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MidReal Story
The Billionaire FallOut
Scenario:Mace 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. Mace inherited immense wealth from his grandfather, shocking everyone. He was the heir to the only multi-Quadrillonaire family 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, Mace will get revenge on those who treated him badly. Will he succeed?
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Mace Kenmore
determined, and sarcastic. Mace went from poverty to wealth in an instant, defying those who labeled him a failure. His past included an abusive foster mother and a tumultuous relationship with a woman who left him for someone richer. Despite criticism and societal rejection, Mace thrives on his new wealth, using it to help others and exact revenge on those who wronged him.
Grandfather
protective, and mysterious. Grandfather concealed Mace's true heritage and wealth until he was ready to receive it, ensuring that no one mistook his kindness for weakness. His unexpected death leaves Mace shocked but empowered to take control of his life’s resources. His actions ultimately serve as the catalyst for Mace's transformation from an underprivileged outcast to a powerful influencer.
Julia
materialistic, and shallow. Julia couldn’t handle Mace’s lack of wealth and ultimately chose to be with someone who could provide her with the lifestyle she desired. Her departure serves as motivation for Mace's transformation, allowing him to move forward and embrace his newfound wealth and power. Her relationship with Mace is marked by her constant criticism and inability to see past his circumstances.
I was a penniless orphan, and my girlfriend left me for a guy who had more money.
I was heartbroken, but I didn't give up.
Instead, I used the pain to fuel my determination.
Years later, I became the richest man in the world.
And now, I would get my revenge on those who wronged me.
My story began in a poor foster home where I was mistreated by my foster mother.
I had no money and no hope, but I never gave up.
I worked hard and studied well, but there were few opportunities for a poor orphan like me.
My only solace was my best friend, Melissa, and the girl I loved, Julia.
But Julia left me for a guy who had more money.
She couldn't handle being with someone who was poor.
I was devastated, but I didn't give up.
Instead, I used the pain to fuel my determination.
I worked harder and studied well.
And then, one day, my grandfather died, and his will was read.
His massive inheritance went to me.
No one could believe it, not even myself.
But it was true; Mace Kenmore was now the richest man in the world.
Everyone bowed to me, including Julia and her new boyfriend.
They begged for my forgiveness and asked me to take their apologies.
I sat in my grandfather's study, surrounded by dark mahogany and leather-bound books.
The room was dimly lit, with only a single lamp casting a warm glow on the faces of the two people standing before me.
Julia and her boyfriend, Derek, were both dressed in expensive clothing, but it couldn't hide their nervous fidgeting.
Julia's mascara was smeared from crying, and her hands were clasped together in front of her as if she were praying.
Derek kept adjusting his tie, and I could see the sweat beading on his forehead.
They had been talking for what seemed like hours, rambling on about how sorry they were for what they had done to me last year.
It was hard to believe that these were the same people who had looked at me with such disdain just a few months ago.
I glanced over at Melissa, who was leaning against the doorframe.
She caught my eye and gave me a knowing look. I raised my hand, silencing Julia mid-sentence.
"I forgive you," I said flatly.
"But our paths end here."
I stood up and turned my back to them, walking towards the window.
The view was mine now, and so was the future.
I sit at my mahogany desk, the inheritance documents laid out before me.
Melissa stands behind me, peering over my shoulder as I flip through the pages.
My hands tremble slightly as I take in the figures.
Four hundred quadrillion dollars, private islands scattered across every ocean, a fleet of mega yachts, and properties in every major city around the world.
It's hard to wrap my head around it all.
A black and gold Citibank card catches my eye.
The platinum 'K' gleams under the study lights.
I can hear Melissa gasp behind me as she reads the numbers.
I methodically catalog each asset, each property, each business venture.
It's hard to believe that this was all mine now.
I remember the days when I couldn't afford dinner, when I had to walk miles just to get a glimpse of Julia from afar.
Now, everything I could have ever wanted is within my grasp. The Citibank card stares up at me, beckoning me to take it.
I reach for it, feeling its weight in my palm.
It feels substantial, like a promise of power and possibility.
I slide the black and gold card into my suit jacket, feeling its weight against my chest.
Melissa helps me organize the mountain of paperwork into neat stacks - property deeds, business holdings, bank statements.
My grandfather's attorney is waiting in the lobby to review everything, but I need a moment first.
Standing up from the leather chair, I walk over to the mahogany shelves that line the study walls.
I run my fingers over the spines of the books, feeling a sense of familiarity and comfort.
My eyes land on a framed photo sitting on top of the bookcase.
It's a picture of my grandfather, his stern expression gazing down at me.
I can see myself in his eyes, and for a moment, I feel a pang of sadness.
I take the photo down and place it face-down in the desk drawer, shutting it firmly.
I turn to Melissa, a silent understanding passing between us, and say, "Let's build something new."
