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MidReal Story
The Billionaire Breakup That Changed Everything
Scenario:Kevin Kenmore 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 only Multi Quadrillionaire 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
He is a previously impoverished orphan who was constantly belittled and jaded by those around him. He is resilient, determined, and sarcastic. After being labeled a failure and left by his parents, he won the lottery. His life transforms dramatically as he inherits his grandfather's vast wealth, becoming one of the world's most wealthy men. Despite criticism and past hardships, Kevin remains steadfast in his convictions. He seeks to reclaim his dignity and seek revenge on those who wronged him.
Melissa
She is Kevin's exgirlfriend who left him for someone wealthier. She is selfish, shallow, and manipulative. Her relationship with Kevin was marked by constant criticism and belittling, based on her perceived superiority over him. Even after his financial success, she attempts to reconnect with Kevin to leverage his new wealth for her own gain. Her actions highlight her lack of genuine affection or appreciation for Kevin.
Stu
He is Kevin's coworker in the insurance company where he was stuck due to a promise to his uncle. He is complacent, skeptical, and routinedriven. Although he initially agreed to help Kevin's uncle, Stu remains unconvinced of Kevin's genuine intentions for change after the lottery win. His attitude reflects the skepticism and judgment Kevin faced in his previous life.
I was an orphan and I didn't know who my parents were.
My life was hard and I was often called a loser.
I had just one girlfriend and she left me for a richer guy.
I didn't care about it because I knew I would become rich in the future.
And it happened!
My life changed when I won the lottery and inherited a huge amount of money from my grandfather.
I became one of the richest men in the world and now those who called me a loser before bowed at my feet.
I got my revenge and I was happy because I proved them wrong.
They were mistaken about me, and now they envied me.
My story began when I was young and lived in a poor family.
I didn't know who my parents were, but I knew I had debts to pay for my upbringing.
I had to work to pay that debt, so I did, and after many years, I finally paid it off.
But then another problem came up: I had to pay for my education.
Again, I worked hard and paid for it, but I still didn't have enough money for myself.
Then came the time when I had to get a job.
It was difficult, but luckily my uncle found me one in an insurance company.
I didn't like that job, but it was better than staying unemployed.
I sat at my cramped desk, staring at the insurance claim forms in front of me.
The fluorescent lights above flickered, casting an eerie glow on the drab walls of the office.
It was a typical Monday morning at the insurance company where I worked as a claims adjuster.
The sound of keyboards clacking and printers humming filled the air.
My coworker, Stu, walked by my desk, dropping another stack of papers in front of me with a smirk on his face.
"More work for you," he said with a chuckle.
I sighed and rubbed my temples.
This job was suffocating me.
I felt like I was drowning in paperwork and bureaucratic red tape.
As I scanned the forms in front of me, my mind wandered back to my childhood.
I grew up in an orphanage, surrounded by other kids who had no family to call their own.
We wore hand-me-down clothes and shared what little food we had. I remembered the sound of children's laughter echoing down the hallways, but it was often replaced with tears and despair.
The nuns who ran the orphanage did their best to provide for us, but it was never enough.
I saw kids with holes in their shoes and threadbare uniforms that barely covered their bodies.
Their eyes were empty and hopeless, like they had given up on life already.
I knew that feeling all too well.
But then something changed everything.
I won the lottery!
It was a stroke of luck that I never could have imagined in my wildest dreams.
Suddenly, I had more money than I knew what to do with.
And then came the inheritance from my grandfather, whom I had never met before.
It was like a double blessing!
With my newfound wealth, I decided to quit my job at the insurance company and pursue my passion for photography. But before I left, I wanted to do something special for those kids at the orphanage who were still struggling to make ends meet.
So, I pulled out a piece of paper from my desk drawer and wrote a letter to my supervisor explaining my decision to resign from my position effective immediately.
I signed it with a flourish and placed it on top of the stack of papers that Stu had just dropped off for me to process.
Next, I opened up my laptop and transferred ten million dollars into an account that I had set up for the Saint Mary's Orphanage Foundation - the same place where I grew up as a child!
I sit in my new penthouse office, staring at my phone.
