. If it can’t be you, you can at least get her to Maya.”
“...She’ll want for nothing,” he says, hoping that he has learned something of bluffing by osmosis. Edgeworth has no idea what to do with a nine-year-old child. Not in the short-term, and certainly not in the long-term.
“Good man, Edgey,” Wright says, clapping him on the shoulder and walking past. Just another thing that’s wholly and completely wrong. Wright hasn’t called him that in ages. A few weeks ago, in a quiet moment, he’d even said, “I hope I’m doing the right thing, Miles.”
If he is going to stand by and allow his friend’s life to spiral out of control, the very least he can do is keep Trucy out of it.
—
“Uhm…Mr. Edgeworth?” she asks, interrupting his explanation of the relationship between various iterations of Steel Samurai.
“Er– yes?”
“I’m…kinda bored.”
“...Ah.” That’s unfortunate. The topic they’ve been discussing– or, perhaps, that he’s been presenting on– is the most child-friendly thing on which he has any expertise. “Would you perhaps like to…” Edgeworth trails off. He hasn’t participated in children’s activities in a very long time. He doesn’t think Kay would appreciate being considered a child, and besides, he doesn’t fancy explaining to Wright why he assisted Trucy in learning to pick locks and/or scale walls. “What do you usually do around this time?” he asks instead, leaning on Wright’s time-tested strategy of looking at the problem from a new angle.
Trucy taps a finger against her cheek, face screwed up in thought. “Usually I’m still eating dinner because it takes Daddy a bajillion times longer than you to make food! But after that I practice for my shows.”
He stops himself from commenting on her time estimates, but only barely. Perhaps she and Sebastian should study together, now that he’s working to patch up his vocabulary skills. “Well, in that case, is there any way I may assist you in your practice?”
Her eyes light up, and she bounces to her feet. “My very own lovely assistant? I’m really in the big time now.” She giggles. “Hmmm, I dunno, Mr. Edgeworth. I’ve gotten used to being a solo act.”
Something about the way she says it twists his insides unpleasantly. He knows that Wright must be doing his best, but he also knows what it’s like to grow up lonely, and he doesn’t want that for Trucy. If this is going to continue, if Wright is going to keep stealthily pursuing whatever it is he’s after, then perhaps Edgeworth will have to look into permanently relocating. He doesn’t want to presume his right to take a more active role in her life, but he can forgive himself for that more easily than the alternative.
“Wait!” she says suddenly, holding out a hand to “help” him stand. “I do have an idea. You stand over here,” Trucy directs, manhandling him quite effectively for someone of such short stature. “And I’ll cross my arms over my chest and fall backwards, and you catch me. Deal?”
Realistically, he thinks he’s a bit too tall to catch her easily, but he won’t drop her, even if it means he’ll be in pain tomorrow from stooping. “Ah, trust falls,” he says. “Forgive me, but that doesn’t seem like a terribly useful skill for a solo act.”
He and Larry and Wright had caught the same bug when they were…what, her age? A bit younger? They’d taken turns falling from more and more treacherous positions: the floor, then the couch, then the balance beam in Larry’s backyard.
Well. Larry had gotten bored very quickly, and Edgeworth hadn’t liked the feeling of freefall, but Wright had insisted on being caught over and over.
Edgeworth hopes he’ll be able to catch him this time.
“Um, Mr. Edgeworth?” Trucy calls up to him, tapping on his arm. “Are you still in there?”
“Ah, er, I’m terribly sorry, Ms. Wright. I appear to have gotten lost in my thoughts.”
She smiles brilliantly, face flushing with pride the way it always does when she’s reminded that she’s Wright’s daughter. It lasts for only a second before she’s looking at him sternly again, hands on her hips. “Well, just don’t be lost when I’m falling. I’ll have to fire you if you drop me, and then you’ll have to learn piano just like Daddy.”
“Ah, you see, I have an advantage. I already know how to play the piano. Regardless, I will not drop you.”
“I know,” she says. “And after I get really good at falling, I’ll practice catching you!”
Alarmed, Edgeworth splutters his way toward an excuse to keep that from happening, but Trucy just laughs, turns away, and drops her body backwards.
He doesn’t let her fall.
— — —
“Um…Uncle Miles?” he hears a few months later. There’s only one person who calls him that, and she’s only started doing it recently.
