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MidReal Story
Poorboy Billionaire
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.
male. He is the son of a single mother,orphaned at age six. He is resilient,determined,and proud. Kevin faced immense poverty and judgment after losing his wealthy grandfather's favor. His exgirlfriend,Heather,left him for someone richer. Kevin's life changed dramatically when he inherited his grandfather's vast wealth. He struggles with past failures but finds purpose in using his inheritance to help others and confront those who wronged him,such as his former high school nemesis,Mason Kade.
Heather
female. She is Kevin's former girlfriend. She is superficial,materialistic,and manipulative. Heather left Kevin for another man with more financial stability. She initially dated him to alleviate her boredom and to gain access to his wealthy circle. When her affair with another man becomes public,she tries to distance herself from Kevin to avoid embarrassment. Heather's actions highlight her shallow pursuit of status and companionship over genuine relationships.
Mason Kade
male. He is Kevin's archenemy from high school and currently a successful businessman. He is arrogant,competitive,and ruthless. Mason was part of a clique that bullied Kevin and labeled him as "Poorboy." Despite their past,Kevin inherits a vast fortune that surpasses Mason’s wealth. Their social dynamics flip when Mason is forced to wait for an elevator while Kevin enjoys the luxury of a private elevator in his new penthouse apartment,symbolizing their reversed social standings.
I was a poor boy, an orphan since I was six years old.
My mom died when I was young, and my dad, well... he didn't care to stay with us.
I grew up on the streets, with no one to care for me.
I had to fight for every meal I got and every piece of clothing I wore.
But I never gave up; I always kept my head up high.
I was determined to make something out of myself, to not end up like the rest of the people around me.
I was proud of myself.
I didn't care what others thought of me.
I knew who I was, and that was enough for me.
But life had other plans for me.
When I turned eighteen, I met Heather.
She was beautiful, gorgeous, and stunning—words couldn't describe her enough.
She dated me for almost two years, and I thought maybe this was it—this was the girl I would spend the rest of my life with.
But Heather had other plans for herself, too.
Six months ago, she left me for another guy—richer than me.
She said I wasn't stable enough for her, that she needed someone who could take care of her better than I could.
I didn't blame her, but it still hurt.
I sit at my cramped kitchen table, sifting through the stack of bills and junk mail that has accumulated over the past few days.
My eyes scan the envelopes, searching for anything of importance amidst the sea of advertisements and overdue notices.
That's when I see it - an official-looking envelope with my name printed in bold, black letters.
The return address reads "Rothschild & Associates," a law firm I've never heard of before.
Curiosity piqued, I tear open the envelope and pull out the contents.
It's a formal letter, addressed to me, Kevin Kenmore Jr.
As I begin to read, my hands start to shake and my heart races.
The words blur together on the page, but one sentence stands out: "We regret to inform you that your grandfather, Kevin Kenmore Sr., has passed away."
My grandfather?
I haven't seen or spoken to him in over twenty years.
The last time I saw him was when my mother took me to his mansion for a visit.
I was only six years old at the time, but I remember the grandeur of the place - the sprawling gardens, the crystal chandeliers, and the opulent furnishings.
But most of all, I remember my mother's tears that night as we packed our bags to leave. My grandfather had always been a distant figure in my life, someone who existed only in stories and rumors.
He was a billionaire businessman, known for his ruthless tactics and vast wealth.
But despite his success, he had always been cold and distant towards his family.
My mother had told me stories about how he would often belittle her and make her feel worthless.
She had left him when she was young, determined to make a better life for herself and me.
But now, it seemed that he was gone - dead and buried without ever getting the chance to make amends with his family.
As I continue reading the letter, my eyes widen in shock.
According to the will, I am the sole heir to my grandfather's fortune - a staggering 270 quadrillion dollars.
I feel like I've been punched in the gut as I read those words over and over again.
It can't be true; it has to be some kind of mistake. But as I look around my small apartment, at the worn furniture and outdated appliances, I know that it's not a mistake.
