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MidReal Story
The Billionaire Orphan's Revenge
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 faced immense poverty and hardship but never gave up. His life took a dramatic turn when his adoptive parents kicked him out due to financial struggles. His exgirlfriend left him for someone richer. Despite criticism and judgment,Shane inherits the wealth,vowing revenge and social climb.
Alex
He is one of Shane's classmates from foster care,becoming a confidant and friend. He is supportive,honest,and caring. Alex stood by Shane despite his difficult circumstances and remained loyal even after Shane’s adoption by the wealthy family. His friendship was one of the few constants in Shane’s turbulent life. Alex’s loyalty highlights the depth of their bond across social and economic divides.
Isabel
She is Shane's adoptive mother who played a significant role in his harsh upbringing as an orphan. She is coldhearted,manipulative,and controlling. Isabel adopted Shane as part of a plan to use him for financial gain. When reality sets in that he is wealthy on his own,she tries to manipulate him into obeying her instead of pursuing independence. Her past as an adulterer with Shane’s biological father adds complexity to their strained relationship.
I was an orphan, a poor boy with no one to care for me.
I had to fight for survival, and even when I finally found a home, I was treated like a slave.
My girlfriend left me for a richer guy.
But life took another dramatic turn when I found out I was the heir to my biological grandfather's multibillion-dollar estate.
Suddenly, I was no longer poor or unloved.
I was the only child of one of the wealthiest families in the world.
The people who once judged me and called me a failure would soon bow down at my feet.
I would make sure they knew my name and respected me.
My life was about to change in ways I never imagined, and I was ready to take control of my destiny.
The beginning of the end started on my birthday, the day my life changed forever.
"Shane! Come have your breakfast before you leave for work."
I heard my adoptive mother, Isabel, calling me from the kitchen.
I walked in and saw Penelope sitting at the table with a cup of coffee in her hands.
Penelope was my girlfriend, and we had been together for three years.
We met in foster care, and from the moment I saw her, I knew she was the one for me.
"Good morning," I said with a smile as I approached her.
"Good morning," she replied with a forced smile.
Isabel set a plate of burnt toast in front of me.
"Thank you," I said, taking a bite of the dry toast.
The kitchen was smaller than usual, and the air felt heavy with unspoken words.
Penelope shifted uncomfortably in her chair, avoiding eye contact while fidgeting with her coffee cup.
I noticed that she had new nails, something she couldn't afford last week.
Isabel hovered around the kitchen, pretending to wipe the already clean counters.
The silence stretched until Penelope finally looked up, her eyes meeting mine.
"Shane, there's something I need to tell you," she said, her voice trembling slightly.
I put down the toast, sensing the gravity in her tone.
"I'm pregnant, and it's not yours," she confessed, tears welling up in her eyes.
I grip the edge of the kitchen table, my knuckles turning white.
The burnt toast turns to ash in my mouth.
Isabel's rhythmic scrubbing of the counter becomes unbearable - her desperate attempt to avoid acknowledging the bomb Penelope just dropped.
I watch Penelope's perfectly manicured fingers trembling around her coffee cup, those nails paid for by the man who got her pregnant.
My chair scrapes against the linoleum as I push back from the table.
Without a word, I rise to my feet, my movements deliberate and controlled.
The screen door creaks as I pull it open, stepping into the morning air.
I storm upstairs, my heavy boots echoing through the house.
The cramped bedroom seems smaller than ever.
I yank my duffel bag from under the bed and begin to stuff my meager belongings inside - threadbare clothes, a few dog-eared books, and the only photo I have of my biological parents.
Their faces are distant memories, but I cling to the faded image as if it were a lifeline.
From downstairs, I hear Penelope's muffled sobs and Isabel's sharp whispers.
My hands shake as I zip the bag closed, but I force myself to move methodically, checking every drawer and shelf.
In the bathroom, I grab my toothbrush and the cheap razor I bought last week.
Without a backward glance, I shoulder the bag and descend the stairs.
Standing in the dimly lit hallway, I grip the duffel bag tighter than necessary.
The weight of my belongings feels lighter than the betrayal crushing my chest.
Muffled sobs drift up from the kitchen, mingling with Isabel's harsh whispers, urging Penelope to "pull herself together."
