SHADOWS OVER RIVERTON

CHAPTER ONE Riverton never slept. It tossed and turned through the night, neon signs flickering over rain-slicked streets, shadows stretching long against cracked pavements. The docks, more than anywhere, carried the city’s heartbeat: the echo of footsteps, the creak of ropes, the low groan of barges as they drifted on the black water. John Mercer walked there often when insomnia clawed at him. The docks offered no comfort, only the grim reminder that Riverton’s secrets sank as easily as stones. He lit a cigarette, inhaled deeply, and let the smoke coil upward. It was the only warmth the night gave him. He wasn’t expecting company. Which is why the click of heels on damp concrete made him turn. She stood there, framed by mist and moonlight. A woman in a crimson dress, her hair pulled back in a way that revealed a face both elegant and sharp, like porcelain with a c***k running through it. Her eyes caught his, bold yet veiled with something she didn’t want him to read. “You’re Mercer, aren’t you?” Her voice was low, deliberate. “Depends who’s asking.” “A friend. Or an enemy. The line blurs in Riverton.” He flicked ash into the dark water. “You’ve got my attention. Now use it.” She stepped closer, her perfume clashing with the salt and rust of the docks. “Judge Alden is not the man you think he is. Behind his smile, there’s rot. Dangerous rot.” Mercer raised an eyebrow. Judge Victor Alden — the city’s golden boy. Upright. Untouchable. The kind of man headlines painted as incorruptible. Mercer had been digging into him for months, scratching at the edges of a story that refused to break. And here was a stranger, delivering a spark straight into his lap. “Go on,” he said carefully. She slipped something into his coat pocket, her hand brushing his chest for a second longer than needed. “Proof. But proof comes at a price. Trust me, or don’t. That’s your gamble.” Before he could press her, she turned and melted into the fog. --- Back in his apartment, Mercer pulled the item from his pocket: a small brass coin, tarnished with age. One side bore an insignia — a scale tipped unevenly. The other carried the initials V.A. His gut tightened. He set it on his desk, poured himself a shot of whiskey, and stared at it until the sun began bleeding into the horizon. --- By morning, the coin was gone. He tore the place apart. Desk drawers overturned, floorboards checked, even the whiskey bottle upended. Nothing. It hadn’t been misplaced — it had been taken. The only question was who. --- Later, at The Lantern, a bar where shadows lingered longer than customers, Mercer leaned against the counter, glaring at the mirror behind the bottles. His reflection looked worn, a man carrying questions heavier than answers. “Another?” the bartender asked. “Yeah. Keep ‘em coming.” From the corner, a voice slipped through the smoke. “You look like hell, Mercer.” Sal Romano. Ex-thief turned pawnshop owner. He wore a crooked grin and a suit that hadn’t seen a press in years. Mercer didn’t bother hiding his irritation. “Cut to it, Sal. What do you know?” Sal slid into the stool beside him. “About that pretty coin? Enough to tell you you’re in deep. That token wasn’t a keepsake. It’s an invitation — the kind Alden’s friends don’t extend lightly. You were holding a key to his backroom deals, and now it’s gone. That makes you a liability.” Mercer’s pulse quickened. “And liabilities?” Sal sipped his drink. “They don’t last long in Riverton.” --- That night, Mercer walked the city streets, the rain coming down in sheets. He replayed the woman’s words, her eyes, the brush of her hand as she’d slipped him the coin. Every detail stuck like a splinter. He didn’t know her name. Didn’t know her angle. But he knew this much: she was the only lead he had, and Judge Alden’s smile had cracks waiting to split wide open. As he turned a corner, he caught sight of a silhouette ahead. A woman. Crimson dress clinging to the storm. The same woman. She glanced back once, a flicker of recognition, then vanished into an alley before he could call out. Mercer followed. The alley was empty. Only rain dripping off fire escapes, pooling in gutters. She was gone — again. Like smoke, like mist. Mercer cursed under his breath. Riverton had a way of dangling hope just far enough to sting. --- He returned home soaked, his nerves raw. As he shrugged off his coat, his eyes landed on the desk. The coin was back. It sat where he’d first placed it, glinting under the weak lamp. Only now, beside it, lay a folded note. Hands trembling, Mercer opened it. Three words stared back at him in sharp black ink: TRUST NO ONE. His chest tightened. The woman had led him here, into a labyrinth with no map. Alden was at the center. But was she leading him toward the truth — or straight into the lion’s mouth? Mercer poured another whiskey, but it did nothing to steady him. The city outside howled, restless and hungry. He looked at the coin one last time, then slipped it back into his pocket. Whether it was a curse or a clue, he was in too deep to walk away. The shadows of Riverton had marked him. And once marked, there was no going back.