Oliver Coffee had never been an important man.

At Diversified Research Engineering, he had been in middle management, mostly shuffling paperwork between analysts, scientists, and the C-level suits. That's what he had been.

Yesterday he was let go.

Now, alone in his little city apartment, he lay in bed, awake, staring at the alarm that wouldn't be going off. Telling himself that he was OK with a little vacation. Knowing that he wasn't. He still stunk of last night's drinking, other evidence of it littered the floor.

He watched the minutes change on the clock. Eight thirty. Nine o'clock. Ten. Hunger and the need to piss eventually roused him. He shuffled through the stale air of his small studio apartment, absently kicking at an empty bottle of Jack. It rolled over the stained copy of his release letter, coming to rest on the edge of the packet that explained the benefits he was due.

Oliver hadn't read that. He hadn't been able to make it past the first page before apathy kicked in. All he cared about was that the last paycheck would be deposited with a hefty additional amount. An amount that might get him enough out of debt that hunting for a new job wouldn't be a problem. Maybe.

He'd been spiraling deeper into debt. Three years earlier both of his parents had died, his mother on a cold February day, his father in July. He'd decided to rent out the empty house when he inherited it, figuring it would be a good source of extra income. If he knew then what kind of a mess that would be, he would have just set fire to it.

First there were the repairs, then, when he finally managed to get tenants, he discovered he didn't know what his responsibilities as a landlord were. That little bit of information was served up in court papers when he was sued for being negligent. Apparently the repairs weren't good enough. The house had caught fire due to faulty wiring, killing the children of his renters. He managed to dodge ciminal charges, but the civil case found him owing hundreds of thousands of dollars. Even if he could have dedicated his entire paycheck to the debt, he'd still have five years of acetic living.

He'd taken a second job as a night custodian at a community center. It wasn't glamorous, but it was extra money. After the first few weeks, he discovered he could even get some good sleep in, as long as he avoided doing so in the areas with security cameras. No one seemed to notice or care if the floors weren't spotless every morning and there was still some trash in wastebaskets when they came in.

Things at DRE hadn't been great. Twice he'd been passed over for promotions. He watched a half-dozen people who came in after him move to different departments or up the corporate ladder. His performance reviews were always adequate, his bonuses modest. Most of the time, he just felt like he faded into the background.

Most of the time he was OK with that.

Olvier had never quite understood what there was to be excited about in his job. He understood that what DRE did was important in some way. The analysts and engineers always seemed to be going on about how something they were working on would change the world or solve this problem or that. Even his collegues in the cube farm would get giddy at the mention of some projects, like the new microprocessor (with twice the circuit density of any that came before) or the study that linked caffine intake to early onset of eye problems (later called into question by a follow up study, which people got just as excited about).

None of it really made any sense to him.

Maybe it was because he didn't go to a fancy school. He'd just barely gotten his degree from one of those online colleges that popped up during the first Internet boom. It was enough to get him in the door and, eventually, into the seat he'd occupied at DRE for the past five years.

And now that seat was gone.

He looked at his unshaven face in the bathroom mirror. The bags under his eyes reminded him of his father. The sagging jowles he was developing weren't unlike the look on his mother's face when they found the body, peacefully laying in bed.

I'm becoming just like them, he thought. Dead.

For a moment, anger skirted across his face, but just as quickly faded as he wondered what the point of being mad about it was.

Things happen. Life goes on. Or it doesn't.

He grimaced at his reflection and noticed a deep green flake of last night's dinner sticking prominently between his front teeth. That had to be dealt with.

When the knock came at the door, he jumped a little and could feel his thumbnail dig into his gum. The coppery taste of blood followed.

Sucking on his wond as best he could, he grabbed his threadbare robe, struggled to get it properly situated, failed and answered the door anyway.

"What?" the harshness of word caught him a bit by surprise. He hadn't meant it the way it sounded. He was getting ready to apologize when he actually looked at who was at the door. The words never made it out of his mouth. Never before had he seen anyone quite like the man who stood before him.

The caller wore a light suit, not expensive, but perfectly fit for the man's trim build. The material, some sort of linen or light wool, Oliver would guess (he never was all that good with fashion), almost moved with a life of its own as the man extended his square, yet tapered, hand. Looking into his eyes, Oliver saw only deep blue pools of tranquility, uneffected by the harsh greeting he had offered. A slight smile was on the man's lips as he spoke.

