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MidReal Story
The Billionaire Orphan
Scenario:Shane Weber has led a hard broken life, a poor orphan, and his girlfriend is leaving him for a more richer prospect. But his fortune is about to change dramatically. Shane inherited immense wealth from his grandfather, shocking everyone. He was the heir to the only multi-googolaire family in the world. He endures constant criticism and judgment from those around him. He vowed that those who labeled him a failure would eventually bow at his feet. 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, Shane will get revenge on those who mistreated him? Will he succeed?
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Shane Weber
He is a former orphan who was raised in foster care, discovering he was the secret heir to a multibilliondollar fortune. He is resilient, humble, and determined. Shane struggled with poverty and was labeled a failure by those around him, including his exgirlfriend, who left him for someone wealthier. After inheriting the fortune, he experiences a dramatic change in status. Despite initial hesitation, he decides to use his newfound wealth to help others, creating a scholarship for underprivileged kids like himself.
Grandfather
He was Shane's paternal grandfather. He was protective, wise, and unconditionally loving. Grandfather secretly raised Shane in his childhood after being orphaned by both parents. He only revealed the truth of Shane’s heritage after his passing, leaving behind a vast fortune for Shane to inherit. His actions ultimately changed the course of Shane’s life, filling the emotional void left by his parents’ abandonment and granting him a legacy of wealth.
Julia
She is Shane's exgirlfriend. She is materialistic, selfish, and dismissive. Julia leaves Shane for someone wealthier, reflecting her own priorities and desires. When Shane inherits the fortune, she attempts to rekindle their relationship, but her past actions make it challenging. Her decision to leave Shane highlights her true character and the societal values that prioritize wealth over personal connections. This encounter motivates Shane to embrace his new life and make meaningful changes.
I was an orphan and had been in foster care since I was little.
My parents had died when I was young, and I didn't know who my relatives were.
I had grown up being called names like 'poor boy' and 'good for nothing'.
I had tried to change my fate by studying hard and getting good grades, but even though I had a good degree, I couldn't find a good job.
I worked at a supermarket as a stock boy, just barely scraping by.
The only good thing in my life was my girlfriend, Sophia.
We had met in college, and even though she came from a rich family, she didn't mind that I was poor.
Or so I thought.
One day, as we were walking through the mall, we saw a man who looked familiar to me.
He was wearing a suit and a tie, looking like the richest man alive.
As we walked past him, he looked at me with disdain in his eyes.
"You're Shane Weber, right?"
He asked.
"Yes," I said.
"How dare you date such a low-class girl like Sophia?"
He asked.
What was he talking about?
"Sophia is my girlfriend," I said.
"We've been dating for three years now."
"Ahah! You mean Julia Sophia, the daughter of Mark Sophia, the richest man in our state," he said.
"No one told me that. Why are you telling me this?"
I asked.
I stared at the man, my mind racing to connect the pieces.
Julia Sophia - not just Sophia as she'd told me - stood rigid beside me, her designer purse clutched tight against her chest.
The mall's fluorescent lights seemed harsher now, accentuating the expensive clothes she wore, the diamond earrings that glinted in her ears, and all the other signs I had ignored over the years.
The man, who I now recognized as Mark Sophia's business partner, smirked as he watched my face.
Three years of memories flashed through my mind.
Sophia's reluctance to come to my apartment, her insistence on taking me to expensive restaurants where she would always "forget" her wallet, her vague answers about her family and job.
My hands began to shake as I turned to face her.
"Is it true? Who are you really?"
The mall's background chatter seemed to fade into the distance as I stared at her.
Her designer outfit, which had once been a simple fashion choice, now screamed wealth against the backdrop of the food court's plastic tables and chairs.
My throat tightened, making it hard to speak.
Sophia shifted uncomfortably in her seat, her manicured fingers fidgeting with the napkin on the table.
The businessman who had just exposed her stood a few feet away, checking his Rolex watch with a smug expression on his face.
I remembered last Christmas when Sophia had claimed she couldn't afford to buy me a gift because she was saving up for something important.
