Summoned to the Reaper's Ledger

I am an accountant. I know what a bad year looks like. Mine looks like both parents dead in six days and a funeral home I've inherited that's been quietly selling souls on the side. Right. That part wasn't in the will. The ledger in the back office has my name in it. It has my handwriting in it. In it, I'm seven years old and I signed something I don't remember signing. And now the collector is standing in my kitchen, drinking my coffee, and telling me he can't leave until the book balances. His name is Elias. He's been at this for four hundred years. He's very polite about ruining my life. Every entry I read pulls me somewhere I don't want to go. Every entry leads back to my parents. And I'm starting to think they didn't die — they were paying. I keep books for a living. I've never had to balance one that wanted a body.