"I am Adolfo Demetrius," he said with some slight hint of foreign accent. "You are mister Oliver Coffee, correct?"

Absently, Oliver limply shook Adolfo's hand. "Uh, yeah... that's me."

Adolfo's smile brightened and his other hand came up and clapped Oliver on the shoulder. "Ah! Fantastic! I have been looking for you Mr. Coffee. May I call you Oliver? You are a very special man, Oliver. Destined to do great things."

"What?" This time it was more a confused exclaimation than harsh greeting.

"I know, it is hard to believe. No one has probably told you of the greatness of your family. You have much history in your blood, Oliver. Much history, indeed. But this is not a thing to speak of in the hallway. May I?" He gestured past Oliver, into the apartment.

"Uh, yeah, sure. I'll listen to your sales pitch. Not like I have anything better to do." Oliver could feel some resentment rising in him. Who the heck did this guy think he was, coming to his door during working hours and trying to sell him on... what? Some sort of geneology service? Some sort of door-to-door Nigerian e-mail scam? But he did seem genuine enough. And those eyes, he'd never seen anyone with eyes so still and clear... like they could see forever.

Adolfo carefully, yet gracefully picked his way through the clutter in Oliver's apartment, taking it upon himself to remove a couple of old takeout containers and a rumpled shirt from one of the three chairs in the room.

"Come! Sit! I tell you of your heritage." Oliver pulled up an old wooden folding chair and sat across form Adolfo, starting to wish he had gotten up earlier and showered. Adolfo didn't seem to care. "Your great grandfather on your mother's side came to this country and began a Great Work. For most of his life, he toiled, slowly building, piece by piece, a temple to the divine. It was subtle in its glory, going unnoticed by most. You did not know of this, yes?"

Oliver shook his head. He'd never heard anything about any of his great grandparents. All he knew about his family was that his mother's parents hated his father so much, the two had to elope and move across the country.

"This all happened many years ago. Your great grandfather was a well respected man among many. He eventually met your great grandmother and your grandmother was born, as were her brothers. All of them continued their father's work until tragedy struck. There was a fire. Only your grandmother survived. The temple was destroyed. But the divine smiled upon her and those who also believed. A blessed item was saved. She carried it with her when she moved. It was there when she married your grandfather." Adolfo reached into his now seemingly shimmering suit and produced an old, creased, black and white photo and handed it to Oliver.

Oliver took it and looked at it. He was pretty sure those were his maternal grandparents in the photo. But he couldn't be sure. He'd never known them. Adolfo seemed sure, though.

"See, there in the background, there is a book. Behind the priest." Sure enough, there was a book. It looked like the normal Bible one would see in a church, though. "That isn't the Bible from that church. Not the one they were married in. That is your legacy. The last remaining piece of your great-grandfather's work."

"Well, where is it, then?" Oliver felt himself getting drawn in. He still wasn't sure what this guy was selling, but it was a good story.

"Alas! There was a disagreement among the faithful and the congregation dissolved. Try as she might, your grandmother could not reconcile the parts. And so she moved on, taking with her the book. It was last seen in Europe, before the war, when a small group of the faithful gathered with her there. They were trying to save many."

"OK... so why are you here talking to me? I don't have the book. This is the first I've ever heard of any of this."

"Ah, yes, we know you do not have the book. But the book... the book has you." Again Adolfo reached into his pocket, this time pulling out a yellowed, folded piece of paper. He unfolded it and handed it to Oliver. On it, in fading brownish ink, was a rough portrate and a name. There was a good chance the face could be his. The name definitely was. The rest of the page was covered in writing that made no sense to Oliver. Some of it looked like it could be English or maybe scientific formulas. Most of it just seemed to be jibberish. "This was entrusted to me by one of the last to see your grandmother. She gave it to him for safe keeping."

Oliver stared at the old page, absently running his other hand across his unshaven face and uncombed, slightly greasy hair. "What does this all mean, Adolfo?"

Adolfo smiled, making the room seem brighter and warmer. "It means, Oliver, that you have a destiny. And we will help you achieve it. We have much more to do. But first, you should make yourself presentable to the world. There are many who want to meet you and you should look your best." He produced a business card and gave it to Olvier. "I leave you now. When you are ready, come to this address."

And with that, he again shook Oliver's hand, clapped him on the shoulder, and left.