I pull out a leather notebook from the desk drawer and begin jotting down ideas while Melissa takes notes on her tablet.
"We need to create a foundation," I say, my pen pressing harder into the paper.
"Something that helps people who are less fortunate."
Melissa nods, her eyes lighting up.
"A foundation focused on orphaned children," she suggests.
"We could give them the opportunities you never had."
The memory of sleeping on park benches and scrounging for food makes my grip on the pen tighten.
I nod, determination coursing through me.
"Yes, that's exactly what we'll do."
Melissa begins typing furiously on her tablet, her brow furrowed in concentration.
"We can partner with foster care reform organizations," she says, not looking up.
"We can create programs to provide education, job training, and mentorship."
She pauses, looking up at me with a smile.
"And we can call it 'The Kenmore Foundation.'"
I write the name at the top of the page, underlining it twice.
I pause for a moment, examining the elaborate 'K' letterhead on my grandfather's stationery.
It's a symbol of his legacy, and now it will be a symbol of mine too. "We'll start by creating a board of directors," I say, jotting down notes in the leather notebook.
"We'll need experts in education, job training, and social services."
Melissa nods, her fingers flying across the screen of her tablet as she takes notes.
"We'll also need to establish a budget," I continue.
"We'll need to allocate funds for program development, staffing, and administrative costs."
I pause, thinking for a moment before continuing.
"And we'll need to set clear goals and objectives for the foundation."
Melissa looks up from her tablet, her eyes shining with excitement.
"This is going to be amazing," she says.
"We're going to change lives."
I smile back at her, feeling a sense of purpose and direction that I've never felt before.
"Yes," I say.
"We are."
"It will be."
I lean back in my leather chair, the preliminary budget numbers for the foundation spread out on my desk.
I've been working on the budget for hours, but I still haven't gotten it just right.
A sharp knock interrupts my thoughts.
I look up to see Mr. Chen, my grandfather's attorney, striding into the room with a thick manila envelope clutched in his hand.
His usual stoic face breaks into a rare smile as he approaches my desk.
"Good afternoon, Mr. Kenmore," he says, laying the envelope down on top of the budget numbers.
"I trust you're doing well?"
I nod, gesturing for him to take a seat across from me.
"Yes, thank you," I say.
"I've been keeping busy with the foundation."
Mr. Chen nods, his eyes lighting up with interest.
"Ah, yes," he says.
"I heard about that. That's very admirable of you."
He pauses for a moment before continuing.
"I'm here today because I have some additional information regarding your grandfather's estate."
He opens the manila envelope and pulls out a stack of documents, spreading them out across my desk. "It seems that your grandfather set up a matching grant program for the foundation," he explains.
"For every dollar that you invest in the foundation, an equal amount will be released from a separate trust fund."
My eyes widen in surprise as I scan the documents.
I look up at Melissa, who gasps beside me.
She quickly grabs her tablet and begins recalculating the budget numbers.
I lean back in my chair, tracing the outline of the foundation's logo on the letterhead with my finger.
My mind is racing with all the possibilities.
With this new funding, we'll be able to help twice as many children as we originally planned.
Melissa looks up from her tablet, her voice filled with excitement.
"This changes everything, doesn't it?" she says, her eyes sparkling.
I nod, feeling a surge of hope. "It means we can expand our reach much faster than we thought."
I lean back in my leather chair, considering Mr. Chen's words.
He explains that there are several influential individuals who could help amplify the foundation's impact.
Billionaire tech founders, media moguls, and old-money families who have a history of philanthropy.
Melissa pulls up their profiles on her tablet, showing me their past charitable work and net worth figures.
My initial instinct is to refuse, remembering how these same people once looked down on me as an orphan.
But I force myself to focus on the foundation's mission, rather than my own pride.
Mr. Chen mentions a charity gala happening next month, where these philanthropists will be in attendance.
After a moment's hesitation, I nod and ask him to arrange the introductions.
Melissa looks at me, sensing my reluctance.
"Think of the children we could help," she says softly, her eyes pleading.
I sigh, nodding slowly. "You're right. It's not about me anymore."
I stand before the full-length mirror in my bedroom, adjusting the custom-tailored Brioni tuxedo that hangs from my broad shoulders.
Melissa stands beside me, reading off the list of tonight's gala attendees from her tablet.
"Over 200 of the world's wealthiest philanthropists will be attending," she says, her voice steady and professional.
"The event is being held at the Ritz-Carlton ballroom. Black tie required."
My hands fumble with the bow tie, struggling to get it just right.
It's been years since I've worn formal attire – the last time was for Julia's birthday party, when I rented a cheap suit that she promptly mocked.
Melissa notices my tension and hands me the invitation, pointing out my name printed in gold leaf under "Distinguished Hosts."
