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MidReal Story
The Billionaire Reborn From Poverty
Scenario:Mace Kenmore has led a hard broken life, a poor orphan, and his girlfriend is leaving him for a richer prospect. But his fortune is about to change dramatically. Mace inherited immense wealth from his grandfather, shocking everyone. He was the heir to the only multi-Quadrillonare family in the world. He endures constant criticism and judgment from those around him. He vowed that those who had labeled him a failure would eventually bow at his feet. Now, 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, Mace will get revenge on those who treated him badly. Will he succeed?
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Mace Kenmore
He is a former orphan who took on a wealthy persona after inheriting his grandfather's vast fortune. He is resilient, sarcastic, and determined. Mace experienced a tumultuous childhood, being raised in foster care and facing constant judgment for his circumstances. His life takes a drastic turn when he discovers his grandfather's hidden wealth. Despite criticism from others, Mace decides to use his inheritance to help his former foster siblings and pursue revenge on those who wronged him.
Helen
She is Mace's adoptive mother who raised him as part of a foster family. She is caring, supportive, and selfless. Despite her poverty, Helen provides a loving home for Mace and helps him navigate his difficult past. She encourages Mace to use his inherited wealth responsibly and stands by him through his decisions, showing unwavering support and understanding.
Marshall
He is one of Mace's current acquaintances from his wealthy circle. He is obnoxious, superficial, and dismissive. Marshall mocks Mace’s background without knowing the full extent of his inherited wealth. When confronted by Mace about his insensitivity, Marshall underestimates the depth of Mace’s resentment but eventually faces the consequences of dismissing him.
Mace Kenmore here.
I was an orphan, a poor boy.
I had a girlfriend who left me for a guy who was richer than me.
But life was about to throw me a curveball, and my life was never going to be the same again.
I was going to inherit a vast fortune, one that would make me the richest person in the world.
And once I did, I would get my revenge on those who had wronged me.
"You’re not going anywhere. Stay right here."
I told my girlfriend, Melissa, as she packed her bags.
She was leaving me for a guy who had a better future ahead of him, or so she thought.
"I have to go. I have no choice."
Melissa sighed as she placed her clothes in her bag.
It was a lie, but I knew she wouldn’t change her mind even if I begged her to stay.
She wasn’t in love with me; she was in love with my future prospects.
She had been dating me for almost two years, and it was because she thought that I would be able to give her a better life in the future.
But now she had found someone who could give her that life sooner rather than later.
"Fine, but don’t expect me to take you back when you come crawling back."
I shrugged as I leaned against the door.
"I won’t, Mace. I’m happy now."
I watched as she finished packing her bag and then turned to look around the bedroom.
It was a small room, but it was ours, or at least it used to be.
She had taken everything that belonged to her, leaving me with nothing but memories.
I reached into my jacket pocket and pulled out the photograph that I had been holding onto for years.
It was our first date, taken at the pier.
She looked happy in the photo, her smile genuine and bright.
But that was before she found out that I didn’t have any money.
Before she realized that I wasn’t going to be able to give her the life she wanted.
I walked over to the window and stared out at the city below.
The sun was setting, casting a golden glow over everything.
I held the photograph up against the light, studying it one last time.
I could see Melissa’s face clearly, her eyes shining with happiness.
But as I looked closer, I noticed something else too - a faint line around her mouth, a hint of sadness in her eyes. She had been unhappy even back then, when things were still new and exciting between us.
But I had been too blind to see it, too caught up in my own feelings to notice hers.
And now it was too late.
I tore the photograph in half, then ripped it into quarters, then smaller pieces until our faces were unrecognizable.
The fragments fluttered to the floor like confetti, marking the end of our relationship.
I sat down at the kitchen table, staring at the pieces of the photograph that were scattered across the floor.
My phone buzzed in my pocket, pulling me out of my thoughts.
I pulled it out and looked at the caller ID.
It was a number I didn’t recognize, but it was a local one.
"Hello?"
I answered, my voice shaking slightly.
"Mr. Kenmore?"
The voice on the other end was formal and professional.
"Yes, who is this?"
"This is Mr. Harrison from Harrison & Associates Law Firm."
I frowned as I tried to remember if I had ever heard of them before.
"I’m not sure I know who you are."
"I apologize for calling so late," Mr. Harrison said.
"But I wanted to let you know that your grandfather’s estate has cleared probate. The documents are ready for your signature."
I sat up straighter in my chair as I processed what he was saying.
My grandfather had passed away a few months ago, leaving me his entire fortune.
But there were some issues with the will, and it had taken longer than expected to settle everything. "Thank you for letting me know," I said, trying to keep my voice steady.
"When do you need me to come in?"
"How about tomorrow morning?" he asked.
"That works for me."
I replied.
"Great. I’ll see you then."
We hung up, and I sat back down at the table, staring at the pieces of our photo on the floor.
Melissa’s words kept echoing in my mind - "I need someone who can give me financial security."
And now that my grandfather’s estate had cleared probate, I could finally give her that.
But would she still want it?
I walked over to the window and looked out at the city below.
Melissa’s car was still visible in the distance, heading towards her new home with her new boyfriend.