I take a deep breath and move towards the front door, each creaking floorboard marking my final steps in this house.
As I reach for the doorknob, footsteps rush up behind me.
Penelope's voice breaks as she calls out my name.
Without turning around, I twist the knob and step onto the worn welcome mat.
"Shane, please wait," Penelope pleads, her voice cracking with desperation.
I pause, my back still turned to her, the morning air chilling my resolve.
"There's more you need to know," she continues, her words barely above a whisper.
My feet pound against the cracked sidewalk as I run past the row of identical suburban houses, their manicured lawns a stark contrast to the neglect I endured inside.
The morning sun beats down on my back while my duffel bag slaps rhythmically against my hip.
Penelope's voice grows fainter, calling my name between sobs, but I don't slow down.
At the bus stop ahead, I see the 72 pulling up - my ticket into the city.
I fish the crumpled bus fare from my pocket, the last of my savings, and climb aboard.
I slump into a cracked vinyl seat near the back of the bus, my duffel bag heavy in my lap.
The elderly driver catches my eye in his rearview mirror and waves me forward.
Confused, I trudge to the front of the bus.
He pulls a thick manila envelope from his jacket and hands it to me.
"Someone left this for Shane Weber," he says gruffly.
My hands shake as I take it.
The paper is expensive, nothing like the bills and junk mail I usually receive.
The envelope is sealed with dark red wax, stamped with an unfamiliar crest.
I return to my seat, my heart pounding in my chest as I break the seal.
Inside, I find a letter that changes everything.
I scan the crisp pages, my fingers leaving smudges on the expensive paper.
The elegant script details an inheritance worth billions from my biological grandfather, a man I never knew existed.
A Mr. Harrison requests my presence at the Sterling Building downtown at noon today to discuss the details.
I check my watch - 10:45 AM.
The bus jolts as it hits a pothole, and I clutch the letter tighter, afraid it might disappear.
Other passengers stare at my worn clothes and ratty duffel bag, but I focus on memorizing the address: 1879 Sterling Avenue, Suite 2401.
The city skyline looms ahead, and for the first time, I feel the weight of possibility.
I stare at the laminated VIP pass in my hand, the glossy card displaying my name and a barcode.
The bus driver explains that it came with specific instructions - to hand it to me when I boarded and to take a detour.
I look out the window and spot a sleek black helicopter waiting in a cleared parking lot.
Two men in dark suits stand beside it, scanning the street.
The bus driver pulls over, nodding at me to get off.
I clutch my duffel bag and the inheritance letter tighter, my worn sneakers crunching on broken asphalt as I approach the helicopter.
The suited men nod and gesture me forward, their eyes hidden behind sunglasses.
The rotors whip dust around us, making it hard to see.
A woman in a crisp blazer leans out from the cabin, extending a manicured hand.
"Mr. Weber, welcome. I'm Sarah Chen, Mr. Harrison's assistant."
I climb aboard awkwardly, my sneakers slipping on the polished steps.
She hands me a bottle of water and gestures to a leather seat.
The interior smells of new leather and wealth - a stark contrast to the bus I was on minutes ago.
The helicopter vibrates beneath me as I fumble with the unfamiliar seat belt.
Sarah Chen leans over, her manicured hands clicking the buckle into place.
I nod my thanks, not trusting my voice.
Through the window, I watch the ground fall away - first the cracked parking lot, then the bus stop where my old life ended.
The suited men become dots below.
My duffel bag sits awkwardly between my feet, a shabby reminder of where I came from.
The city skyline emerges ahead, a wall of gleaming towers piercing the clouds.
Sarah Chen offers me another bottle of water.
I take it but can't open it - my hands are shaking too much.
I unscrew the cap with trembling fingers, spilling a few drops on my worn jeans.
She watches from her seat across from me, her tablet ready with what looks like documents about my inheritance.
The cold water helps calm my racing thoughts, but the metallic taste reminds me of the burnt toast from breakfast.
"Is there anything else I can get for you, Mr. Weber?"
Sarah Chen asks, her voice polite and distant.
I shake my head, focusing instead on the leather armrest beneath my fingers - its smooth texture so different from the cracked vinyl of our kitchen chairs.
I grip the leather armrest tighter and clear my throat, trying to steady my voice.
"So, what exactly did my grandfather leave me?"
