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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, labeled as "unruly" by those around him. He is resilient, determined, and proud. After being kicked out of college and living a poor, rocksolid lifestyle, Shane discovers he has inherited his grandfather's vast wealth. This transformation changes his life dramatically, from poverty to immense fortune. Shane decides to use this new fortune to help his old foster care friends and create a scholarship for them, seeking redemption for past hardships.
Megan
She is Shane's exgirlfriend who left him for someone wealthier. She is materialistic, selfish, and critical. Megan initially dated Shane because of his potential financial future, but she grew tired of his rough lifestyle and ended the relationship. Her actions hurt Shane deeply, contributing to his selfdoubt and desire for revenge. Despite her past with Shane, Megan remains unaware of his newfound wealth and the impact it has on his life and plans for helping others.
Preston
He is Shane's adoptive brother who resented him for taking their grandfather's attention away from their family. He is bitter, arrogant, and judgmental. Preston harbors anger towards Shane due to their complicated family history and their father's favoritism towards Shane. After Shane inherits the wealth, Preston becomes envious and attempts to form a connection with Megan, trying to use Shane’s situation to elevate his own status in society.
I was an orphan, raised in foster care.
I was kicked out of college.
I was poor as hell, living a rocksolid lifestyle.
And my girlfriend left me for a richer guy.
But today, I found out that I’m the heir to the only multi-googolaire family in the world.
They say when life gives you lemons, make lemonade.
Well, I made a damn good glass of lemonade.
Because when I turned 18, I found out who my real family was.
And my life changed forever.
I wasn’t just Shane Weber, some poor ass dude living on scraps.
I was Shane Weber, grandson of the richest man in the world.
And now… I wasn’t just Shane Weber, grandson of a billionaire.
I was Shane Weber, one of the billionaires in the world.
My life changed when my grandfather died, and his will was read.
It was found out that he had an illegitimate son.
My father, who had been kicked out of the house many years ago for trying to scam the family.
He had been living with his mistress in a big house, but not big enough for him since he knew how much money his family really had.
He tried to scam them by making them think that he had another child with his mistress other than Preston, their legitimate son.
I drive my beat-up Honda Civic through the iron gates of Weber Manor and follow a long, winding road that snakes through acres of immaculately manicured lawns.
The security guards at the gate eye me suspiciously until I show them the lawyer’s letter.
They wave me through, and I continue driving until I reach the mansion.
It’s a behemoth of a building, three stories of limestone and marble that could fit my apartment fifty times over.
My hands shake as I park my car beside a fountain depicting Greek gods and goddesses.
A butler in a pressed uniform opens the heavy wooden doors and greets me with a neutral expression.
He leads me through a marble foyer where my footsteps echo off the walls, past oil paintings of stern-faced Webers, and into a wood-paneled study.
My grandfather’s lawyer is already there, surrounded by stacks of papers and files.
The mahogany-paneled office feels suffocating, the air thick with the scent of old leather and wood polish.
I sink into the leather chair across from Mr. Harrison, his eyes studying me over the rim of his glasses.
He slides a thick stack of documents toward me, each page marked with yellow tabs indicating where I need to sign.
My hands tremble slightly as I examine the first page, my name typed in bold letters.
I scan the text, my heart pounding in my chest.
It’s a transfer of ownership, granting me the controlling shares of Weber Industries.
The butler enters with a silver tray bearing two glasses of water and sets it down on the table between us.
I ignore it, my throat dry but my mind too preoccupied to care.
Mr. Harrison clears his throat, gesturing to the papers.
"These are the legal documents transferring ownership of Weber Industries to you. Please sign on the yellow tabs."
I grip the Mont Blanc pen, its weight solid in my sweaty fingers.
As I sign each page, he explains what each section entails—properties, bank accounts, business holdings.
The sheer scope of it all is overwhelming, and I can’t help but wonder if this is all some elaborate joke.
The Mont Blanc pen feels heavy in my hand as I lower it to the final document.
Mr. Harrison points to the last signature line, his manicured finger tapping twice on the yellow tab.
My eyes flicker to the grandfather clock in the corner, its rhythmic tick-tock echoing through the room like a countdown.
I glance out the window, where gardeners tend to the immaculately manicured lawns, oblivious to the fact that their paychecks will soon bear my name.
My hand trembles slightly, but I steady it against the paper.
The ink flows smoothly as I sign "Shane Weber" one last time, the letters darker and more confident than my previous signatures.
Mr. Harrison leans back, a satisfied smile stretching across his face.
"Congratulations, Shane. You've just become one of the most powerful men in the world."
I look up, my voice barely above a whisper, "But what about Preston? He was supposed to inherit everything."
I lean back in the leather chair, my fingers drumming against the armrest as Mr. Harrison pulls out another folder.
