(Editor's note: This is the first chapter of a multi-chapter short story)

Chapter 1: The Press Conference

There was a commotion in city hall; reporters from around the world were huddled in the street. A big story was unfolding and everybody wanted to be the first to report on it. After weeks of speculation the expected announcement was finally going to be made today, in only a few short minutes. "LAND FOR SALE!" the papers would read for the first time in the past hundred years.

It was the year 2352 and though things really hadn't changed too much, one thing had - land was scarce. In fact, it was less than scarce, it flat out wasn't available. There were still government-controlled farms, forests and parks, but no land available for public purchase. By 2230 most Indian reservations had been subleased to help with the land crunch. Now there was nothing in the United States except for highways, interstates, and cities that seemed to go on without end. At the beginning of the 24th century the government had held a public auction to sell off some of its less desirable land, including atomic bomb testing sites. Even the least desirable of locations sold for upwards of $5 million an acre. But this auction would be different; this was a large allotment of private land. A piece of property this big hadn't been made available in the past 200 years. Needless to say, the excitement of the crowd was at a feverous pitch.

The noise of the crowd died down to a low hum as the mayor of San Diego approached the podium.

"I imagine you all know what I'm about to say," he began, "so let me get right to it."

The scratching of pen to paper could be heard as every newspaper reporter hurriedly wrote down each word the mayor said. They all used electronic recording devices too, but still they wrote, just in case the recorders missed a single word, sigh, or emotion.

"Bill Johnson passed away three weeks ago," continued the mayor while at the same time wiping a few drops of sweat from off his forehead. "As you all know, he was the proprietor of the Johnson Farm in the Northeast section of San Diego. After an extensive search we have concluded that Mr. Johnson had no living family members, and that he in fact had no will."

"NO WILL!" each reporter wrote down with fervor. Gasps went through the crowd while their individual discussions picked up and resembled that of a jet airplane.

"Please," pleaded the mayor, "please let me finish." Upon the crowd silencing the mayor continued, "Having concluded that Mr. Johnson had no heirs, and didn't choose a beneficiary for his estate, you will all be pleased to know that there will be a public auction a month from today in which the entire estate will be sold. All one hundred acres in one auction, it will not be broken up as some of you may have expected."

"PUBLIC AUCTION MAY 30TH, 100 ACRES AVAILABLE FOR PURCHASE!" the pens proclaimed with excitement.

"That is all the information I have available at this time, we'll have more details as the auction draws closer," the mayor concluded.

As the mayor left the podium the crowd quickly dispersed. The TV reporters each going to their respective vans to give the news back to their news station. The writers all walked to the nearest coffee shop to write down every little detail and uplink it to their editors. The businessmen and entrepreneurs on their cell phones discussing finances with their brokers, trying to determine how much cash they'd need to free up for a purchase of this magnitude. And somewhere in that crowd, a young man in his early twenties walked away with his head down and feet shuffling. There was no excitement in his body, no smile on his face.