The words come out hoarse.
Sarah taps her tablet screen, bringing up charts and documents that make no sense to me.
"Besides the obvious trillions, Mr. Harrison owned multiple private islands, a space tourism company, and several experimental technology ventures," she explains.
My head spins as she rattles off more assets - things I can barely comprehend.
"And then there's his private army of security personnel," she adds casually.
I lean forward, thinking of Penelope and Isabel's faces when they discover who I've become.
I lean back, the weight of my new reality settling in as the helicopter carries me toward a future I never imagined.
I lean forward in the leather seat, my eyes fixed on Sarah Chen's tablet as she swipes through details of the security force.
My duffel bag shifts at my feet when she reveals photos of armed personnel, armored vehicles, and a massive training compound.
"The force consists of over 5,000 elite soldiers stationed across multiple continents to protect family interests," she explains.
I ask about their combat experience, and Sarah hesitates before mentioning classified missions in hostile territories.
My fingers trace the tablet screen showing their command center, imagining how this power could help me deal with those who wronged me.
The helicopter descends onto a private helipad atop the Sterling Building, where Mr. Harrison waits in an impeccable suit.
I stumble out with my worn duffel bag, following Sarah through glass doors into a mahogany-paneled conference room.
The lawyer spreads documents across the polished table, pointing to inheritance figures that make my head spin.
When he mentions my grandfather's private army now answers to me, I grip the leather chair tighter.
Mr. Harrison slides a blue Citibank credit card with a Platinum W across the table, explaining it has no limit.
I turn the black credit card over in my hands, the weight substantial.
Mr. Harrison explains it has no spending limit, and I can use it for anything.
I look down at the table, my shabby clothes reflected in the polished surface.
I open my duffel bag and pull out a faded photo of my biological parents, placing it on the table in front of Mr. Harrison.
I ask him to deploy our security teams to investigate their deaths, as my grandfather never fully explained what happened.
My voice stays steady as I ask for access to all family records and files.
I lean back in the leather conference chair, my eyes following Mr. Harrison as he spreads out a collection of old documents across the polished table.
Family photos, yellowed newspaper clippings, and business records create a timeline of my past.
My fingers trace over my father's signature on a decades-old contract while Mr. Harrison explains the complicated relationship between him and my grandfather.
The security footage playing silently on wall screens shows my parents' last known movements.
I pick up a police report about their car accident, noting inconsistencies that weren't investigated.
Sarah leans in, her voice barely above a whisper.
"Your grandfather always suspected foul play, but he couldn't prove it without risking everything."
Mr. Harrison nods, adding, "The files you're about to see might finally give you the answers you've been searching for."
I lean forward in my leather chair as Mr. Harrison opens a thick red folder marked "Classified."
He spreads a collection of black and white surveillance photos across the polished table.
They show my parents in the days leading up to their deaths, going about their daily lives.
My fingers trace the outlines of their faces as Mr. Harrison points to figures in the background of each shot.
A man in a dark coat appears repeatedly, always lurking at the edge of the frame.
Mr. Harrison explains how my grandfather tracked this stalker, but he could never be identified.
When he slides over a recent photo, I catch my breath.
It's the same man, standing outside my old apartment building last week.
My hands clench into fists.
The hunt begins now.
I pull the business card from the stack of documents, my fingers trembling as I dial the number for Blackwood Investigations.
The conference room falls silent except for the dial tone.
Through the floor-to-ceiling windows, the city sprawls below, a world away from this morning's kitchen drama.
Mr. Harrison nods encouragingly while Sarah pulls up more surveillance photos on the wall screens.
The line connects, and a gruff voice answers.
I clear my throat, glancing at my parents' photo before speaking.
"Hello, I'm calling about a case. I need to speak to your lead investigator."
The voice on the other end asks for more information, and I describe the man in the photos.
My voice stays steady as I explain how he's been seen over decades, always lurking in the shadows.
From my parents' final days to last week outside my apartment, he's been there.
I hear papers shuffling on the other end of the line.
"Can you hold for just a moment?"
I nod, even though they can't see me.
Mr. Harrison slides more photos across the table, showing different angles of the man.
He wears a long coat with a distinctive collar, and his gait is unmistakable.
The line clicks again, and a new voice speaks.