“Trucy?” he asks, equally as tentative as her greeting. He’d answered the phone assuming it to be Wright, given that the call came from his number.
“Hi! Are you…are you close by?”
“Yes,” he lies immediately, pulling up a service for expedient travel. “Is something wrong?”
“Welllllll, it’s just…I haven’t heard from Daddy in a while, and there’s not really anything left here. I already cleaned out his sock drawer and the compartment under the lamp, and there wasn’t anything left in the couch cushions.”
Horrified, Edgeworth blinks several times. Firstly, her ability to ferret out stashes of money is impressive– probably a skill she learned from Maya Fey. Secondly, Trucy is quite self-aware and savvy, and she wouldn’t spend money unnecessarily. She’s probably been ordering delivery again, which raises fewer questions than a lone child walking into a restaurant but does, unfortunately, drain her funds a bit more quickly. And, finally– “Trucy? How long is ‘a while,’ this time?”
“Ummm, I think about three days? Almost four? I went to the Borscht Bowl but they said nobody was allowed in or out without the patron’s permission. Nobody would tell me what that meant, either,” she sighs, the barest hint of a pout.
Edgeworth shuts his eyes and finishes booking his flight. A challenger so determined to win that they prevent Wright from leaving is nothing new. Unfortunately, as Edgeworth now knows, he’s not quite as well-equipped without Trucy’s help. He’ll have to win on his own merit. “Well, I hope he’ll be able to maintain his winning streak without you. In the meantime, I’ll be headed your way. I…may not be as close by as I’d implied.”
“ I know,” Trucy chirps brightly. “If you were in town, I would have already heard your tires screeching.”
He appreciates her faith in him, but is less fond of her description of his driving habits. His tires do not always screech. It’s simply a case of her always overhearing him during times of emergency. “I will be there as soon as I’m able,” he promises. “In the meantime, I am transferring some money onto the card I gave you for your birthday. Do you still have it?” He should have put on more in the first place. He should have recharged it every month. He just…hadn’t wanted to overstep. He’d been caught between the awkwardness of asking Wright if he could help and the unpleasant notion of going behind his back, so instead he’d done nothing at all.
“I still have it! I use it to trip the lock on– I mean, it’s a secret what I use it for! But I think it probably still works.”
“Good,” he murmurs, staying his hand and forcing himself not to add an extra zero to the amount he’s transferring. “That’s good. Please, get yourself something to eat. I probably won’t see you until tomorrow.”
—
Though he’d been unhappy to receive it at the time, Edgeworth is now very grateful for his copy of Wright’s key. Trucy is under strict orders to let no one into the building when she’s alone, even people she recognizes, and Edgeworth knows that rule includes him, were Trucy to suspect that he no longer had Wright’s complete trust. His key is the symbol of its continuation despite the growing distance and uncertainty between them.
He opens the door in such a hurry that it takes him nearly three tries to remove the key from the lock, but the second the door is closed, Trucy is clinging to his leg, smiling up at him.
“Thank you for coming, Uncle Miles! But, um, Daddy just called and he’s on his way home,” she says apologetically, biting her lip.
“No matter. I think it’s time he and I had a talk, anyway. This simply isn’t sustainable.”
To his surprise, she rears back, fear on her face. “You won’t come and see me anymore? Even if I need you?”
The shock of it, both that she is aware enough to expect the worst and that she could expect it from him, drops him to one knee. He casts off his overnight bag and reaches out to her with both arms. “Oh, Trucy. Quite the opposite,” he assures her, gratified when she moves in to hug his neck. “It’s only that I think he might need more help than I’ve been willing to offer.”
“Auntie Maya called him a ‘stubborn old fart,’’ Trucy informs him.
He chuckles a little, releasing her and patting her head as he gets back to his feet. It is immensely humbling to be reminded that he carries the same title as Maya Fey. “Ms. Fey has always had a certain way with words. Now, have you had breakfast?”
“Yep! Leftover pizza,” she says proudly. “I’m starting my college era early.”
Edgeworth makes a mental note to purchase some eggs, but otherwise manages to remind himself that he has no room to judge. He would have done the same, he’s sure, if he’d ever been given the opportunity.