"You're not just an attendee this time," she says gently, meeting my eyes in the mirror.
"You're a leader now, and they're here to see what you have to offer."
I take a deep breath, nodding as I finally manage to tie the bow.
I check my phone one last time before sliding into the waiting limousine's leather interior.
Melissa follows close behind, her tablet clutched in her hand.
The driver closes our door with a soft click as I adjust my cufflinks – platinum with that same distinctive 'K' etched onto them.
Through the tinted windows, I watch the city lights blur past while mentally rehearsing my donor talking points.
Melissa reviews last-minute details on her tablet, pointing out key attendees I need to network with.
But my mind drifts to the past, remembering the nights I took the city bus back from my minimum wage job, dreaming of a life beyond the confines of poverty.
The limo slows as we approach the Ritz-Carlton's grand entrance.
Camera flashes already strobe through the windows, catching glimpses of celebrities and socialites stepping out of their own limousines.
Melissa leans over, her voice barely above a whisper. "Remember, they need you as much as you need them," she says, her eyes locked on mine. I nod, feeling the weight of her words settle in my chest.
I grip the limo door handle, my heart pounding in my chest.
The driver opens the door, and Melissa steps out first.
Her emerald green gown catches the light as she smoothly moves to the side, revealing me to the sea of camera flashes.
I take a moment to adjust my tuxedo one last time, remembering how Julia once mocked my threadbare clothes.
The doorman extends his white-gloved hand, and I step out into a storm of camera clicks and shouted questions.
"Mr. Kenmore! Over here!" they call.
The same society photographers who once ignored me now jostle for my attention.
I pause at the top of the marble steps, taking in the glittering chandeliers and ornate decor of the Ritz-Carlton's grand entrance.
Melissa's heels click against the polished floor as we approach the registration table.
The event coordinator scrambles to personally escort us inside.
Whispers ripple through the crowd as heads turn to watch our arrival.
I recognize several faces from the covers of business magazines – tech moguls and oil barons who now straighten their postures and raise their champagne glasses in silent acknowledgment.
My hand instinctively finds the platinum 'K' pin on my lapel, a small token symbolizing my rise from obscurity.
We enter the opulent ballroom, my shoes sinking into the plush crimson carpet.
Crystal chandeliers cast golden light across marble columns, while the sound of a string quartet drifts through the air.
Melissa's hand brushes against my arm, a silent gesture of reassurance as we navigate through clusters of society's elite.
Their conversations pause, heads turning to track our movement.
I catch sight of James Chen, billionaire tech mogul, who once rejected my job application with a dismissive glance.
Now, he steps forward with an extended hand, his smile forced.
Before he can reach us, I deliberately turn away, leading Melissa toward the bar.
The event coordinator reappears, guiding us to our designated table at the front of the room.
As we sit down, Melissa leans in, her voice low. "I heard James is desperate for investors after that last product flop," she murmurs, her eyes scanning the room.
I smirk, adjusting my cufflinks. "Funny how tables turn, isn't it? Let's see how eager he is to talk now."
I stand at my front-row table, crystal champagne flute in hand.
The event coordinator signals the waiters to discreetly fill everyone's glasses.
Melissa gives me an encouraging nod as I clear my throat, drawing the attention of the gathered elite.
James Chen edges closer, his eyes pleading for recognition.
The room falls into a hushed silence as I begin speaking.
My voice carries across the ballroom, resonating against the marble walls.
"Good evening, esteemed guests. It's an honor to be among such accomplished individuals tonight," I start, surveying the room with a calculated gaze.
"I stand here as a testament to hard work and determination. Not long ago, I was nothing more than a young man from a poor neighborhood, struggling to make ends meet."
I pause, allowing the weight of my words to sink in.
"Some of you may remember those days, when you wouldn't give me a second glance. But times have changed."
I let my eyes linger on James Chen for a moment before continuing.
"Tonight, we gather not only to celebrate our achievements but also to acknowledge the journey that has brought us here."
A few guests shift uncomfortably in their seats, their gazes avoiding mine.
They remember how they once dismissed me, never imagining that I would rise to become one of them.
Melissa leans closer, her voice barely above a whisper. "Do you think they'll ever admit they were wrong about you?"
I chuckle softly, keeping my eyes on the crowd. "Admitting it isn't necessary; their silence speaks volumes."
I grip my champagne flute tighter, scanning the faces of those who once dismissed me.
The crystal catches the light from overhead chandeliers as I pause deliberately, making them wait.
Some shift uncomfortably in their seats while others strain forward, eager to curry favor.
James Chen's forced smile twitches as I lock eyes with him for a moment.
Melissa gives me a subtle nod of encouragement from her seat.
I clear my throat and lift my glass higher, watching as two hundred crystal flutes rise in response.
The room holds its breath, waiting for my next words.