This is real; this is happening.
And suddenly, everything changes.
My hands trembling, I pick up my cracked phone and dial the number on the law firm's letterhead.
A crisp, professional voice answers on the first ring.
"Rothschild & Associates," she says.
"Hello," I stammer, trying to find my voice.
"My name is Kevin Kenmore Jr. I just received a letter from your firm about an inheritance."
There's a brief pause on the other end of the line before she responds.
"Mr. Kenmore, thank you for calling. Please hold for just a moment while I connect you with one of our senior partners."
I wait anxiously as the phone rings again, this time answered by a deep, authoritative voice.
"Mr. Kenmore, my name is Mr. Rothschild. I'm one of the senior partners here at Rothschild & Associates. I understand that you received a letter from us regarding an inheritance?"
"Yes," I reply, still trying to process everything that's happening.
"I just got it in the mail today."
"I see," he says.
"Well, Mr. Kenmore, I'm afraid that there has been a bit of a mix-up. It seems that we have been trying to contact you for some time now, but we were unable to reach you."
"I've been living in a small apartment," I explain.
"I don't have much money, so I don't always have access to a phone or internet." "I understand," he says sympathetically.
"Well, Mr. Kenmore, I'm afraid that I have some difficult news to share with you. Your grandfather, Kevin Kenmore Sr., has passed away."
I feel a lump form in my throat as I hear those words again.
It's still hard to believe that he's really gone.
"I'm sorry to hear that," I say finally.
"He was a good man."
"Yes, he was," Mr. Rothschild agrees.
"But now, we need to discuss the matter of his estate. As his sole heir, you are entitled to inherit his entire fortune."
I feel like I've been punched in the gut all over again.
It's hard to wrap my head around the idea that I could be inheriting such a vast amount of money.
"Mr. Rothschild," I say, my voice barely above a whisper, "are you sure there's no mistake? I mean, why would he leave everything to me?"
"Your grandfather made it clear in his will that he wanted you to have it all," Mr. Rothschild replies firmly.
"But there's something else you should know—there are conditions attached to the inheritance that we need to discuss."
I sit across from Mr. Rothschild in his spacious office, surrounded by rich mahogany furniture and the faint scent of old books.
He opens a thick manila folder and pulls out a stack of papers, adjusting his wire-rimmed glasses as he begins to speak.
"Mr. Kenmore, as I mentioned earlier, there are certain stipulations that must be met in order for you to fully inherit your grandfather's fortune."
My heart races, anticipating a list of complex and impossible conditions that will deny me the inheritance.
But instead, Mr. Rothschild pulls out a single document and slides it across the desk towards me.
"The conditions are quite straightforward," he explains, his voice calm and steady.
"You must maintain full ownership of your grandfather's core businesses for a period of at least five years. Additionally, you are required to establish a charitable foundation in your grandfather's name, with an initial endowment of 100 billion dollars."
I scan the document, my mind racing with questions and doubts.
But as I look up at Mr. Rothschild, I see only confidence and reassurance in his eyes.
"Is there anything else?" I ask hesitantly.
"Not at this time," he replies with a smile.
"But if you have any questions or concerns, please do not hesitate to reach out to me directly."
I nod, feeling a mix of relief and uncertainty wash over me.
"And what about access to the funds?" "Ah, yes," Mr. Rothschild says, reaching into his desk drawer and pulling out a small black credit card.
"This is a special account that has been set up in your name. You can use it to access any amount of money you need at any time."
I take the card from him, my hands trembling slightly as I examine it.
It feels surreal to think that I have access to such an enormous amount of wealth.
"When can I start using it?"
I ask, my voice filled with anticipation.
"You can start using it right now," Mr. Rothschild replies with a smile.
"Just keep in mind that there may be some restrictions on large transactions until the full inheritance is finalized."
I nod, tucking the card into my wallet and feeling a sense of excitement and possibility wash over me.
After Mr. Rothschild leaves me alone in his office to process everything, I lean back in the leather chair and absently run my fingers along the edge of the antique mahogany desk.