By the time he gets settled, which amounts to tidying the place just a bit and slotting his bag beneath the end table, the door is opening again to admit a frantic Phoenix Wright.
“Daddy!” Trucy cries, throwing herself in his direction and nearly knocking him over.
“Hey, Truce,” he murmurs, sounding exhausted now he has her back in his sight. “...Edgeworth?”
“Hello, Wright.” He stands apart, watching them.
Wright takes a step in his direction, one arm starting to reach out, but he falters and drops it, his expression closing off.
Edgeworth stands up straighter, crossing his own arms in response to the sudden chill. “Get some rest, Wright, and then we’ll all go to lunch.”
For once in his life, Wright does as he’s told.
— — —
He lasts three days before finally confronting Wright. Trucy is asleep on the couch, her head in Wright’s lap and her feet in Edgeworth’s, and it’s the first time Edgeworth has been confident that Wright won’t just try to beat a hasty retreat.
“This can’t continue,” he says quietly.
“Edgeworth,” Wright says, sounding pained. He’s hardly looked at Edgeworth the whole time they’ve been together, and when he does, there’s a shame hanging about him that Edgeworth longs to sweep away.
“Let me,” he says firmly.
Wright goes silent, ducking his head in a way that Edgeworth has learned now signifies …if not acquiescence, necessarily, a willingness to listen.
“I would like to help,” he says, the frustration of years of beating around the bush coalescing to make him try a more straightforward approach.
“You are helping. You came when she called. That’s…Edgeworth, I–”
“In a greater capacity. I…have been considering returning to the area. I would be able to stay with Trucy when you have…difficult work nights, and I would also be able to help you clear your name,” he says, as if he hasn’t already been doing independent research on precisely that topic.
Wright makes a sound somewhere between a sigh and a laugh, still looking away. “I’m not interested in doing that,” Wright says.
Edgeworth makes a frustrated sound, causing Trucy to stir. They both go silent, watching with bated breath, but she settles back into sleep. “Wright, you’re an excellent attorney. In your absence, the system is–”
“I don’t care about the system right now, Edgeworth. I care about my daughter.”
“How am I supposed to believe that when she calls me saying she hasn’t heard from you in days?” he knows he’s crossed a line as soon as he finishes speaking, but it’s too late.
“Goddammit, Edgeworth, you have no idea how deep it all runs!”
“Because you won’t tell me , Wright!” he snaps. “How am I supposed to help you if you don’t–”
“I’m not asking for your help! This isn’t your problem. I’m the one who– It’s my fault ,” he finally says, anguished.
Trucy is holding her breath, clearly pretending to sleep, but Edgeworth can feel her trembling.
“It is not your fault,” Edgeworth says, ending that train of thought before it can gather steam. “You did your job. That’s all. Please allow me to do mine.”
“What part of being a prosecutor makes you responsible for fixing my fu– mistakes?”
Edgeworth shakes his head. “I’m sure there’s something to be said for my responsibility to the legal system, but that is not the job I meant. Supporting you and Trucy is a part of my job as your friend. As Trucy’s…uncle,” he adds hesitantly.
That puts a lopsided smile on Wright’s face. He runs his fingers through Trucy’s hair, and she settles, her little socked feet uncurling. “I told her not to call you that without asking.”
“Nonsense. I’m…honored.”
“I’ll…think about it. No promises,” Wright says, but his shoulders are more relaxed. “But don’t go changing your plans just yet.”
— — —
"It's not that I want to go it alone," Phoenix says the next morning as he washes dishes and passes them to Edgeworth for rinsing. "It's that I have to be alone. Or at least… I have to seem alone."
Edgeworth frowns, setting one dish aside to dry and beginning to rinse the next. He grimaces when some water gets into his sleeve. "I'm not sure I follow," he admits.
Wright hesitates, washing the same cup three times before Edgeworth simply reaches over to take it from him."Well… how much do you know?"
It's a fair question; even now, nearly two years later, he doesn't feel like he knows much. The court archives have the particular limitation, as it happens, of recording only what takes place in the courtroom. "Magnifi Gramarye was shot in the head. One of his potential heirs is presumed to have killed him. The prosecution was able to secure a firmer case against Zak, who was represented at the time by–" Edgeworth stops short, taking in the way Wright's grip has tightened on the knife he's holding.
