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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 is the heir to a multibillion dollar fortune. He is resilient,sarcastic,and determined. Shane struggled with poverty and the cruel judgments of those around him,including his toxic girlfriend,Samantha. After inheriting the wealth from his wealthy grandfather,he experiences a drastic change in status. Despite feeling isolated,he resolves to use his newfound power to help others and exact revenge on those who wronged him.
Grandfather
He is Shane's paternal grandfather who passed down a multibillion dollar inheritance to him. He is supportive,wise,and protective. The grandfather kept Shane's heritage secret,wanting him to experience life without the burden of his family's wealth. After his death,the grandfather leaves Shane a vast sum to ensure his grandson's financial security and encourage him to make a positive impact with his newfound power.
Samantha
She is Shane's exgirlfriend who left him for someone wealthier. She is selfish,judgmental,and manipulative. Samantha initially dated Shane to benefit from his lack of financial stability,which she perceived as a challenge. When Shane's fortunes changed,she discarded him for a more "suitable" partner. Her actions serve as a catalyst for Shane's transformation,driving him to embrace his true potential and rise above his past despite her betrayal.
I was an orphan and was raised in foster care.
My girlfriend left me for a richer guy.
And my life was about to get even more interesting.
I found out my grandfather was one of the richest men in the world.
And he left all his money to me.
I was now a multibillionaire, but I had no idea.
My life was about to change even more, but I had no idea.
I was poor, but I didn't know how good I had it.
I was poor and miserable, but I didn't know how good I had it until now.
But before that, let me tell you my story first.
I was an orphan and was raised in foster care with other kids.
Luckily, my foster parents took good care of me, and I never had to experience being homeless or begging on the streets for food.
But I always had a hard life, struggling to make ends meet, and my life was never easy.
After turning 18, I left my foster parents and went on my own.
It was tough, and sometimes I didn't have enough money to buy food or pay rent.
I sit at my cramped kitchen table, staring at the official-looking envelope that arrived this morning.
The return address reads "Davidson & Associates Legal Services."
My hands shake as I tear it open, remembering how bill collectors usually send their demands in such formal packaging.
I pull out a letter printed on expensive paper and begin to read.
The words hit me like a punch to the gut.
A man I've never heard of has passed away, and I'm needed at the law firm's downtown office tomorrow morning to discuss an inheritance.
I check the address again, convinced this must be some kind of scam.
I spend the evening researching Davidson & Associates online, and they seem like a legitimate law firm.
I find their office address, client reviews, and even a few news articles mentioning them.
The letter feels heavy in my hands as I read it for the tenth time, studying every detail of the firm's letterhead and the signature of the lawyer who sent it.
My studio apartment seems smaller than usual tonight, the walls closing in around me as I pace back and forth on the worn carpet.
Part of me wants to get my hopes up, but I know how easily dreams can shatter.
I set three alarms for the morning, not wanting to oversleep and miss this mysterious meeting.
After a restless night of tossing and turning, I wake before my alarms go off.
I put on the only decent outfit I own: a wrinkled dress shirt and faded slacks from the thrift store.
I check my reflection in the cracked bathroom mirror, trying to smooth down my unruly hair with some water.
The bus ride downtown feels like an eternity as I grip the letter tightly in my hand, re-reading it for the hundredth time.
When I finally reach the towering glass building that houses Davidson & Associates, I'm forty-five minutes early.
I stand across the street, watching well-dressed professionals hurry in and out of the building.
My worn shoes and secondhand clothes make me feel completely out of place.
As I finally muster the courage to cross the street, a voice calls out behind me, "You look like you're heading to a funeral."
I turn to see a woman about my age, dressed in a sharp suit, her eyes scanning me with curiosity.
"I'm here for a meeting," I reply, trying to sound more confident than I feel, "Apparently, I'm about to inherit something big."
I push through the revolving glass doors into the marble lobby, my shoes squeaking against the polished floor.
The security guard looks me up and down suspiciously as I approach the directory.
I scan the list of companies, my eyes finally finding "Davidson & Associates" on the 42nd floor.
I join a group of suits waiting for the elevator, pressing myself into the corner to avoid their judgmental glances.
The elevator doors close, and my heart pounds as the numbers tick higher and higher.
Finally, we reach the 42nd floor, and I step into a pristine reception area filled with leather chairs and abstract art pieces.
The receptionist looks up from her computer, her perfectly manicured nails tapping against her keyboard as she asks how she can help me.
I introduce myself and explain that I'm here to see Mr. Davidson.
She nods politely and asks me to take a seat while she informs him of my arrival.
I fidget in the plush leather chair, my thrift store clothes sticking uncomfortably to my skin in the climate-controlled waiting room.
The receptionist's manicured nails click against her keyboard while she occasionally glances at me with barely concealed disdain.
I practice different ways to introduce myself under my breath, stumbling over the words.
A massive oil painting of stern-looking men in suits stares down at me from the wall, their eyes seeming to judge my shabby appearance.
The antique clock on the wall ticks methodically, each sound echoing in my head as I count the minutes.
