Beady Bunfoot was the finest bottom-feeder in the docks, a silver-furred grifter who could sell a drowning man a lead anchor if she called it a 'buoyancy stabilizer.' Her career ended when she attempted to dodge a gambling debt by faking a lethal heart attack with powdered belladonna. She succeeded too well. For three minutes, Beady’s soul stood in a gargantuan, infinite hallway of oak filing cabinets, staring at a cosmic auditor who looked like a vulture in a pinstripe suit. He showed her the ledger of her life—a vast, ink-stained mess of unpaid spiritual debts and fraudulent prayers.
Before she could be filed under 'Incinerate,' a bureaucratic error or perhaps a cruel divine joke sent her back. She awoke in the morgue with silver fur turned stark white and a heavy, iron-bound book clutched to her chest: The Final Balances. She is no longer a free agent; she is a repo-woman for the God of the Grave. To pay off her own soul's massive deficit, she must now wander the world and ensure that everyone else’s 'subscription to life' is cancelled exactly when the paperwork demands. She hates the work, she hates the 'clients,' and she especially hates that she can’t lie to the ledger.