"Good job, Felix.  That was a wonderful presentation," Arno Crepley-Quates said, sitting at the head of a long mahogany table in a meeting room in the offices of Quates Fine Metalcrafts.  The other attendees shifted uncomfortably in awkward silence, giving subdued golf-claps.

"Thank you, father," Felix replied, bowing to the table, oblivious to the unease his presence caused.  Putting his easel of diagrams to the side and retracting his pointing baton, Felix went back to the table, taking his seat at Arno's right.  The meeting continued from there, some of the discussion was logistical and financial, most of it being political in nature.  While Felix understood the logistical and financial aspects of the discussion, he didn't understand that much of the smiling and patting-on-the-back that was being done was done to hide malicious intent due to his having lived quite a secluded life.  He was not privy to the games that the old and wealthy played in order to become older and wealthier, and was even less aware of the threat that his existence posed to them.  When the meeting concluded, Felix followed Arno back to Arno's office, where Felix had a desk next to his father's and resumed poring over innumerable financial reports from the different departments and branches.

"You know, one day, should I ever get tired of all this, I'll give you the reigns of Quates Fine Metalcrafts," Arno said proudly to his son.

"Thank you, father," Felix replied, "Should that day come, I will accept the responsibility graciously."

"Well, I have another meeting to go to that will take the rest of my day, when you finish, remember to lock up before you go home to your mother."

"Understood."

Arno put on his bowler hat and jacket, grabbed his umbrella, and left, while Felix continued to work.  Bending over his desk, Felix noticed a slight discomfort along his spine that had been slowly getting worse over time.  He had only had to do it a few times in his thirty years of life, but he was probably due for another maintenance check soon to deal with joint stress.  Given his unique structure, there were few artificers with the skill, and even fewer his family trusted completely, who could deal with his maintenance.  It was time to schedule an appointment with Gideon Lockheed.