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MidReal Story
Billionaire's Revenge
Scenario:Kevin Kenmore, Jr. has led a hard broken life, a poor orphan, and his girlfriend is leaving him for a richer prospect. But his fortune is about to change dramatically. Kevin inherited immense wealth from his grandfather, shocking everyone. He was the heir to one of the two only multi-Quadrillonaire families in the world. He endures constant criticism and judgment from those around him. He vowed that those who had labeled him a failure would eventually bow at his feet. Now, how will he use his new-found wealth to shape those around him, as he reclaims his life? With a new-found sense of responsibility, Kevin will get revenge on those who treated him badly. Will he succeed?
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Kevin Kenmore, Jr.
He is the son of a single mother, orphaned at age seven. He is resilient, determined, and proud. Kevin faced immense poverty and loneliness but never gave up. His life took a drastic turn when he inherited a vast fortune from his deceased grandfather. As the new heir to a multiquadrillonnaire family, he grapples with past injustices and the expectations that come with his new status. Despite challenges, he remains steadfast in his pursuit of revenge against those who wronged him.
Caitlin Monroe
She is a former girlfriend of Kevin and now in a relationship with Marcus Monroe. She is deceitful, selfcentered, and emotional. Caitlin initially chose Kevin due to his financial struggles but ultimately left him for Marcus, who offered more stability. However, she underestimates Kevin's determination and strength. Although she moved on, Caitlin remains unaware of the significant change in Kevin's life and the opportunities he now has to address past grievances.
Grandfather Kenmore
He was Kevin’s paternal grandfather, a wealthy entrepreneur who built a multiquadrillonnaire business from scratch. He was distant, cold, and judgmental. Grandfather Kenmore disowned Kevin due to his birth out of wedlock but left him a significant portion of his estate upon passing. His legacy influences Kevin’s journey to reclaiming his heritage and seeking justice for past injustices perpetrated against him.
I was poor, very poor.
I didn’t have much growing up.
I didn’t even have parents.
My mom died when I was seven years old.
I was an orphan for about two years until my foster family took me in.
They had two other kids already, and I was just an addition to the family.
I wasn’t their biological child, so I didn’t get treated the same.
I had to do chores and help with the cooking and cleaning, but I didn’t mind.
It was nice to have a family to talk to and eat with, even though they didn’t treat me like I was one of them.
After being kicked out of that house when I turned eighteen, I had to fend for myself.
Luckily, I had a job at a local restaurant, so I could buy myself food and pay rent.
I thought things were looking up for me until my girlfriend left me for a richer guy.
She had chosen me initially because I was poor, and she thought it would be a challenge to dress me up and make a new person out of me.
But after a year of being together, she left me for Marcus Monroe, who was way richer than I could ever be.
Marcus was a great guy, don’t get me wrong, but he didn’t need Caitlin in his life.
After another exhausting shift at the restaurant, I trudge up to my apartment.
It’s a small place, but it’s all I can afford.
I grab my mail from the mailbox and sort through it.
Bills, bills, and more bills.
I don’t have much money, so I have to be careful about how I spend it.
I pay the most important ones first and put the rest aside for later.
As I’m going through the mail, one envelope catches my eye.
It’s a crisp white envelope with formal letterhead on it.
"Davidson & Associates, Legal Services."
I open the envelope and pull out the letter inside.
It’s addressed to me, but there’s no return address or any indication of who sent it.
The letter is brief and to the point.
"Dear Mr. Kenmore,
We request your presence at our office on Friday at 9 AM. We have some matters to discuss regarding your grandfather’s estate.
Sincerely,
Davidson & Associates"
My hands shake as I read the letter again.
And again.
And again. My grandfather?
I never met him before, but I knew of him.
He was a business tycoon who disowned my father when he married my mother.
He didn’t approve of her because she wasn’t good enough for his son.
I never understood why he would do that to his own flesh and blood, but I guess that’s just how some people are.
I fold up the letter and put it back in the envelope.
I don’t know what to think about this.
What could they possibly want from me?
I’ve never even met them before!
But then again, maybe they need my help with something?
Maybe they want me to sign some papers or something?
I try to push the thoughts out of my head and focus on getting ready for bed, but I can’t shake off the feeling that something big is about to happen in my life. The next morning, I call work and tell them that I won’t make it to my shift today.
They’re not happy about it, but they understand that sometimes things come up and you can’t make it to work.
I park my beat-up Honda Civic in the visitor's lot of Davidson & Associates.
The building is a twenty-story glass tower that seems to stretch up to the clouds.
I feel out of place among the shiny luxury cars and expensive suits.
My work uniform is wrinkled from yesterday's double shift, and I couldn't afford to buy anything nicer on such short notice.
I walk up to the entrance and push through the revolving doors.
The lobby is sleek and modern, with marble floors and a high ceiling.
There's a doorman in a crisp suit standing by the door, who gives me a suspicious look as I enter.
"Can I help you?" he asks gruffly.
"I'm here to see someone," I reply, trying to sound confident.
He looks me up and down before nodding curtly and holding the door open for me.
I step inside and look around.
There's a reception desk at the far end of the lobby, with a woman sitting behind it typing away on her computer.
She looks up as I approach and gives me a skeptical look. "Can I help you?" she asks, eyeing my clothes disapprovingly.
"I'm here for an appointment," I say, holding up the letter.
She takes it from me and examines it carefully before handing it back.