I watched as it disappeared from view, feeling a sense of emptiness wash over me.
But then something inside of me clicked into place.
I couldn’t let her go without a fight. I walked over to the counter and grabbed my keys.
Then I headed out the door and got into my car.
The law firm was only a few blocks away, so it didn’t take long for me to get there.
As soon as I arrived, I parked my car and went inside.
The building was old but well-maintained, with a large lobby that led to a set of elevators.
I stepped into the elevator, ready to claim my future.
I sat across from Mr. Harrison in his office, scanning through the pages of legal documents.
The room was dimly lit, with only a few lamps illuminating the space.
The leather chair creaked as I shifted in my seat, trying to get comfortable.
The documents outlined the details of my grandfather’s estate, including the properties he owned and the investments he had made.
There were also several offshore accounts that I hadn’t known about, each with trillions of dollars in them.
My hands trembled slightly as I flipped through each page, taking in the information.
It was a lot to process, and I felt overwhelmed by the sheer amount of wealth that was now mine.
Mr. Harrison sat across from me, watching as I read through the documents.
He was an older man with gray hair and a kind face.
He had been my grandfather’s lawyer for many years, and he had handled all of his legal affairs. "As you can see," Mr. Harrison said, pointing to a particular page, "your grandfather has left you everything. There are no other beneficiaries named in the will."
I nodded as I read over the paragraph he was pointing to.
It was clear that my grandfather had wanted me to have everything, and I was grateful for that.
"There are a few conditions," Mr. Harrison continued.
"You must live in the main house on the estate for at least six months out of every year. You also cannot sell any of the properties or assets without my approval."
I nodded again, understanding what he was saying.
It made sense that my grandfather would want me to keep his estate intact, especially since it had been in our family for so long. "Is there anything else I need to know?" he asked as he handed me a pen.
"Just sign on the dotted line," he said.
I took the pen from him and looked down at the document in front of me.
The Mont Blanc pen felt heavy in my hand as I signed my name on each page.
When I finished, I handed it back to him and he placed it in a folder on his desk.
"Thank you," he said as he stood up from his chair.
"I hope you enjoy your new life."
I smiled and shook his hand before leaving his office and heading back downstairs to my car.
As soon as I got home, I opened up my laptop and started looking at some of the properties that my grandfather had left me. There were houses all over the world - in Europe, Asia, South America, and even Africa.
I sat alone in my cramped apartment, spreading the documents out across my coffee-stained table.
The air was thick with the smell of stale cigarettes and last night's Chinese takeout.
My hands trembled as I read the figure again: 420 quadrillion dollars.
It was a number that seemed impossible, like something out of a fantasy novel.
I had to read it several times before it sank in that this was real.
I owned more money than I could ever possibly spend in a lifetime.
I spent the next few hours going through the documents, sorting them into piles based on their contents.
There were pages and pages of legal jargon, but also some interesting information about my grandfather's business dealings and investments.
I found out that he had been involved in everything from real estate development to tech startups, and that he had made millions of dollars from each venture. There were also several private islands in the Caribbean, a mega yacht in the Mediterranean, and penthouses in every major city around the world.
I felt like I was living in a dream, like all of this couldn't possibly be real.
But it was, and I knew that I had to make the most of it. As I sorted through the documents, one item caught my eye - a black envelope with my name written on it in elegant calligraphy.
I opened it and pulled out a sleek Citibank card.
The surface was black with gold accents and a platinum K embossed in the center.
It looked expensive, like something a millionaire would use.
I turned it over and saw that there was no expiration date or security code on the back.
This wasn't just any credit card - it was a black card, one of the most exclusive cards in the world. I pulled out my old wallet, a worn leather thing that had seen better days.
Inside, there was my old debit card with its paltry $127.42 balance.
I set the black card next to it, feeling a sense of satisfaction.
As I continued to organize the documents, I noticed a thick cream-colored envelope tucked between two property deeds.
I pulled it out and examined it more closely.
The envelope was addressed to me, but there was no return address.
The handwriting was familiar, though - it was the same elegant script that had written my name on the black card envelope.
Curious, I opened the envelope and pulled out several pages of handwritten text on watermarked stationery.
The letter began with a simple greeting: "Dear Grandson."
I had never met my grandfather, but he had clearly been keeping an eye on me from afar.
He explained that he had stayed hidden because he didn't want to disrupt my life or influence my decisions.
But now that he was gone, he wanted to make sure I knew how much he cared about me. He went on to give me some advice about managing the fortune he had left behind.
He told me which board members to trust and which ones to watch out for.
He also explained why certain properties were important to him and should be kept in the family.
As I read further, my hands began to tremble slightly.
My grandfather's words were kind and wise, but they also carried a sense of urgency.
He warned me that there would be people who tried to take advantage of me now that I was wealthy, and that I needed to be careful about who I trusted. I set the letter down on the table and got up to pour myself a drink.
I sat back down at the kitchen counter, the letter still in my hand, and pulled out my phone.
I stared at the number written on the bottom of the page, my fingers hovering over the keypad.
The fluorescent light above the kitchen counter flickered, casting harsh shadows across the table.