The lawyer’s eyes flicker to the grandfather clock, its rhythmic tick-tock echoing through the room.
He clears his throat, his voice measured.
"Six months ago, Preston came to me and signed away his inheritance rights. He agreed to a modest settlement instead."
He slides a document across the table, and I study it intently.
Preston’s signature stares back at me, hasty and uneven.
The date catches my eye—just a few days after my grandfather’s cancer diagnosis.
My fingers trace the familiar curve of Preston’s name, trying to make sense of it all.
I look up at Mr. Harrison, my voice barely above a whisper.
"Why would he do that? He’s always been groomed for this position."
Mr. Harrison leans forward, his eyes locking onto mine.
"He wanted the money now. Refused to wait for the estate to be settled."
Just then, the butler enters with a steaming pot of fresh coffee, interrupting our conversation.
He pours two cups and sets them on the table before retreating silently.
I don’t touch the coffee, my focus solely on unraveling the mystery before me.
"Preston knew Grandfather was sick," I say, my mind racing.
"He could have waited it out."
Mr. Harrison’s expression turns grim.
"He was desperate. Demanded immediate cash payment." My mind reels as I process this new information.
Preston had always been driven by ambition and greed, but this desperation doesn’t add up.
He’d been groomed his entire life to take over Weber Industries; why would he throw it all away?
I lean forward, my voice urgent.
"Was there something else going on? Something that made him want out?"
Mr. Harrison hesitates, his eyes darting around the room before settling back on me.
"There may be more to it," he admits quietly.
"But I’m not at liberty to disclose that information."
I narrow my eyes, frustration bubbling beneath the surface.
"Not at liberty? This is my family we're talking about."
Mr. Harrison sighs, removing his glasses and rubbing the bridge of his nose.
"While reviewing additional paperwork in the office, Mr. Harrison’s phone rings.
He answers, his expression shifting from confusion to shock.
"Yes, this is Harrison & Associates," he says, his voice strained.
The person on the other end speaks rapidly, their words indistinguishable to me.
Mr. Harrison scribbles something on his legal pad, each digit making his eyes widen further.
"Are you certain?" he asks, his voice trembling slightly.
A pause, and then he responds, "Yes, I understand. Thank you."
He hangs up the phone and turns to me.
"That was Swiss National Bank," he explains, his voice barely above a whisper.
"They’ve located another account in your grandfather’s name."
I watch as he types furiously on his computer, pulling up the account details.
My heart races in my chest as I wait for him to speak.
Mr. Harrison’s eyes scan the screen before he looks up at me.
"It appears your grandfather maintained a secret trust fund in Switzerland," he says, his voice filled with disbelief.
"A trust fund separate from the main estate."
I lean forward, my hands gripping the chair arms tightly.
"How much?"
I ask, my voice barely audible.
Mr. Harrison’s eyes meet mine, filled with a mix of awe and trepidation.
"The balance equals everything you’ve just inherited," he says, his words hanging in the air like a challenge. The butler enters with fresh water, but I barely notice him.
My focus remains fixed on Mr. Harrison as he continues to explain the situation.
"It seems your grandfather wanted to ensure that you had more than just the family business," he says, his voice filled with a mix of admiration and confusion.
"He wanted you to have a safety net, a way to secure your future beyond Weber Industries."
I stare at the screen in front of me, my mind struggling to comprehend the magnitude of what I’m seeing.
The number is staggering—equal to everything I’ve just inherited from Grandfather’s estate.
It’s as if I’ve been given a second chance at an empire.
The weight of it all crashes down on me like a tidal wave, threatening to consume me whole.
I stare at the blue Citibank card in my trembling hands, the platinum W gleaming under the office lights.
Mr. Harrison’s voice cuts through my thoughts, his words echoing in my mind.
"This card has unlimited spending power," he explains, his eyes serious.
"You can use it anywhere, anytime."
I nod, still trying to process the information.
He pulls out a stack of papers, each one detailing a different asset.
"Here are the inventories of your new possessions," he says, sliding them across the table.
I begin to flip through the pages, my eyes widening as I see what I now own.
Private islands scattered across the globe—the Maldives, Caribbean, Mediterranean.
Each one comes with its own villa and private airstrip.
The next page reveals a fleet of mega yachts—three in total, each with its own unique features.
The Azure Queen stretches 600 feet in length, equipped with a helipad and submarine bay.
The Golden Horizon is slightly smaller but boasts an indoor swimming pool and movie theater. My eyes lock onto the final figure at the bottom of the last page: 250 googol dollars.
The number is so large it seems abstract, meaningless.
I can’t even begin to comprehend its value.
I look up at Mr. Harrison, my voice tinged with disbelief.
"Is this even real? How could Grandfather have hidden all of this?"
