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MidReal Story
The Billionaire Rebirth
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
first_person_protagonist, male. 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 drastic 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.
Helen Weber
side_character, female. She is Shane's adoptive mother who kicked him out when financial difficulties arose. She is coldhearted, selfcentered, and dismissive. Despite adopting Shane in childhood, Helen showed no genuine affection or support for him during his difficult times. Her decision to expel him once financial constraints mounted reveals her true nature and contributes to Shane's estrangement from his past life.
Penelope
side_character, female. She is Shane's exgirlfriend who left him for another man due to financial reasons. She is selfish, materialistic, and shallow. Penelope valued Shane only for his potential wealth, discarding him as soon as she found someone richer. Her relationship with Shane was emotionally distant, and she never truly cared for his past struggles. Her decision to leave highlights her superficial nature and contributes to Shane's eventual success.
I was an orphan, a poor one to be exact.
I was in foster care until I was sixteen years old.
A couple adopted me; they were supposed to love me, take care of me, but they didn't.
They were just too broke to even raise another mouth. They told me to get a job and support myself, but I was only a kid.
I had to finish high school, so I could get a better life in the future.
But I couldn't get a job because I was still in school, so I stole food because I was hungry, and my adoptive parents didn't want to feed me anymore.
They eventually kicked me out of the house when they found a way to get more money without me being involved.
They got another kid to adopt, a toddler who could model for baby products.
My life was hard, but I never gave up.
I always thought that someday my life would get better.
And it did!
One day, I received a letter from my lawyer telling me that my grandfather had passed away, leaving behind billions and billions of dollars.
I was his only heir!
The news shocked everyone because nobody knew that I was related to one of the richest families in the world.
My ex-girlfriend left me for another guy because he had more money than me.
I walk into the sleek glass building downtown, my worn sneakers squeaking against the polished marble floor.
The receptionist looks up from her computer, her eyes widening as they take in my thrift store clothes and messy brown hair.
"Can I help you?" she asks, her voice dripping with disdain.
"I'm here to see Mr. Patterson," I reply, trying to keep my voice steady.
The receptionist's expression changes instantly.
"Oh, Mr. Patterson is expecting you. Right this way."
She leads me down a long hallway lined with expensive artwork and into a corner office with a stunning view of the city.
Mr. Patterson, a silver-haired man in an expensive suit, stands up from behind his desk and extends his hand.
"Good morning, Mr. Smith," he says, his voice dripping with false politeness.
"Please, have a seat."
I take a seat in one of the leather chairs in front of his desk, trying to ignore the feeling of discomfort that comes with being surrounded by so much wealth.
Mr. Patterson sits back down and begins spreading out documents across his mahogany desk.
"So, Mr. Smith," he says, "as you are aware, your grandfather has left you a substantial inheritance."
He pauses for a moment before continuing.
"There are several trusts and offshore accounts that have been set up in your name. I will need to go over all of the details with you." I nod, trying to keep my mind focused on what he is saying.
As he begins explaining the intricacies of trusts and offshore accounts, I find my mind wandering.
I can't believe that this is happening to me.
Just a few days ago, I was struggling to make ends meet, working multiple jobs just to keep a roof over my head and food on the table.
And now, I am suddenly one of the richest people in the world.
It's almost too much to comprehend.
As Mr. Patterson continues talking, I find myself zoning out more and more.
I can feel my hands beginning to shake as I try to process everything that is happening.
Finally, after what feels like an eternity, Mr. Patterson finishes explaining everything to me.
He looks up at me expectantly, waiting for me to say something.
I take a deep breath before speaking.
"So," I say slowly, "how much money are we talking about here?"
Mr. Patterson smiles smugly before answering me.
"Well," he says, "the total amount of your inheritance is approximately $500 googol dollars."
As he continues talking, I grip the leather armrest to steady my trembling hands.
The sheer number of zeros on the documents in front of me makes my eyes blur.
When he finishes explaining everything, he says, "Now that you have inherited this large amount of money, you will need to find a wealth management firm to help you manage your finances."
I clear my throat and ask, "Do you know any good financial advisors that you would recommend?"
Mr. Patterson slides a glossy folder across the desk toward me.
Inside, I find profiles of several top wealth management firms.
Each page features a photo and bio of a different advisor, along with their qualifications and experience.
I flip through the pages, taking in the impressive credentials of each advisor.
They all have degrees from prestigious universities and years of experience managing ultra-high net worth clients.
I stop at the profile of Marcus Chen, a Harvard graduate with twenty years of experience in wealth management.
His photo shows a middle-aged man with a kind smile and an air of confidence.
I pull out his business card and hand it back to Mr. Patterson.
"This one looks good," I say.
Mr. Patterson picks up his phone and dials a number.
After a brief conversation, he hangs up and says, "Marcus will meet with you tomorrow morning to discuss your options."
I rise from the leather chair, my legs feeling unsteady.
I shake Mr. Patterson's manicured hand and take the folder of financial documents from his desk.
The folder feels heavy in my other hand, as if it contains lead instead of paper.
I walk through the glass doors of the office and back into the reception area.
The receptionist looks up from her computer and gives me a smile and a wave.
Her demeanor has completely changed since our first encounter.
She now seems eager to please, no doubt aware of my new status as one of the wealthiest men alive.