The inheritance papers were spread out in front of me, a sea of legal jargon and financial figures.
I took a deep breath, trying to calm my nerves.
It was just a phone call, but it felt like so much more than that.
I was about to take the first step into a new life, one that I wasn't sure I was ready for.
I picked up my phone and dialed the number from the business card paperclipped to the documents.
It rang three times before a crisp, professional voice answered.
"Ms. Chen's office," she said. "This is Mace Kenmore," I replied, trying to sound confident.
"I'm calling about the inheritance papers."
There was a pause on the other end of the line, and for a moment, I wondered if I had said something wrong.
But then Ms. Chen's voice came back on, warm and friendly.
"Ah, yes! Mr. Kenmore. Thank you for calling. I hope everything is in order with the documents?"
I glanced down at the stack of papers on my table, feeling a sense of relief that she seemed to know what she was talking about.
"Yes, thank you," I said.
"I just have a few questions about some of the properties listed."
"Of course," Ms. Chen replied.
"I'd be happy to help clarify anything for you. But first, may I ask if you're available to meet with me tomorrow afternoon? There are some additional documents that need your signature."
I hesitated for a moment, unsure of what to say.
I had never met Ms. Chen before, and the thought of going into her office made me feel nervous.
But at the same time, I knew that this was an opportunity I couldn't pass up.
"Sure," I said finally.
"I'll be there."
The next day, I sat nervously in my living room, waiting for Ms. Chen to arrive.
I had spent hours getting ready, trying on different outfits and styling my hair until it looked perfect.
The doorbell rang, and I got up to answer it.
When I opened the door, there was a short man standing outside with a leather briefcase in his hand.
He was dressed in an expensive suit and tie, and he looked like he meant business. "Mr. Kenmore?" he asked in a thick British accent.
I nodded nervously as he handed me his card.
"Mr. Peterson from Smith & Smith Law Firm," he said with a bow.
I took the card and examined it carefully.
It looked legitimate enough, but I still wasn't sure what was going on here.
"Can you come in please?"
I asked him as I opened the door wider for him to enter.
He walked inside and set his briefcase down on the coffee table in front of me.
As he opened it up, I noticed that there were even more documents inside than before.
My heart sank as I realized how much work lay ahead of me now that my grandfather had passed away.
"So what exactly do these papers say?" "They're property deeds for several buildings around Monaco," Mr. Peterson explained as he pulled out one stack of documents after another.
"However, there's something else you should know," he continued, his voice dropping to a whisper.
I leaned in closer, feeling a knot form in my stomach.
"Your grandfather was involved in a secret project that could change everything."
I lean forward in my worn kitchen chair as Mr. Peterson opens another folder from his briefcase.
His fingers trace over the classified stamps and redacted lines, his eyes scanning the contents with a mix of curiosity and caution.
The British lawyer's voice drops even lower, forcing me to strain to hear him over the humming refrigerator in the corner of the room.
"He was part of a team that developed advanced AI technology," he whispers, his words barely audible.
"It has the potential to revolutionize multiple industries - healthcare, finance, transportation. The list goes on."
I watch as he pulls out a photograph, showing a sleek, futuristic facility hidden beneath one of my inherited properties in Switzerland.
"It's still in its infancy," he continues, "but it could be the key to unlocking new possibilities for humanity. And your grandfather played a crucial role in bringing it to life."
Mr. Peterson slides a USB drive across the table, its small plastic casing glinting under the fluorescent light.
"This contains all the information we have on the project," he says gravely.
"But I must warn you, Mr. Kenmore - there are those who would kill for this knowledge. You must protect it at all costs." I take the USB drive in my trembling hand, feeling its weight settle into my palm.
The implications are staggering - not only has my grandfather left me an empire, but also a legacy that could change the world.
I nodded, understanding the gravity of the situation, as I slipped the USB drive into my pocket.
I pace back and forth across my apartment, checking the packed bags for what feels like the tenth time.
The USB drive weighs heavily in my jacket pocket, a constant reminder of the responsibility I now carry.
According to Mr. Peterson's instructions, I need to reach a highly classified facility in Switzerland, where the AI project is being developed.
It's been a whirlwind few days since our meeting, and now, at 3 AM, I'm finally ready to leave.
As I approach the window, I notice a black town car idling outside.
Right on schedule.
I grab my bags and head downstairs, the cool night air greeting me like a slap in the face as I step onto the sidewalk.
The driver, dressed impeccably in a black suit, opens the door for me without a word.
His eyes are hidden behind dark sunglasses, even at this ungodly hour.
I slide into the backseat, watching as he expertly loads my luggage into the trunk.
The car pulls away from the curb, heading toward the private airfield where my flight awaits. As we drive through the deserted streets, I catch a glimpse of a silver sedan following us in the rearview mirror.
My instincts kick in, and I quickly pull out my phone to text Mr. Peterson about the tail.
Almost immediately, a response comes through: "Expected. Take the alternate route."
I lean forward to speak to the driver, my voice barely above a whisper.
"We need to take the alternate route," I say, trying to keep my tone steady.
The driver nods without a word, his hands smoothly adjusting the wheel as we veer onto a side street.