The door to Mr. Davidson's office swings open, and a voice calls my name with unexpected warmth.
I wipe my sweaty palms on my pants and rise from the leather chair, trying to project more confidence than I feel.
The receptionist's eyes follow me as I attempt to walk smoothly across the polished floor, though my worn shoes still squeak with each step.
Outside Mr. Davidson's office, his assistant gives me an encouraging smile - the first friendly face I've seen today.
I pause at the threshold of the heavy wooden door, taking a deep breath to steady myself.
The letter crinkles in my pocket as I reach for the brass doorknob, reminding me why I'm here.
"Come in, come in," Mr. Davidson says, gesturing to the chair opposite his desk.
I sit down, clutching the letter like a lifeline, and he leans forward with a knowing smile.
"You must be wondering why someone you've never met left you their entire estate."
He pulls out a thick manila folder and places a framed photo on his desk, sliding it across to me.
The photo shows an elderly man with a kind face and a distinguished air, dressed in an expensive suit.
I pick it up, my hands shaking as I study the shape of his nose and jawline - so familiar because they're the same as mine.
"This is William Weber," Mr. Davidson explains.
"He was a reclusive billionaire, the founder of Weber Technologies."
I set the photo down carefully, my mind reeling with the implications.
Mr. Davidson continues, "He was worth over $500 googol at the time of his death, and he left it all to you."
I can't process what I'm hearing.
"Me?"
I ask, my voice barely above a whisper.
Mr. Davidson nods sympathetically.
"Yes, you. You see, William Weber was your grandfather. He's been keeping an eye on you through private investigators for years. He wanted to make sure you developed character and didn't rely on wealth to get by."
I stare at the photo again, trying to process this revelation.
My whole life, I've struggled to make ends meet, never knowing that I had a grandfather who could have changed everything.
Mr. Davidson slides another piece of paper across his desk.
"This is the paperwork for your inheritance," he explains gently.
I take the pen, my hand steady now, and sign my name with newfound resolve.
After signing the paperwork, I lean back in the leather chair and study the photo of my grandfather more carefully.
His eyes hold a determined look, one that I recognize every time I see myself in the mirror.
"Tell me about him," I ask Mr. Davidson, my voice steadier now.
"What kind of man was he?"
Mr. Davidson pulls out a thick folder and begins to share stories of my grandfather's business ventures and charitable works.
I listen intently, learning how he built his empire from nothing - just like me.
He speaks of my grandfather's dedication to education for underprivileged youth, and my throat tightens.
After hearing about my grandfather's passion for education, I ask Mr. Davidson to help me set up a scholarship foundation.
He pulls up documents on his computer, explaining the legal requirements while I lean forward in my chair.
We draft initial paperwork for the "William Weber Memorial Scholarship Fund," targeting foster kids and low-income students.
When Mr. Davidson asks about the funding amount, I don't hesitate.
"$50 billion," I say, remembering how hard it was to afford college myself.
His assistant brings in forms to sign, and I notice my hand is steady as I authorize the transfer.
With the paperwork complete, I stand up, ready to honor a legacy I never knew was mine.
After signing the inheritance papers, Mr. Davidson hands me a thick folder.
"This contains detailed listings of your assets," he explains.
I open it, my eyes widening as I scan through the pages.
There are properties all over the world - private islands in the Caribbean, a fleet of mega yachts, and penthouses in every major capital.
The number at the bottom of the last page makes my breath catch: 500 googol dollars in total holdings.
Mr. Davidson slides another item across his desk - a blue Citibank card with a platinum W embossed on it.
"Your debit card," he says.
My hands tremble slightly as I pick it up.
I pull out my old phone with the cracked screen and text Alan and Ryan about the scholarship foundation launch.
Alan replies almost instantly, "Wait, are you serious? How did this even happen?"
Ryan follows up with, "Dude, this is insane! Are you like a secret prince or something?"
I chuckle, typing back, "Long story. Let's just say I've got a lot to live up to."
I lean back in the leather chair, staring at my phone as I contemplate how to break the news to Alan and Ryan.
Mr. Davidson is still organizing paperwork on his desk, so I decide to send them a few details about tonight's dinner at Le Bernardin, the city's most exclusive restaurant.
My fingers hover over the send button as I debate whether to tell them everything now or surprise them later.
The platinum card feels heavy in my pocket.
After a deep breath, I hit send: "Dress formal. Car picks you up at 8 PM."
I pull out my new phone, the one Mr. Davidson gave me, and dial the number for Le Bernardin.
My fingers are still getting used to the screen.
The hostess answers on the first ring, her voice smooth as silk.
"Le Bernardin, how may I assist you?"
I clear my throat, trying to sound confident.
"I'd like to make a reservation for tonight."
"Of course, sir. How many in your party?"
"Three."
"And what time would you prefer?"
"As late as possible."
There's a pause on the other end of the line.
"We have an opening at 8 PM."
"That's perfect. And I'd like your most exclusive private dining room."
There's another pause, longer this time.
"I'm sorry, sir, but those rooms are typically booked well in advance."
