A few days after your 21st birthday, a heavy, manila envelope lands on your doormat. There's no postmark, or even a stamp, just a strange symbol set into a blob of crimson wax sealing the envelope, and your name in a flowing, cursive script on the other side.

You turn it over a couple of times in your hands, but no other distinguishing marks present themselves. Probably just marketing, you think, as you slide your finger under the flap, breaking the wax seal with a crisp snap. Inside is some expensive headed paper, embossed with the name "Hohenheim & Flamel, Solicitors" and a brief letter written, rather than typed, in the same hand as on the envelope:

Master Edward Machen,

I am writing to inform you that your Great Uncle Albert had passed away, and that as one of his sole surviving heirs, you are entitled to a portion of his estate.
The assets aportioned to you are being held for you at our London offices, until such time as you choose to collect them, or until 6pm on June 6th of this year, at which point ownership of said assets will revert to us, as executors of your Great Uncle's Last Will & Testament.

Your Servant,
John Rosenkreutz, Esq. DPhil FrMS BAA

You put the letter down on the table. You never knew your Great Uncle, never knew you had a Great Uncle. You shake your head and head off to work. It's probably a scam, or some sort of practical joke.