Yet, on New Year's Eve, she had worn a new pair of Louboutins to our date.
The lies stacked up like bricks between us.
"For you?" she said, her voice barely above a whisper.
"I did it all for you."
I couldn't believe what I was hearing.
"You made me pay for expensive dates while hiding your wealth. You watched me work two jobs just to make ends meet. And you say you did it all for me?"
I push through the mall's glass doors into the humid evening air.
My footsteps echo against the concrete as I walk away, the security guards watching me leave from behind the glass.
My phone buzzes with Sophia's calls and texts, but I swipe them away.
I need answers, and I won't find them by talking to her.
The coffee shop is just a block away, its neon lights beckoning me in.
I pull out my laptop and start digging.
First, I search for her social media profiles.
There are a few with her name, but none of them match the girl I thought I knew.
Then, I look up news articles about her family.
It doesn't take long to find what I'm looking for.
Photos of Sophia at charity galas and yacht parties fill my screen.
She's standing next to her parents, smiling brightly as they pose for photos together.
The dates on the articles go back years before we met.
Each picture feels like another betrayal. The more I read, the more I realize how much she hid from me.
Her family's real estate empire stretches across the state, with properties worth millions of dollars.
I find an article about their latest development project, complete with photos of their mansion and a list of their business partners.
I recognize a few of the names from our encounter at the mall earlier tonight.
And then, I see it - their home address listed at the end of the article.
I grab my keys and shove them into my pocket.
I have to know the truth, and there's only one place to get it.
As I drive, my mind races with questions, each one more urgent than the last.
When I finally pull up to the sprawling estate, Sophia is already waiting at the gate, her eyes filled with a mixture of fear and determination.
I park my car outside the estate gates, staring at Sophia's anxious face through the iron bars.
She reaches out a hand to touch my arm, but I step back, keeping a safe distance between us.
The evening air is heavy with the scent of blooming flowers and the distant hum of crickets.
"I can't do this anymore," I say, my voice barely above a whisper.
"The lies, the manipulation... it's all too much."
Sophia's eyes widen, her voice trembling as she speaks.
"You don't understand. I did it to protect us. My family would have never approved of you."
I scoff, shaking my head.
"Protect us? By lying to me for three years?"
She steps closer, her fingers curling around the iron bars.
"I was scared. I didn't know how else to keep us together."
I take a deep breath, trying to calm my racing thoughts.
"Look, Sophia, I need some time to process everything. Can we talk about this later?"
Sophia nods, her face etched with worry.
"Of course. I'll give you space. But please, just remember that I love you."
I nod in return, turning away from her and walking back to my car.
As I drive home, my phone buzzes with messages from Sophia, each one filled with apologies and promises to make things right.
But I don't respond.
Instead, I delete each message without reading it. When I finally reach my apartment, I drop onto the couch and stare at the blank walls.
The silence is deafening, punctuated only by the ticking of the clock on the wall.
I think back to all the moments we shared together - our laughter-filled nights at comedy clubs, our lazy Sundays spent watching movies in bed, our spontaneous road trips to explore new cities.
But now, every memory feels tainted by her deception.
I stand up and walk over to the bookshelf where I keep all the photos and gifts from our relationship.
My fingers tremble as I pick up each item and place it into a cardboard box.
The weight of what we had once shared feels suffocating as I pack away memories that now seem like a lie.
When the box is full, I seal it with packing tape and place it in the corner of my room.
As I turn away from the box, my eyes fall on a framed photo of us on a beach vacation last summer.
I take it down, leaving an empty space on the wall where our smiles used to be.
I drive to Morgan's small apartment across town, my hands still trembling on the steering wheel.
The box of memories from Sophia sits accusingly in my passenger seat.
When I arrive, Morgan buzzes me up immediately, already waiting at her door in pajamas with two beers in hand.
As soon as I walk in, she closes the door behind me and gestures for me to sit on her worn couch.
I dump the box onto her coffee table and sink into the cushions, recounting the events of the night through clenched teeth.
