Tyler O'Donnell, a native of Oshawa who had been born in Toronto, sat in the waiting room to meet Laszlo Dimitri. He was twenty-three years of age and stood at a height of five feet and five inches. His skin was ruddy, his hair short, curly and red and, due to heterochromia, his eyes were mismatched with the left being blue and the right green. He was as hooked nosed as Sherlock Holmes, as square jawed as Dick Tracy and as lean and hungry in appearance as William Shakespeare's portrayal of Gaius Cassius Longinus. He was wearing a pair of brown pants and a red golf shirt, might have seemed an odd combination, but as far Tyler was concerned, the only things that need match were his shoes, which were black, and his socks, which were white.
His father Agamemnon O'Donnell had sent him to meet Laszlo Dimitri, an old family friend who was a billionaire who had worked from the ground up, even buying a factory once he had enough money when he was twenty-four, or so the story went. As Tyler understood, Laszlo had started out working in his uncle's factory when he was fourteen, meaning he had a decades' worth of payment to buy the factory that was his company's headquarters.
What did Laszlo's company make? Shoes… At least, Tyler thought it was shoes. He may have been an old family friend, but Tyler knew very little about Laszlo, besides the fact that he had once been hit by a car… Actually, that was the only thing he knew about Laszlo.
Folding his arms and resting his right leg upon his left knee, Tyler rested his head back and sighed. Looking to the wall of the office, he saw some posters for past exhibition exhibits from the Royal Ontario Museum. Why were they even there? Were they just something that Laszlo liked to collect?
The moment a man walked out into the waiting room, Tyler looked over to him, hoping it would be Laszlo, but instead it was someone else, someone older. He was a slender, bearded man of seventy-one years and was exactly an entire foot taller than Tyler. He was of Western European heritage, at least, that was Tyler thought, with white hair, dark brown eyes and a nose that was as hooked as Tyler's. He was wearing a dark blue suit, a light blue dress shirt, a red necktie and upon the ring finger of his right hand was a ring with some ancient symbol carved upon some sort of red stone.
Noticing Tyler's gaze, the old man looked back at him. Where once was a most annoyed expression, a smile soon took its place. Giving the younger man a nod, the old gentleman said, in a deeply melodic basso voice: "Good luck on whatever brings you here today, young man." With that said, the old man, proceeded to exit the office's waiting room.
"T-Thank you, sir." Tyler replied, his own voice a deep baritone.
Watching as the old man departed, Tyler wondered who that man was. What reason did he have to be so annoyed after speaking with Laszlo?
"Tyler!" Tyler looked to the open door of the office, to see the fifty-eight-year-old Laszlo standing in the doorway, his light grey mustache looking a bit less curled at the ends than it should have. "Nice to see you, son! Your dad tells me you are looking for a job in my company!"
Tyler's eyes widened. He had his sights set on a job at Oshawa's Northview Library, why was his dad trying to get him a job farther from home? Wasn't have a job closer to home a good thing? What was he going to be here? Laszlo's archivist?