"This is Blackwood Investigations. How can we help you?"
I take a deep breath before launching into my story again.
This time, I have an audience of one: the person who might finally uncover the truth.
The investigator asks about my budget, and I glance at the new blue credit card in my wallet.
"I'm willing to pay whatever it takes," I say, my voice firm with determination.
The investigator pauses, then replies, "We'll need to start with a full background check on this man."
Sarah interjects, her eyes fixed on the screen, "And we should look into any connections he might have had with your grandfather's business."
I lean back in the leather conference chair as the investigator's gravelly voice comes through the speaker.
"We've been monitoring this man for years," he says, his tone filled with a mix of intrigue and concern.
"We have surveillance photos matching the ones you've described. The long coat, the gait, everything."
I sit up straighter, my heart pounding in my chest.
"What do you know about him?"
I ask, my voice barely above a whisper.
The investigator clears his throat before speaking.
"We've been tracking him since your parents' deaths. We've seen him appear in various places over the years, always lurking in the shadows. But we've never been able to identify him or his motives."
I feel a surge of determination course through my veins.
"I'll pay whatever it takes to get to the bottom of this," I say firmly.
The investigator hesitates before responding.
"This case has personal significance to our agency. We'll share our full file with you immediately, no charge."
My hand tightens around my parents' photograph as Mr. Harrison and Sarah exchange concerned glances.
The investigator's voice grows more serious.
"We believe he's closer than you think."
I lean forward in my leather chair, my eyes fixed on the speakerphone.
"Can you send us the surveillance records?"
I ask, my voice steady.
There's a pause on the other end of the line.
"Of course," the investigator replies.
"But there's something else. Another envelope."
Mr. Harrison's eyes widen slightly as he rises from his seat.
He presses a hidden button on the wall, and a small safe opens, revealing an envelope with my grandfather's seal.
Mr. Harrison retrieves it, his hands trembling slightly as he passes it to me.
The weight of the envelope feels heavy in my hands, like a secret waiting to be uncovered.
I carefully break the seal and pull out a stack of papers.
The first page has detailed instructions and account numbers for a research fund that my grandfather had established.
My eyes scan the pages, and I realize that this is more than just a simple inheritance.
This is a secret investigation, one that my grandfather had been planning for years. I look up at Sarah, who has pulled up banking records on her laptop.
She nods as she sees the account numbers matching the ones in the documents.
"It's true," she says quietly.
"Your grandfather allocated billions to this research fund. It was meant solely for this investigation."
I feel a surge of emotions as I realize the extent of my grandfather's efforts to uncover the truth about my parents' death.
He had been planning this for years, waiting for me to take control of his legacy.
The investigator's voice interrupts my thoughts.
"This man is dangerous," he says firmly.
"We've seen him appear in various places over the years, always lurking in the shadows. But we've never been able to identify him or his motives."
I feel a chill run down my spine as I realize the gravity of the situation.
The investigator's voice drops to a whisper, "He's already inside."
I stand up from the conference table, my heart pounding in my chest.
The room is filled with glass walls and sleek modern furniture, but my eyes are fixed on the security monitors lining the walls.
Sarah immediately moves to the control panel by the door, her fingers flying across the touchscreen as she initiates lockdown protocols.
The sleek metal shutters begin descending over the floor-to-ceiling windows, sealing us inside while red warning lights pulse silently overhead.
Mr. Harrison pulls out his phone, speaking quietly to the security teams as they sweep each floor of the building.
I watch the security feed on the wall monitors, searching for any sign of movement among the crowds of office workers below.
I lean over Sarah's shoulder at the control panel, studying the grainy basement security feeds.
Something about the shadows near the loading dock catches my eye - a flicker of movement near the service entrance.
Sarah zooms in on that area while Mr. Harrison whispers urgent commands into his phone.
The camera reveals stacked boxes disrupted recently, their dust patterns disturbed.
I point to a dark corner where the emergency exit door stands slightly ajar, its electronic lock disabled.
"Sarah, can you pull up the footage from the last hour?" I ask, urgency in my voice.
She nods, her fingers tapping rapidly on the keyboard. "Already on it," she replies, her eyes narrowing as she focuses on the screen.
Mr. Harrison looks up from his phone, concern etched on his face. "If he's inside, we need to know his exact location now."