Morgan listens intently, occasionally picking up an item from the box - a concert ticket stub, a photo from our beach vacation, a birthday card with Sophia's handwriting inside.
When I finally finish speaking, she hands me a beer and starts sorting the items into two piles: keep and trash.
While she works, my phone buzzes on the coffee table.
I glance down and see an unknown number flashing on the screen.
Morgan looks up, pausing mid-story about Sophia's deception.
"Who is it?"
I shrug and answer, my voice firm.
"Hello?"
There's a moment of silence before a formal voice speaks on the other end.
"Good evening. My name is Richard Chen, and I'm calling from Sterling & Associates Law Firm. Am I speaking to Shane Weber?"
I furrow my brow, confused.
"Yes, that's me. But how did you get my number?"
The lawyer clears his throat.
"We obtained it from public records. Mr. Weber, are you the grandson of Theodore Weber?"
My heart skips a beat.
I never knew my grandfather's name.
"Yes... but how do you know that? I've never met him."
The lawyer's voice remains professional, but there's a hint of sympathy in his tone.
"I'm afraid Mr. Theodore Weber passed away last week. He left behind an estate, and as his sole heir, you are entitled to inherit his properties."
My grip on the phone tightens as I process the news.
"What? I... I don't understand."
The lawyer continues, "We would like to schedule a meeting with you to discuss the details of the inheritance. Would you be available tomorrow afternoon at our office?"
I glance at Morgan, who watches me with wide eyes as my face changes from confusion to shock. "Yes... yes, I'll be there," I say finally, my voice barely above a whisper.
"Thank you for letting me know."
The lawyer provides me with the address and time before ending the call.
As soon as I hang up, Morgan leans forward, her curiosity palpable.
"What happened? Who was that?"
I set the phone down on the table, staring at it as if it might hold some answers.
"It was a lawyer," I say slowly.
"He said my grandfather died and left me an inheritance."
Morgan's eyes widen further, her mouth hanging open in surprise.
"Your grandfather? But you never knew his name..."
I nod, still trying to process the news myself.
"Yeah. Apparently, he died last week and left everything to me."
Morgan leans back, her eyes searching mine for any sign of disbelief.
"Shane, this could change everything for you," she says softly, a hint of excitement in her voice.
I nod, still dazed. "I know, but it feels like I'm stepping into a life I never knew existed."
I spend the night at Morgan's apartment, lying awake long after she drifts off to sleep.
My mind races with questions about my grandfather - who he was, what he did, why he never reached out to me before.
Around 3 AM, I pull out my phone and start typing his name into Google.
The results are overwhelming - article after article about a reclusive tech billionaire named Theodore Weber.
He founded a company that revolutionized quantum computing and made billions in the process.
But there's hardly any information about his personal life, except for a few grainy photos of him attending industry conferences and charity events.
I click on one of the photos, enlarging it to get a better look at his face.
He has dark eyes and a sharp jawline, similar to mine.
But there's something cold in his expression, as if he's always sizing people up.
I continue scrolling through the articles, learning more about his business ventures and philanthropic efforts.
By the time the sun starts rising outside Morgan's window, I've read everything I could find on him.
Morgan wakes up to find me still sitting on her couch, surrounded by empty coffee cups and my phone screen glowing with search results.
She blinks sleepily at me, rubbing her eyes.
"Shane? Why are you still up?"
I set my phone down on the coffee table and stretch my arms over my head. "I couldn't sleep," I admit, feeling the weight of exhaustion in my bones.
"I kept thinking about my grandfather."
Morgan nods sympathetically, getting up from her bed to make us some breakfast.
As she cooks scrambled eggs in her tiny kitchen, she glances over at me occasionally.
"You look like you're about to collapse," she says finally, setting a plate of eggs in front of me.
"Eat something."
I nod obediently, taking a few bites of the eggs before pushing the plate away.
Morgan watches me with concern etched on her face.
"You need to get some rest before you go see that lawyer," she says gently.
"Why don't you take a quick nap while I get ready for work?"