I step into the elevator and lean against the mirrored wall.
My reflection stares back at me - the same shabby clothes, unshaven face, and messy brown hair.
But now, I am one of the richest men in the world.
The elevator doors open to the lobby, and I step out into the bustling crowd of people rushing to and fro.
As I make my way to the exit, a familiar voice calls out from behind me.
"Hey, isn't that you, Shane?" It's Sarah, my ex-girlfriend, looking both surprised and curious.
I turn to face her, and with a slight smile, I reply, "Yeah, it's me... and there's something you should know."
I step into my cramped studio apartment, the door creaking shut behind me.
I collapse onto the worn mattress, the springs groaning in protest.
The folder of financial documents lies on the floor beside me, a constant reminder of my new reality.
But the truth is, it hasn't sunk in yet.
I still feel like I'm living in a dream, a dream that could shatter at any moment.
I need to tell someone about this, to share this insane news with someone who will understand.
I reach for my phone and dial Jake's number first.
He's been there for me through thick and thin, offering his couch when I was homeless and jobless.
He answers on the second ring, his voice filled with concern.
"Hey, man, what's up?"
I take a deep breath before blurting out the news.
"Jake, you won't believe what just happened."
I hear him chuckle on the other end of the line.
"Try me, Shane. I've seen some wild stuff in my time."
I hesitate for a moment before continuing.
"I just inherited a shit ton of money. Like, more than I can even comprehend."
There's a pause on the other end of the line before Jake responds.
"Holy shit, man. That's amazing! How much are we talking about?"
I glance down at the documents scattered around me on the floor.
"Um... let's just say it's more than I'll ever need." There's another pause before Jake speaks again.
"That's incredible, Shane. You deserve it. You've been through so much shit in your life. This is like a dream come true."
I nod silently, even though he can't see me.
"Yeah, it feels like that right now. But I'm scared too. What if this is all just some crazy mistake? What if I wake up tomorrow and it's all gone?"
Jake laughs again, this time with a hint of reassurance in his voice.
"Man, you're overthinking this way too much. Just enjoy the ride and don't worry about what might happen tomorrow. You've got this."
I smile slightly at his words of encouragement.
Thanks for being here for me, Jake," I say sincerely.
"No problem, bro," he replies.
"Now go celebrate and have some fun. You've earned it."
We hang up and I immediately dial Lance's number next.
He picks up after only one ring and I conference call both him and Jake so they can hear everything at once.
"Hey, Shane, what's going on?" Lance's voice is curious and slightly out of breath.
I take a deep breath, feeling the weight of the news I’m about to share.
"Lance, Jake, I just found out I'm one of the richest people in the world."
I grab my keys and head to Murphy's Bar, our usual hangout spot since we were barely legal enough to buy a beer.
The neon sign flickers above the door as I park my beat-up Honda next to Lance's truck.
Inside, the smoky air and worn wooden tables haven't changed in years.
Jake and Lance are already in our regular corner booth, their faces lit with excitement as they wave me over.
I slide into the cracked vinyl seat, the familiar creak of the booth a comforting sound.
The waitress comes over to take our order, her pencil poised over her notepad.
For the first time in my life, I don't even bother to check the prices on the menu.
I order a round of top-shelf whiskey for the table, and she nods knowingly before heading back to the bar.
Lance raises his glass in a toast.
"To new beginnings," he says, his eyes sparkling with excitement.
Jake pulls out his phone and slides it across the table to me.
"I've already started looking into luxury apartments for you," he explains, showing me pictures of sleek penthouses with city views.
I shake my head, pushing the phone back toward him.
"Guys, I appreciate it, but I'm not ready for all that yet," I say, trying to keep my voice steady.
Jake leans back, a smirk playing on his lips. "Come on, Shane, you can't tell me you're planning to stay in that shoebox of an apartment forever."
The whiskey burns pleasantly as I take another sip.
"I'm not saying that," I reply, trying to keep my voice calm.
"But I need some time to adjust to all this."
Jake nods, but I can tell he's already scrolling through more apartment listings on his phone.
The usual Friday night crowd starts filtering in - mostly regulars looking for a cheap beer to forget their troubles for the night.
A group of suits walks in, their voices loud and boisterous as they make their way to the bar.
They're talking about market trends and hedge funds, their conversation sounding like something out of a Wall Street movie.
One of them catches my eye - he looks familiar, but I can't quite place him.
He does a double take when he sees me too, and suddenly it clicks.
It's Tom Harrison, one of the rich kids from my high school who used to make fun of my secondhand clothes and worn-out sneakers.
He hesitates for a moment before making his way over to our booth with an artificial smile plastered on his face. "Shane, is that you?" he asks, extending his hand for a handshake.
I grip my glass tighter, remembering all the times he made jokes about my clothes or how I couldn't afford to go on the same field trips as everyone else.
Jake and Lance exchange knowing looks, waiting to see how I'll react.
I take a deep breath before standing up and shaking his hand firmly.
"Tom," I say coolly, trying to keep my tone neutral.
"It's been a while."
"Yeah, it has," he replies, his smile starting to falter slightly.
"How have you been?"
I shrug nonchalantly, taking another sip of my whiskey before responding.
"Oh, you know. Just living the dream."
