Harold awoke to the aller screen beeping.

“Yo,” he said.

An old-fashioned mailbox with the red flag up was on his display screen.

The door of the box opened downward. A white envelope flew out towards Harold. The front of the envelope showed a return address from Evolnam Enterprises.

Not this again. “Go ahead and open it up,” Harold commanded the aller.

The envelope opened and a letter took up the entire screen. It read: 

Dear sir, 

We understand that you have not responded to any of our inquiries regarding the potential sale of your property. In case you did not receive our previous messages, Evolnam Enterprises is interested in acquiring property in your area for future development.

This transaction is of utmost importance to our company. To that extent Mr. Evolnam would like to meet with you in person. He has invited you to dinner at the Lastfield Hotel, downtown, this evening at 1900 hours.

Mr. Evolnam implores you to consider meeting with him to discuss this matter. An affirmative response to this message will notify Mr. Evolnam and order the personal luxury flier to pick you up at 1847 hours.Thank you again for your time and patience.

Sincerely,
Phinny McGraw, Director Residential Acquisitions.

Harold yawned and stretched.What the hell? He thought, At least I’ll get a free dinner out of it.

Harold was one of the last people he knew who personally owned an actual piece of land. It was just a few acres and none of it was really usable to him; he didn’t actually need it. It was merely a buffer. Harold enjoyed his privacy.  Land ownership had become a rarity as the population explosion made the land a premium in terms of food, infrastructure, and commerce in general.

For a person to own land was virtually unheard of. Most land of private citizens had been taken by either the local, state, federal, or world regional governments for purposes they saw fit. Others had lost their land through aggressive inheritance taxes or lucrative sales.

Harold and his family had shrewdly kept their property by finding loopholes that helped them avoid death taxes and by holding to the principle that the land ought to stay with the family. However, Harold understood that this path was coming to an end. There was no way that he or his descendants could stave off the inevitable government intervention. Also the idea that he would have descendants was fading.

Strict population laws already limited married couples to one child. Again, there just wasn’t enough space or enough resources to waste on the extravagance of a second child. To have a second was as morally reprehensible as owning land.

Marriage was the other problem. Harold was single. Single parenthood was forbidden at the outset of the child’s life. A death or an approved official government dissolution of marriage after conception allowed for single-parenthood. No other circumstances existed for such to happen. The consequences for non-sanctioned conception were devastating to say the least.

Harold had come to terms with the fact that his deed would not last, and the result would be the collapse of his family’s most prized heirloom: the earth itself. He knew that he was just dragging out the inevitable, but he didn’t care. It was his point of view that if he was going to lose his property unwillingly, then he would do so obstinately. And if Evolnam Enterprises was the firm to bring this to fruition, he might as well make them pay dearly for it.

“The meek shall inherit the Earth,” He whispered. “Then sell it for profit.”

The flier arrived at precisely 1847 hours. Harold was already standing outside. A lone dandelion stood tall among the grass. Harold walked over and picked it, sniffed it, and put it behind his ear. He took his last breath of ownership, and then moved into the open door of the flier. It closed automatically behind him and took off at a high speed.

The flier arrived alongside the 161st floor of the Lastfield Hotel. It was also an Evolnam property. Evolnam Enterprises was a relatively new company. It had formed only a few years ago, and with little fanfare. It was an innovative company that made most of its wealth in high technology. Due to the highly advanced nature of some of their products, there were some who speculated that Evolnam had received the technology from an alien race, or that perhaps he was an alien himself. Although such speculations had been made in the past for other technological breakthroughs, the lack of any real evidence of intelligent extraterrestrial life quickly dispelled the rumors.

Harold was greeted by a beautiful female assistant who shook his hand and ushered him from the craft.

She walked him into a large dining room. There was a large table with at least twenty chairs perched around it. Evolnam was seated at the head of the table and stood as Harold entered.

“Mr. Sellers, I presume,” Evolnam extended his hand.

“It’s just Harold,” he replied.

“Karl Evolnam. Please, have a seat. How do you like your steak?” Evolnam asked.

“Medium well, Karl,” Harold replied.

Steak was expensive. Most land and crops couldn’t be spared for such excess. The damage that billions of cattle had on the Earth’s ecosystem almost did away with the industry altogether. However it was this negative environmental effect that made cattle perfect for helping terraform Mars The cattle were extremely genetically engineered to survive the Martian atmosphere, but with a little A-1, the beef was downright tasty. At least, that was what Harold had heard.

“Look Karl, I’m gonna sell out to you.” Harold said. “I just wanted to let you know that so you don’t ruin my dinner with a hard sell. But it’s going to cost you.”

Evolnam slid a piece of paper over to Harold. It was blank. Harold flipped the paper over. The expression on his face changed.

“Will that do?” Evolnam quipped.

“What makes my property so valuable?” Harold asked in disbelief.

“You merely held out the longest. Now, if you will just sign where I’ve indicated at the bottom, we can get all this unpleasantness out of the way so that you can enjoy the evening and your new-found wealth,” Evolnam said.

Harold smiled, took the pen from Evolnam, and signed with a flourish. The assistant poured them two glasses of wine. The two men toasted each other to celebrate the successful conclusion to their business.

“The Meek shall inherit the Earth,” Evolnam said.

“Then sell if for profit,” Harold replied.

They enjoyed the rest of their evening, eating heartily and drinking several bottles of very expensive wine.

Harold awoke the next morning to the aller beeping. His head slowly rose from the pillow. Evolnam’s assistant was asleep next to him.

“Yo, bed,” Harold moaned.

The aller appeared on the ceiling above Harold’s bed. Harold lay on his back staring up at it. Along the bottom of the screen scrolled a red alert banner. The digital anchor calmly advised Harold to stay indoors until all of the rioting had subsided.

“Rioting?!” Harold popped up. The aller stayed in front of his face as he paced his room, and adjusted for obstacles in the room to keep the images crisp.

“Again, do not go outside for any reason and make sure your home is secured. There have been numerous reports of violence and property damage. Your life could be at risk,” the anchor smoothly reiterated.

Harold scrolled through the other news reports. It didn’t take him long to find the report he was looking for. Apparently, Evolnam Enterprises was just one of the many firms and trusts who had slowly acquired all of the land in the world. Evolnam and the others just worked for a larger conglomerate, The Meeks. The Meeks, were now the first alien race known to humanity. The aliens had effectively purchased Earth. Harold was scared and confused, still hung-over from the past nights revelries.

It was then that he noticed the flag of his mailbox was up. He commanded the aller to open it. The door of the box opened and the view changed again to show the envelope flying out of box. The envelope did not show a return address. Usually that meant the letter had not passed the virus-screens and would not open. This time it did anyway.

Harold’s jaw dropped as he slowly read his lone piece of mail. He sat down heavily on the end of the bed. Evolnam’s assistant finally roused from the jostling of the bed.

“What’s the matter?” She asked.

Harold said nothing. He just walked over to his drawer, took out his gun and shot himself in the head. The assistant watched this blankly, shocked, until she noticed the letter still floating where Harold had left it. Then, she collapsed to the floor and began to scream as she read the simple letter titled:

*Notice of Eviction*