I consider her offer for a moment before shaking my head.
"No, I'm fine," I lie, forcing a smile onto my face.
"I'll just drive myself to the lawyer's office."
Morgan frowns, crossing her arms.
"Shane, you can barely keep your eyes open. Let me drive you there."
I hesitate, but the thought of navigating traffic in my current state makes me relent.
"Okay, thanks," I say, getting up from the couch and following her to the door.
Sitting in Morgan's passenger seat, I notice how her fingers drum nervously on the steering wheel as she drives downtown.
The morning traffic crawls past gleaming office buildings and trendy coffee shops, the sun glinting off their windows.
As she takes a sharp turn onto a side street, her hand accidentally brushes against mine on the armrest between us.
Our eyes meet briefly, and for a moment, I feel a strange flutter in my chest.
It's not an entirely unfamiliar feeling, but it's one I've never experienced with Morgan before.
The moment stretches out between us as neither of us looks away.
Then a car horn blares behind us, making us both jump.
Morgan quickly returns her attention to the road, her cheeks flushing pink.
I shift uncomfortably in the passenger seat, watching as her fingers tighten their grip on the steering wheel.
The sunlight catches her dark hair, illuminating the subtle waves that cascade down her back.
Morgan has always been there for me, through every crisis and late-night conversation.
She's more than just my best friend - she's the one person who truly understands me.
"So, what's on your schedule today?" I ask, trying to sound casual despite the tension still lingering between us.
Morgan keeps her eyes fixed on the road ahead, her voice steady as she replies, "I have a meeting at work this morning. Then I'm supposed to meet Sophia for lunch."
Her tone sounds different than usual - more controlled, as if she's deliberately keeping her emotions in check.
When we stop at a red light, Morgan reaches for her phone in the cup holder beside her.
She scrolls through it quickly, avoiding my gaze.
The silence between us feels heavier now, loaded with unspoken thoughts and unresolved feelings.
"Shane," she says suddenly, her voice barely above a whisper, "do you think this changes anything between us?"
I blink, caught off guard by the question.
"What do you mean?"
"I mean, now that you know about your grandfather," she explains, her eyes still fixed on the phone screen.
"Do you think it changes who you are?"
I lean across the center console of the car, my heart pounding in my chest.
The morning sun streams through the windshield, casting a warm glow over Morgan's face.
Her dark eyes stare straight ahead, her fingers trembling slightly as she holds the steering wheel.
Traffic crawls past us, a sea of brake lights and honking horns stretching out into the distance.
The car behind us honks again - the light has turned green.
Morgan quickly pulls her hand away from mine to grip the steering wheel tightly.
She accelerates through the intersection, her eyes fixed on the road ahead.
I take a deep breath, realizing that the road ahead is as uncertain as the path my life has just taken.
I watch her profile as she navigates through the crowded downtown streets.
Her words hang between us like a challenge, daring me to confront the truth.
The morning sun catches the tears at the corners of her eyes, making them shimmer like diamonds.
My hand moves instinctively toward hers, resting on the gearshift.
But I pull it back, unsure if I should cross this line.
The car slows to a stop in front of a gleaming tower that houses the law firm where Morgan works.
She parks and turns to face me, her dark hair falling in loose waves over her shoulders.
The familiar scent of coffee and vanilla fills the car, reminding me of all the late-night conversations we've shared over steaming cups.
When she reaches for her seatbelt, her sleeve brushes against my arm, sending a jolt of electricity through me.
"Morgan," I say softly, "I don't know if it changes who I am, but it definitely changes how I see everything."
She finally looks at me, her eyes searching mine for something I can't quite define.
"Then maybe," she whispers, her voice trembling slightly, "it's time we both start seeing things differently."
I stare at her hand resting on the gearshift, the silver rings catching the morning light.
My heart pounds in my chest as I reach for the door handle.
But before I can open it, Morgan's hand touches my arm, stopping me.
"Whatever happens in there," she says, her voice soft but steady, "I'm here."
The familiar scent of her shampoo fills the car as she leans closer.