The leather chair still feels foreign, like I'm playing pretend in someone else's life.
After three days of ignoring work calls and messages, I decide it's time to twist the knife.
I pull up Stu's number and type out a message: "Sorry for ghosting the office. Busy managing my new trillions. By the way, I bought the insurance company this morning. Enjoy your new boss."
I add a smiley face emoji, then delete it.
Too petty.
I hit send and watch the message status change to "delivered."
A few minutes later, my phone buzzes with an incoming call from Stu.
"Hey, boss," he says, his voice a mix of disbelief and forced cheerfulness. "So, does this mean I can finally get that raise I've been asking for?"
I chuckle, leaning back in my chair. "Let's just say things are going to change around here, starting with how we treat people."
I review the company's financial records, marking areas that need immediate change.
The old break room stands out - the one with the moldy coffee maker and broken chairs.
I spent too many miserable lunches there, listening to Stu's snide comments about my "big dreams."
Opening my laptop, I draft an email to all employees.
"Tomorrow, 10 AM. Mandatory meeting. Attendance will be tracked."
My finger hovers over the send button for a moment before I add a note: "And no more taking advantage of each other."
I hit send.
The message notification pings across all 247 employee computers.
Within minutes, responses flood my inbox.
I walk down the familiar hallway toward the break room.
My expensive shoes click against the linoleum floor that desperately needs replacing.
The musty smell hits me as I push open the door.
The same water-stained ceiling tiles and flickering fluorescent lights greet me.
Standing before the counter where the ancient coffee maker sits, I remember countless mornings of choking down burnt coffee while Stu lectured me about "being realistic."
I pull out my phone and take a few photos of the deplorable conditions.
Then, I call my assistant.
"Sir?" she answers on the first ring.
"Need a favor," I say, turning to face the room.
"Download that renovation planning app you told me about. The one that lets you mark spots for new furniture and appliances."
"Yes, sir. RenovateNow. I'll send you the link."
A few seconds later, the link arrives.
I click it, and the app opens.
I tap on "new project" and select "office space."
The camera view pops up, and I point it at the room.
The screen transforms into a 3D layout of the break room.
I tap on the coffee maker and select "premium coffee station."
Then, I tap on the broken chairs and choose "modern furniture."
Next, I tap on the walls and select "fresh paint."
Finally, I tap on the ceiling and choose "better lighting."
The musty air and peeling wallpaper won't torment another employee like they tormented me.
I tap on "review changes," and a list appears: new coffee station ($10,000), modern furniture ($15,000), fresh paint ($8,000), and better lighting ($12,000).
Total cost: $45,000.
My finger hovers over the "approve budget" button.
Stu's sneering face flashes through my mind.
I press approve.
The confirmation ding echoes in the empty room.
I smile, knowing this is just the beginning.
I arrive early to the conference room, setting up my laptop at the head of the long table.
I connect it to the projector and click through the renovation renderings.
The sleek designs fill the screen: premium coffee bar, ergonomic furniture, modern lighting.
Employees begin to filter in, their faces filled with a mix of curiosity and nervousness.
They whisper among themselves as they take their seats around the table.
Stu walks in last, his usual smirk replaced by an uncertain expression.
He slides into a chair in the back corner, his eyes fixed on me.
Standing at the head of the table, I click through the designs.
The room falls silent as the $45,000 budget appears on screen.
I lock eyes with Stu and announce that the old break room's toxic culture ends today, starting with this complete overhaul.
Stu leans back, crossing his arms. "So, you think a fancy coffee bar will change everything?"
I nod, holding his gaze. "It's not just about the coffee, Stu. It's about creating a space where people feel valued and respected."
I stand at the front of the conference room, watching faces shift from confusion to shock as I click through the renovation slides.
The fluorescent lights above flicker, highlighting every micro-expression in the room: raised eyebrows, widened eyes, hushed whispers between coworkers.
When I reach the slide showing the $10,000 coffee station, someone gasps audibly.
Stu's face has turned a shade paler, his earlier challenge now replaced with visible discomfort as he sinks further into his corner seat.
I pause deliberately on the total budget slide, letting the $45,000 figure sink in.
The room is silent, but the message is clear: change is inevitable.