My nail catches on a small groove, and I glance down to see what it is.
It looks like a slight discoloration in the wood grain, but as I press on it, I hear a soft click.
I look up to see a small panel spring open beneath the surface of the desk.
Curious, I lean forward and peer into the opening.
Inside, I see a yellowed envelope with my name written on it in familiar handwriting - my grandfather's.
My heart pounds as I carefully extract the envelope and hold it in my trembling hands.
Why would he hide a letter here of all places?
I turn it over, searching for any clues or markings, but there's nothing else.
I take a deep breath and tear it open, revealing a single sheet of paper with a message that changes everything.
I hold the letter in my hands, but I don't open it yet.
I need to focus on more immediate practicalities.
When Mr. Rothschild returns, I ask him about the black card.
"What's the limit on it? Can I withdraw cash?"
He nods.
"Yes, you can access up to 10 million dollars a day for the first month, while the full inheritance is being processed."
My mind races with calculations.
If I can get that much money, I could find a place to live, buy some basic necessities...
But I don't want to seem too eager or greedy.
"Is it possible to withdraw a smaller amount?" "Of course," he replies.
"Let me just make a quick call to authorize it."
He picks up his phone and dials a number, speaking rapidly to someone on the other end.
After a few moments, he hangs up and turns back to me.
"It's all set. How much would you like to withdraw?"
I hesitate, unsure of how much I should ask for.
"Um... 5 million?"
He nods and pulls out a checkbook from his desk drawer.
"Here you go. This is a certified check that you can deposit into your account."
I take the check from him and carefully fold it, tucking it into my wallet next to the black card.
I unfold the letter with trembling fingers, the yellowed paper crackling softly in the dim light of the office.
As I begin to read, my grandfather's distinctive cursive handwriting dances across the page, his words speaking directly to my heart.
"My dearest Kevin,"
I pause for a moment, savoring the sound of those words in my mind.
No one has ever called me "dearest" before, and it fills me with a sense of warmth and connection to this man I barely knew.
"As I write this letter to you, I am filled with a mix of emotions - joy, pride, and a hint of sadness."
I continue reading, my eyes scanning the lines with a mix of curiosity and trepidation.
"I know that we have been estranged for many years, and that you may have wondered why I chose not to be a part of your life. But the truth is, I have always been watching over you from afar."
I look up from the letter, my mind racing with questions.
How could he have been watching me without my knowledge?
What did he mean by "from afar?"
I continue reading, eager to uncover more secrets and surprises. "When your mother passed away," he writes, "I was consumed by grief and guilt. I had always been a busy man, focused on building my empire and securing my legacy. But in the end, it was all for nothing if I had lost the people who truly mattered most."
I feel a lump form in my throat as I read his words, imagining the pain and regret that he must have felt.
"But as I watched you grow into a strong and capable young man," he continues, "I realized that I had one last chance to make things right. And so, I made arrangements to leave you my entire fortune upon my passing."
My eyes widen as I read these words, still unable to fully comprehend the magnitude of what has happened.
But as I continue reading, I realize that there is more to the story than just money and wealth.
"I know that you may be wondering why I chose you as my sole beneficiary," he writes.
"It's not just because you are my grandson, although that certainly played a part in my decision. The truth is, I have been keeping tabs on you over the years through private investigators and other means." My eyes widen in surprise at this revelation.
I had no idea that he had been monitoring my life from afar!
But as I continue reading, I understand why he did it.
"Why would you do that?" I whisper, my voice barely audible.
Mr. Rothschild clears his throat, breaking the silence.
"Your grandfather was a man of many secrets, Mr. Kenmore, and it seems he wanted to ensure you were truly ready for this responsibility."
I sit quietly for a moment, absorbing his words.
When I look up, Mr. Rothschild has returned to his desk and is busily filing away some paperwork.
After a few moments, he glances up and notices that I am still sitting there, lost in thought.
He sets down his papers and walks around the desk to where I am sitting.