After a deep breath, I step out onto the sidewalk.
Morgan follows, smoothing her blazer over her hips.
The glass doors of Chen & Associates tower above us.
Without thinking, I extend my hand toward her.
She grasps it tightly, her fingers intertwining with mine.
The lobby is sleek and modern, with marble floors that echo our footsteps.
A receptionist greets us from behind a polished wooden desk.
"Mr. Chen is expecting you," she says, her voice crisp and professional.
"Please take the elevator to the 42nd floor."
I nod my thanks, feeling Morgan's hand tighten around mine as we step into the elevator.
The doors close with a soft whoosh, and we're alone in the confined space.
Morgan's shoulder presses against mine, her presence steadying my racing thoughts.
When the doors open again, we follow the signs to Richard Chen's office.
As we walk down the hall, Morgan starts to release my hand, but I hold on tighter.
I need her strength right now.
We stop in front of a set of glass doors, and through them, I see an older man rising from behind his desk.
He's dressed in an expensive suit, his gray hair slicked back from his face.
His eyes meet mine through the glass, and he waves us in.
I grip Morgan's hand one last time before releasing it.
She squeezes my fingers reassuringly before letting go.
The heavy glass door swings open silently, and I step inside.
The corner office is flooded with sunlight from floor-to-ceiling windows.
A large mahogany desk sits in the center of the room, covered in stacks of legal documents and files.
Mr. Chen motions for us to take seats in the two leather chairs facing his desk.
Morgan sits gracefully, her legs crossed at the ankles.
I follow her lead, trying to mimic her poise.
As I settle into the chair, my eyes wander around the office.
There are framed diplomas on the wall, along with several awards and certificates of recognition.
On Mr. Chen's desk, there's a single framed photo of an older man in an expensive suit.
He looks stern, his eyes narrowed as if he's sizing up the world around him.
I recognize the face from old family photos – my grandfather. Mr. Chen notices where my attention has landed and smiles wistfully.
"Yes," he says, "your grandfather was a good man."
I nod silently, feeling a mix of emotions swirl inside me.
Mr. Chen clears his throat and pulls out a thick manila envelope from one of his desk drawers.
He places it in front of me, his hands resting on top of it for a moment before he pulls away.
"These papers," he explains, "contain your grandfather's last wishes. It's all here – the will, the trust fund, and any other instructions he left behind."
My hands tremble slightly as I reach for the envelope.
I can feel Morgan's eyes on me, her presence steady and reassuring.
I take the heavy manila envelope from Mr. Chen's outstretched hand, feeling Morgan shift in her chair beside me.
My fingers tremble slightly as I break the seal, pulling out a thick stack of papers.
The first page shows my grandfather's letterhead in bold print.
Legal terms blur together – "last will and testament," "sole beneficiary," "trust fund allocation."
I force myself to slow down, reading each line carefully while Morgan's steady breathing keeps me grounded.
When I reach the inheritance amount, the numbers swim before my eyes.
Seven zeroes.
Then eight.
Then nine.
I grip the papers tightly, my heart pounding in my chest.
Morgan's hand finds its way to my arm, her touch warm and reassuring.
I force myself to look up, meeting Mr. Chen's eyes across the desk.
"Is this right?"
I manage to ask, my voice coming out shakier than I intended.
He nods solemnly, his expression sympathetic.
"Yes," he says gently.
"It's a significant inheritance, but your grandfather wanted you to have it all."
I swallow hard, trying to process the enormity of what I've just read.
Seven zeroes.
Eight zeroes.
The numbers echo in my mind like a mantra.
I glance at Morgan, who's watching me with concern etched on her face.
She squeezes my arm reassuringly, but I can see the questions in her eyes.
I take a deep breath and turn back to Mr. Chen.
"What happens now?"
I ask him, trying to keep my voice steady. He leans forward slightly, his eyes locked on mine.
"Now," he explains, "we need to discuss how you'll manage the estate. There are properties to oversee, investments to monitor, and businesses to run."
My stomach twists into knots as he speaks.