"Okay, Mr. Kenmore," she says, her tone slightly softer now that she knows I'm expected.
"Please take a seat over there."
She gestures towards a row of chairs against the wall, and I nod gratefully before sitting down.
A few minutes later, a man in a suit comes out of one of the elevators and approaches us.
He's tall and imposing, with piercing blue eyes that seem to bore into my soul as he looks at me.
"Mr. Kenmore?" he asks, his voice deep and commanding.
"Yes," I reply, standing up nervously as he extends his hand for me to shake.
"I'm Mr. Davidson," he says, his grip firm but not crushing.
"Thank you for coming in today."
"Why am I here?" I ask, trying to keep my voice steady.
"Your grandfather left you something in his will," Mr. Davidson replies, a hint of surprise in his eyes.
"What did he leave me?" I press, my heart pounding in my chest.
Mr. Davidson leads me to his office, gesturing for me to sit in one of the leather chairs that probably costs more than my car.
He walks behind his large mahogany desk and opens a thick folder that's been waiting for us.
He adjusts his wire-rimmed glasses and begins reading the legal documents inside.
My hands grip the armrests of my chair as he explains everything in detail.
Multiple corporate holdings, real estate portfolios, offshore accounts.
The numbers he mentions make my head spin.
Billions.
Then trillions.
Finally, quadrillions.
I struggle to breathe, my restaurant uniform suddenly feeling too tight around my chest.
Mr. Davidson pauses, slides a document toward me across his desk, and places an expensive pen beside it.
"Your grandfather left you half of everything," he says matter-of-factly.
I stare at my shaky signature on the crisp legal document, the black ink still glistening.
Mr. Davidson's office feels like a dream—floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the city, the smell of fresh coffee brewing in the corner, and the soft hum of his computer.
He hands me a sleek blue and gold credit card and a small piece of paper with temporary access codes to my new accounts.
My wallet, once empty except for a few crumpled bills, now feels heavy with possibilities as I slip the card inside.
"Next steps," Mr. Davidson explains, leaning back in his chair.
"We'll schedule meetings with financial advisors, property tours, and briefings from the corporate boards."
I nod, trying to process it all.
"I can call a car service to take you wherever you need to go," he offers.
I smile politely and decline.
I want to drive my old Honda one last time before trading it in for something sleeker.
As I walk through the marble lobby again, I catch a glimpse of myself in a reflection.
The weathered work uniform suddenly feels like a costume that no longer fits who I've become.
I sit on my worn couch, the inheritance documents spread across my scratched coffee table.
The studio apartment is cramped, but it's been home for the past few years.
I pour over each page, the numbers blurring together—stocks, bonds, real estate portfolios worth quadrillions.
My hands shake slightly as I examine the sleek blue credit card, its platinum K catching the dim light from the lamp.
I pull out my phone and log into the Citibank app using the temporary credentials Mr. Davidson provided.
The account balance makes me dizzy: $400,000,000,000,000,000.
Below it, a list of assets scrolls endlessly—private islands in the Caribbean, Mediterranean mega yachts, Manhattan penthouses.
I set down my phone and walk to the window, pulling back the thin curtains to watch people hurrying past on the street below.
I log into my old checking account, the one that barely holds enough to cover rent each month.
Following Mr. Davidson's instructions, I initiate a transfer from the new Citibank account.
My fingers shake slightly as I type in the amount: $10,000,000.
It's more money than I've ever seen in my life, but a microscopic fraction of what I now own.
The confirmation screen appears instantly.
I stare at my phone, my thumb hovering over Jake's contact.
Jake has been my best friend since college, standing by me through all the worst times—when I couldn't afford food and he shared his meals with me, when my car broke down and he drove me to work every day for a month.
He's the first person I want to tell.
The call connects on the second ring.
"Hey man, what's up?"
Jake's familiar voice fills my ear.
I pace my cramped studio apartment, explaining everything to him—the mysterious letter, the meeting at Davidson & Associates, the staggering amounts of money.
Jake stays silent as I rattle off the numbers—quadrillions in wealth, properties across the globe, corporate holdings in industries I've never even heard of.
His breathing grows heavier when I mention the $400 quadrillion bank balance.
"This isn't a joke, Jake. I can prove it," I say, snapping a screenshot of my Citibank account and sending it to him.
The line goes silent for what feels like an eternity.
I hear him shuffling through his phone, opening the image I sent.
"Holy shit," he whispers, his voice trembling.
I hear his phone clatter to the floor, followed by the sound of him scrambling to pick it up.
"I need to see you, man. Meet me at Rosie's Café," I say.
"Okay, I'll be there in twenty," Jake replies.
I hang up the phone and grab my jacket, heading out into the night.
Rosie's Café is our usual spot—a dingy little place we used to frequent during college when we couldn't afford anything else.
The owner, Rosie, was a kind old woman who would let us refill our coffee cups for pennies.
I arrive early and slide into my usual corner booth, the cracked vinyl seats creaking beneath me.
Everything looks different now—the chipped mugs that once seemed homey now appear shabby, the neon lights outside casting a gaudy glow through the streaked window.
I watch as Jake pulls up in his beat-up Corolla, the same car that rescued me countless times when my Honda broke down.
He steps out slowly, scanning the café until his eyes land on me.
His face is a mix of disbelief and awe as he makes his way inside, sliding into the booth across from me.