"May I join you?" he asks, gesturing to the chair next to mine.
I nod, and he sits down, turning to face me.
"I know this must be a lot to take in," he says gently.
"But I want you to know that your grandfather was a good man. He loved you very much, even if he didn't always show it."
I swallow hard, trying to hold back my emotions.
"He told me once that he kept a photo of you on his desk," Mr. Rothschild continues.
"He would look at it every day and smile."
I feel a lump form in my throat as I listen to his words.
It's hard to believe that my grandfather cared so much about me when we were so far apart for so long. "I'm sorry," I say finally, my voice cracking with emotion.
"I never knew he felt that way about me."
Mr. Rothschild places a hand on my shoulder, offering comfort.
"It's okay," he says softly.
"You don't have to be sorry. Your grandfather loved you very much, and now he wants you to have everything he worked so hard for."
I nod slowly, taking in his words.
It's still hard to believe that all of this is happening, but deep down, I know it's true.
My grandfather may not have been there for me when I needed him most, but now he's giving me the chance to start over and make something of myself.
And for that, I will always be grateful. "Your mother's death was a tragedy," Mr. Rothschild says softly, breaking the silence between us.
"I'm so sorry you had to go through that alone."
I nod slowly, my eyes welling up with tears at the mention of her name.
It's been years since she passed away, but the pain still feels fresh and raw inside of me.
"She was an amazing woman," I say quietly, my voice trembling with emotion.
"I miss her every day."
Mr. Rothschild places a gentle hand on mine, offering comfort and support.
"I can only imagine how difficult it must have been for you," he says softly.
I lean back in the leather chair, my fingers still tracing the edges of the letter.
I turn to Mr. Rothschild, my voice steadier than I expected.
"What happens now?"
I ask him.
He stands up and walks over to his desk, pulling out a thick folder from the drawer.
He spreads several documents across the polished surface, gesturing for me to join him.
"These are all the necessary documents for you to sign," he explains, pointing to each one in turn.
"This one is the official transfer of ownership for Kenmore Industries. This one is for the bank accounts and investments. And this one is for the properties."
As he speaks, I notice that all of the documents have my grandfather's company letterhead on them - Kenmore Industries.
It's surreal to think that I am about to become the owner of a global empire.
Mr. Rothschild hands me a silver pen, pointing to the first signature line.
"Please sign here," he says gently.
I grip the pen tightly, thinking about all those nights I went hungry and all those days I worked multiple jobs just to make ends meet.
I stare at the first signature line on the thick stack of documents.
Mr. Rothschild points to where I need to sign, explaining that this first paper transfers ownership of Kenmore Industries' global headquarters.
My hand trembles slightly as I lower the pen.
The metal tip touches the paper, and I pause for a moment, remembering all those nights I went hungry and all those times I was mocked for being poor.
Then, with deliberate strokes, I sign my name - "Kevin Kenmore, Jr." in dark blue ink.
Mr. Rothschild watches me intently, then says, "Your grandfather believed you would bring a fresh perspective to the company."
I look up at him, surprised by his words.
"Did he ever say why he thought that?"
I lean back in the leather chair, letting his words sink in.
Mr. Rothschild pulls out a worn manila folder from his desk drawer and slides it across the polished surface.
"This was your grandfather's personal file on you," he explains, opening the folder to reveal a stack of surveillance photos.
The images span fifteen years - me working multiple jobs, studying late at night at the public library, helping elderly neighbors with groceries despite my own empty stomach.
Each photo captures a moment I thought no one witnessed.
When I point to a particular photo of me giving my last dollar to a homeless veteran, Mr. Rothschild leans forward.
"Your grandfather wrote notes on each photo," he says, pointing to the handwritten scribbles on the back of the picture.
I turn it over and read the words, written in my grandfather's familiar script: "Shows character under pressure."
I look up at Mr. Rothschild, my voice barely a whisper.
"He was watching me all those years?"
Mr. Rothschild nods, his eyes filled with understanding. "He wanted to see the man you'd become on your own."