I feel Morgan's hand tighten around my arm again, offering silent support.
Mr. Chen slides a leather portfolio across his desk toward me.
"This contains all the information you'll need," he says.
"There are contact details for financial advisors, property managers, and security teams. You'll need to meet with them all soon."
I nod mutely, feeling overwhelmed by the sheer scope of it all.
Mr. Chen continues explaining the intricacies of managing such a vast inheritance – multiple homes scattered across different countries, businesses that span industries from tech to real estate, and investments that seem to touch every corner of the global economy. As he talks, my head spins with the weight of it all.
Morgan squeezes my arm again when she notices me growing pale.
Mr. Chen pauses mid-sentence and looks at me with concern etched on his face.
"Are you alright?" he asks gently.
I force a weak smile and nod, trying not to show how much this is affecting me.
"I'm fine," I say quietly.
"Just...a lot to take in."
He nods understandingly and reaches for a glass of water from his desk before handing it to me.
"Here," he says softly.
I take a sip, grateful for the cool liquid against my parched throat.
"Let me show you," he says, leaning forward and pointing to various sections of the papers in front of me.
"These numbers here represent the total value of your grandfather's empire. It's approximately 475 googol dollars."
My eyes widen as I stare at the figure.
A googol is a 1 followed by 100 zeroes.
So, 475 googol dollars is...I can't even begin to comprehend that number.
Mr. Chen continues explaining, pointing out different assets and investments listed in the documents.
"He owned private islands scattered across the Pacific, the Caribbean, and even off the coast of Europe," he says, his finger tracing over a map that's been included with the paperwork.
"There are also several mega yachts docked in various ports around the world."
My breath catches in my throat as I listen to him rattle off more properties and possessions than I can fathom.
"And this," he says, sliding a sleek blue Citibank card across the desk toward me, "is your new credit card."
The card feels heavy in my hand, its platinum W gleaming under the office lights.
Morgan leans forward slightly, her eyes widening as she takes in the sight of it.
I lean forward in the leather chair, accepting the platinum card with trembling fingers while Morgan watches intently beside me.
The weight of the metal feels foreign in my hand as I turn it over, studying the embossed letters that read "W" in silver.
Mr. Chen slides a thick binder across his mahogany desk, its cover embossed with the family crest.
"This contains everything you need to know," he explains, his voice steady and reassuring.
"It includes immediate action items – bank accounts to activate, properties to review, and staff to meet."
I grip the edge of the binder tightly, my stomach twisting into knots at the thought of meeting all those people.
My grandfather's personal butler is waiting to show me around the main estate, Mr. Chen explains.
I swallow hard, trying to keep my voice steady.
Morgan leans closer, her voice barely above a whisper.
"Do you think this is why your grandfather was so secretive all those years?"
I nod slowly, the realization settling in. "He must have been protecting us from all of this."
I stand from Mr. Chen's leather chair, clutching the inheritance binder to my chest.
"I need to see the estate now," I tell him, my voice steadier than I feel.
Morgan starts to protest about rushing in, but Mr. Chen is already dialing the butler.
While he speaks quietly into the phone, Morgan pulls me aside.
"You need a financial advisor first," she insists, her dark eyes serious.
"Someone to protect you."
I know she's right, but the thought of my grandfather's empty mansion pulls at me.
When Mr. Chen hangs up, he announces the butler is expecting us.
Morgan hesitates, glancing between Mr. Chen and me.
"Promise me you'll be careful," she says, her voice tinged with worry.
I nod, trying to reassure her. "I will, but I need to understand what he left behind."
I turn to Morgan, my hand still gripping the inheritance binder.
The late afternoon sun casts long shadows across Mr. Chen's office.
"Come with me," I ask, my voice barely above a whisper.
She glances at her watch, then bites her lower lip – a habit she has when she's unsure.
Mr. Chen stands by his desk, phone still in hand, waiting for our decision about the butler.
Morgan shifts in her chair, her blazer rustling softly as she looks between me and the door.
I reach for her hand, needing her steady presence for what comes next.