Seating Chart For General Jackson Showboat =link= -

The Accountant rose from Seat 2. He was unremarkable—gray suit, gray eyes, gray smile. “Correct,” he said. “But you’ve misread the fine print.” He tapped the chart. “Seat 17: $5,000 dead or alive. Seat 44: $10,000. Seat 89: $7,500. And Seat 2?” He glanced at Captain Bo, who was edging toward the paddlewheel. “Seat 2 is the buyer.”

Panic whispered through the crowd. But curiosity is a stronger drug than fear. By twilight, everyone had taken their new seats.

The room went silent as a grave. Bo LaGrange had sold the seats as “premium assignments” to wealthy guests, but he’d also sold their names to a network of assassins. The Accountant was merely the final bidder—a man who paid in gold and collected in souls. But there was one seat left on the chart: Seat 1. It had been empty all along, drawn as a tiny skull. seating chart for general jackson showboat

Bo screamed and dove overboard. The Mississippi swallowed him whole. But the Accountant simply shrugged, wiped the chart clean, and began reassigning seats for the next voyage. After all, a showboat without a captain is just a coffin floating downstream.

Now the passengers understood. The seating chart wasn’t just a map of tables. It was a hit list. And the killer was rearranging it in real time. The Accountant rose from Seat 2

And Seat 2—the captain’s own table, dead center—was for a man known only as “the Accountant.” No one knew his real name, but his specialty was settling scores with a thin wire and a smile.

And the seating chart, as the river rats whispered, was a death warrant. “But you’ve misread the fine print

The air along the Natchez Trace was thick with honeysuckle and the promise of trouble. In the summer of 1887, the General Jackson showboat was a floating palace of gaslight and gin, its calliope music luring planters, gamblers, and fugitives from three states. But tonight wasn’t about the burlesque or the blackjack tables. Tonight was about the seating chart.