I take a deep breath and say the words I never thought I'd say: "Tell them it's for a Weber."
The tone of her voice changes instantly.
"Right away, Mr. Weber. We'll prepare our finest menu for you. Our Michelin-starred chef will personally oversee everything."
I glance at my reflection in the office window.
I'm still wearing my thrift store clothes.
"Thank you," I say, trying to sound like I belong in this world.
"And there's a private entrance?"
"Yes, Mr. Weber, everything will be arranged to your satisfaction," she assures me, and I finally feel the weight of my new reality.
After confirming the reservation, I pull out my phone and start browsing through luxury clothing stores.
I need to look the part for tonight's dinner.
Mr. Davidson notices me scrolling through my phone and clears his throat.
"Is there something you need?"
I look up, realizing I've been caught.
"I was just looking for a suit for tonight."
He nods, reaching for his phone.
"I have a personal shopper at Bergdorf Goodman. Let me call them."
He dials a number and after a brief conversation, he hangs up.
"They'll see you right away," he says, handing me a business card with the name "Samantha" printed on it.
I take the card and thank him before heading out of the office.
The drive to Bergdorf Goodman is short, and when I arrive, Samantha is waiting for me at the entrance.
She looks at me warily until Mr. Davidson's name is mentioned, then her demeanor changes instantly.
"Right this way, Mr. Weber," she says, leading me to a private room filled with designer suits.
I browse through the racks, finally settling on a tailored Tom Ford suit that fits perfectly.
Samantha calls in a tailor who makes a few adjustments while I watch in the mirror as my reflection transforms from an average college student to someone who belongs in this world. When I'm done, I check my phone and see that Alan has replied with "What's going on?"
Ryan has sent "???"
I decide it's time to let them in on the secret.
"Guys, you're not going to believe this," I type quickly, my fingers flying over the screen.
"I just found out I'm the heir to the Weber fortune."
While we finish dessert, I watch Alan and Ryan's faces as they process the news.
We're in a private dining room at Le Bernardin, and it feels both intimate and grand with its crystal chandeliers and silk wallpaper.
The food has been exquisite, and I can see that my friends are still reeling from the news.
I pull out my phone and show them pictures of the $50 million villa in the Hamptons that I've been eyeing.
It has a helipad, private beach, and an Olympic-sized pool.
"Nice, right?" they say in unison.
"I'm buying it," I tell them casually.
"What?"
"It'll be our new hangout spot."
Before they can respond, I slide them each a first-class ticket to Paris for tomorrow morning.
Their eyes widen, and I know that nothing will ever be the same again.
I raise my crystal champagne flute, filled with vintage Dom Pérignon.
The bubbles rise to the surface, catching the light of the chandelier above.
The delicate crystal catches the light, casting tiny rainbows across our faces.
The maître d' stands discreetly near the door, waiting for my cue.
I clear my throat and speak.
"To new beginnings," I say, my voice steady despite the emotions churning inside.
Alan's eyes are still wide with shock, while Ryan keeps glancing at the Paris tickets beside his plate.
"To new beginnings," Alan echoes, his voice barely above a whisper.
The maître d' swoops in to clear our dessert plates, and I set my champagne glass down on the white tablecloth.
I turn to look out the window, where the city lights twinkle far below.
I remember countless nights when I couldn't afford dinner, let alone a drink.
Now, I can buy anything I want.
Alan leans forward, his eyes locked on mine.
"So, what are your plans for the Weber empire?"
Before I can answer, my phone buzzes on the table.
I glance down at the screen and see a name that makes my heart skip a beat: Samantha.
Her name stops my response cold.
"Are you going to answer that?" Ryan asks, noticing my hesitation.
I hesitate, then pick up the phone, trying to keep my voice steady.
"Samantha, is everything alright?"
I hold the phone to my ear, watching as Alan and Ryan exchange concerned glances.
The sound of her voice is shaky, uncertain.
It's nothing like the confident Samantha I once knew.
"I heard about your inheritance," she says, her voice trembling.
"I work for Weber Industries' largest competitor now. There's something you need to know."
"What is it?"
I ask, my grip on the phone tightening.
"There's a hostile takeover attempt planned for next week. You need to be prepared."
My heart sinks.
I've barely had time to process the news of my inheritance, and now I'm facing a threat to everything I've just gained.
"When can we talk?"
I ask, glancing at Alan and Ryan, who are watching me intently.
"Meet me tomorrow," she says, her voice filled with urgency.
"I'll text you the details."
As I end the call, I set my crystal glass down on the table with a steady hand.
Alan and Ryan are watching me closely, waiting for an explanation.
But I'm not sure I can explain what just happened.
Samantha left me years ago without a word of explanation.
And now, she's back in my life with secrets and warnings. The waiter approaches discreetly, sensing that our conversation is over.
"Can I get you anything else?" he asks.
I shake my head, signaling that we're finished.
"Bring us the check," I say, my voice firm despite the turmoil inside me.
The waiter nods and disappears into the bustling restaurant beyond our private dining room.
As he leaves, I glance at Alan and Ryan, who are still watching me with concern etched on their faces.