Edgeworth takes that from him, too, prying it from his grip to wash and rinse and set aside. He glances toward the living area where Trucy is occupied by making improvements to Mr. Hat, and after a moment's hesitation, he turns up the water pressure. "He has something to do with it," he surmises. "Gavin."
"I think," Wright answers slowly, "he might have everything to do with it. But he's careful, Miles. He's juggling so many pieces that I haven't even seen them all yet."
"He was the only one who recommended not disbarring you, correct?" It's a fight to recover from being called by his first name for the first time in what feels like so, so long.
"Yeah. He knew everyone else would vote against me, though. He knew his vote wouldn't count, but he also knew it wouldn't go unnoticed. And everything you had going on just before, with Debeste? I still don't know if that shook him or if it paved the way for him. What I do know is that he's been dead set on keeping me in his sights. Almost like he wants me dependent on him. He's offered money and things for Trucy, but I… anything I take from him, I accept only because it feels like the only choice. I don't want to get… indebted, but I also don't want… I don't know. It feels like a bad idea to end the charade of being helpless. I know I'm not," he says, turning the full force of his determined gaze on Edgeworth. "But I think I need to be. To get close. To… to unravel it all. And that means keeping my distance from you."
Edgeworth isn't certain that he understands, but then, it doesn't sound as if Wright has the full picture yet, either. "I don't like it," he says simply. He turns off the water, the guilt of running it unnecessarily finally catching up to him.
"Yeah, I'm not crazy about it either." Phoenix shrugs. "But it is what it is."
Edgeworth begins drying the dishes they've cleaned, mostly just to have something to do with his hands while he thinks. "I am going to keep refilling Trucy's birthday gift card," he declares. "You are going to receive one for your birthday as well. Please do not dispose of it. I will do my best to keep to modest amounts easily explained by taking on odd jobs. Additionally," he continues, passing dishes over to a mystified, transfixed Wright, who soon gets on board with putting them away, "you and Trucy will come to visit me, at least twice a year. They will not be merely visits to… family," he adds, fumbling over the word. The soft, vaguely silly look on Wright's face makes him glad he said it. "I have a project of my own, as you may know. Since you are practiced in the ways of the law but currently lack consistent employment, consider this an offer of… contract work. Research, organization, consultation."
Wright groans. "Sounds like being an intern all over again. Uh, no offense, Mia," he hastens to add, as if he believes she might be listening.
"I will give you until tomorrow to decide if that appeals to you, and then–"
"Don't need to think on it," Wright says. "You handle the booking and we'll be there."
It's a gratifying answer received gratifyingly quickly, and Edgeworth feels warm all over with the satisfaction of it. "Good."
Wright shuts the last cabinet after putting away the last of the freshly cleaned glasses. "Yeah. Good."
— — —
It is good, for nearly four years; Edgeworth flies to L.A. and back to Germany, Wright and Trucy visit on a strict schedule but otherwise remain as he found them, living in the office and scraping by just a little more easily each year than the one previous.
Even in reflection, years later, he can never pinpoint exactly what makes it all fall apart. He can admit to getting lost in his own work; several high-stakes cases in a row keep him so occupied throughout 2025 that he is unable to schedule even a single visit with the Wrights.
On their end, he can only assume that mounting pressure is the reason Wright never told him about finding Apollo Justice and Thalassa Gramarye, about locating the Mishams, about Kristoph Gavin's increasing malevolence . He learns about it all at once during a return trip in 2026, drawn back to the region by learning that Wright has been accused of murder, but his lukewarm reception discourages him from asking any further questions.
The pangs of loss he feels each time he thinks of them are unpleasant, but it's difficult to linger on the negative feelings in the face of knowing they're safe at long last. Besides that, he has other matters to attend to: his application to return to the district full-time, filed the same day Kristoph Gavin was arrested for Shadi Smith's murder, has been accepted. He has prosecutors to hire and others to bring to order, not to mention cases of his own. It's with equal amounts sorrow and resignation that he processes their drifting apart, one random Wednesday afternoon over a steaming cup of tea.
"To your future, Wright," he says, "whatever you may make of it." He raises his cup, toasting in the general direction of his chessboard, still set with his custom pieces all lined up, waiting for the game to begin anew.