"Aaaaand…submit!", I finished with a flourish. I had just finished applying to buy as much Scottish land as I could feasibly afford at the moment, which (while it was only one square foot) technically made me a Scottish Lord. I snickered to myself at the stupid-sounding thought and logged into my e-mail account to get my certificate of ownership, and to also check the order receipt for the polo shirt, tie, cuff-links, and engraved wall plaque I had also bought.

What? It was a moment of weakness…

Anyways, I printed out my certificate and slipped it into the frame I had bought earlier. I snickered again and popped the stand out of the back, putting out down on the desk and grinning. Then, as I noticed that there was no order receipt, the doorbell rang.

I ignored it, as teenagers are wont to do, until my mom called down the stairs, "Jason! Package for you!", and piqued my confused interest. The only package I was expecting was the one with my clothes and plaque, and I had literally just placed the order for it. I ran up the stairs to see what all the fuss was about.

Indeed, sitting on the table was a medium-sized box. I took a knife out of the cutlery drawer and strode over to the box on the kitchen table, cutting the tape and opening the flaps. And what did I find inside?

My clothes and plaque, along with a letter.

"What?!", I exclaimed in surprise, "I literally just ordered these five minutes ago!". I plucked the shirt from the package and held it up, and indeed, it was the shirt I had ordered. It even had my last name, Thrace, stitched onto the breast. I folded it and put it on the table, then pulled out the tie, cuff-links, and plaque. There they were, plain as day, when they shouldn't have arrived for at least three more weeks. Then, I noticed something odd.

When I had placed the order, the website said I had purchased land in the Glencoe Wood, a part of the Keil Estate, but the wall plaque proclaimed me the proud owner of a piece of the Conditor Tract. I furrowed my brow in confusion, then pulled out my phone and Googled the two words.

Apparently, 'Conditor ' is latin for 'Founder', and Tract is another word for Estate. "I own a piece of the Founder Estate?", I asked the air in puzzlement, then glanced at the last item from the box.

I picked the letter up and read the address, written in long, flowing letters with dark ink and a strange texture.

Jason Thrace of Thrace
3939 Rochdale Blvd.,
Regina, SK
Canada

I raised an eyebrow at the strange address, then shrugged and chalked it up to my new Lordliness. I tore the envelope open and drew the parchment (?) out, glancing at the address once more before beginning to read the letter, written in the same flowing letters.

Dear Thrace,

We at Gringotts would like to congratulate you on your recent acquisition of a piece of the Conditor Tract. Though it is but a small piece of a much larger estate, we here at Gringotts know that small beginnings are just that: beginnings.

That being said, we would like to inform you of a shareholder's meeting on the first of September, held in the Great Hall of Conditor Castle. Though it came to be known by a different name some six hundred years ago, it was decreed to Gringotts by the original owners that the original name should never be forgotten.

Transport to the Castle shall arrive promptly at five p.m. sharp, waiting either a half an hour, or until the phrase 'stocks, shares, and dividends' is said, before departing with anyone who is touching the item in question. It is the hope of all of the employees of Gringotts that the meeting results in further wealth being amassed, and we would like to remind you that we are here should you ever need a place to store it.

May the gold of your enemies forever enrich your vault,
Ragnok
Director of Gringotts Bank
Diagon Alley
London

…Oh dear.