Mr. Harrison leans back, a hint of a smile playing on his lips.
"He was a master at keeping secrets, Shane. Perhaps he wanted you to discover your own path."
I lean back in the leather chair, stunned, as Mr. Harrison pulls up another spreadsheet on his computer.
"There’s one more account," he says, his voice measured.
"A matching trust fund at Deutsche Bank."
He turns the screen towards me, and I watch as endless rows of numbers scroll by.
My head spins, trying to make sense of it all.
The figure at the bottom is twice what I’ve already inherited: 500 googol dollars.
Just yesterday, I was counting quarters for gas money.
Now, I’m staring at a fortune that could buy a small country.
The butler enters with fresh water, but I wave him away.
Mr. Harrison prints out the final statement and slides it across the mahogany desk.
The room feels smaller, the air heavier, as I realize my life will never be the same.
I pull out my old iPhone with the cracked screen, the one I can barely afford to replace.
The contacts list stares back at me, a reminder of the life I left behind.
My fingers hover over two names—Joe and Matt, the only friends who stuck by me through everything.
The leather chair feels too luxurious beneath me as I type out a simple message: "Need to see you guys. Important."
Last week, we shared ramen noodles and counted pennies for beer.
Now, I could buy every brewery in the country.
I hit send, knowing that this time, everything would be different.
I pull into the cracked parking lot of Mel's Diner, the neon sign flickering in the evening darkness.
The Honda Civic, which I've held together with duct tape and prayers, looks even more beaten up next to the other cars.
Through the grimy windows, I spot Joe and Matt at our usual booth, sharing a basket of fries.
They wave as I enter, the bell above the door announcing my arrival.
The vinyl seat squeaks as I slide in, careful to avoid the torn patch we always joke about.
The familiar smell of grease and coffee envelops me as I look over the menu I know by heart.
"Hey man, you’re late," Joe says, his mouth full of fries.
I nod, my hands still trembling from the day's revelations.
"I had something unexpected come up."
Matt raises an eyebrow, his eyes questioning.
"Everything okay?"
I take a deep breath before answering.
"Yeah. Better than okay."
Our waitress, Sandy, who knows us as the guys who always split the cheapest meals, comes over to take our order.
She’s a single mom working two jobs to make ends meet, and we always try to leave her a little extra when we can.
"Usual for you boys?" she asks, her pen poised over her notepad.
Joe and Matt nod in unison while I hesitate.
Sandy’s eyes narrow slightly.
"You okay, Shane?"
"Yeah," I reply quickly.
"Just going to get a water tonight."
I slide a hundred-dollar bill across the table to Sandy, watching her eyes widen in surprise.
I reach into my worn backpack and pull out the papers, spreading them across the greasy table between our half-eaten plates.
Joe stops mid-bite, his burger forgotten as he stares at the Weber Industries letterhead.
Matt leans forward, squinting at the numbers while french fries dangle from his fingers.
I point to the total sum, watching their eyes widen as they count the zeros.
Sandy passes by, the hundred-dollar tip still clutched in her hand.
I explain how my grandfather left me everything: multiple trust funds, private islands, mega yachts.
Joe drops his burger completely when I mention the first trust fund.
Matt's eyes meet mine, and in that moment of shared disbelief, I know we've crossed into a new reality together.
I pull out my new phone, the one I bought on the way here, and ask Sandy to write down her bank information on a napkin.
She looks at me confused but scribbles it down, probably thinking I'm setting up a payment plan for our usual tabs.
My fingers move across the banking app, Joe and Matt watching in silence as I type in the amount.
Ten million dollars.
I hit transfer, and the confirmation message pops up.
Sandy returns to refill our waters, oblivious to what just happened.
When her phone buzzes with the deposit notification, she nearly drops the pitcher.
Her hands tremble as she pulls out her phone and stares at the screen.
Sandy's voice shakes as she looks at me, eyes wide with disbelief.
"Shane, what did you just do?"
I smile, feeling the weight of my grandfather's legacy lift from my shoulders.
"I just made sure you won't have to work two jobs anymore."
Sandy's tears fall as she wipes them away, showing her phone to the other waitresses.
They gather around, whispering and pointing at the screen.
Joe finishes his burger in silence, then pulls out his worn notebook—the one he uses for his volunteer work at the community center.
He flips through the pages, stopping at a rough blueprint of the youth center where we spent countless afternoons as kids.
Matt points to various sections on the blueprint.
"We could add a computer lab here, and job training rooms over there."
I remember sleeping on that center's couch when my foster home got too bad.
The familiar scent of coffee and grease fills the air as I pull up my banking app again.
Joe leans back, a grin spreading across his face.
"Shane, you really think we can pull this off?"
I nod, determination in my eyes.
"With the right people and resources, we can change a lot of lives."