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MidReal Story
The Billionaire Reborn
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 multibilliondollar 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.
Isabel
She is Shane's new neighbor and a wealthy socialite living in his grandfather's mansion. She is arrogant, dismissive, and entitled. Isabel initially treats Shane with contempt due to her status and wealth. However, her demeanor changes when she accidentally falls into Shane's pool. Despite the risk of legal repercussions, Shane helps Isabel, showcasing his kindness and good heart amidst his past struggles.
Penelope
She is Shane's exgirlfriend who left him for another man due to financial reasons. She is selfish, shallow, and emotionally distant. Penelope initially dated Shane because of his potential wealth, discarding him as soon as she found someone richer. Her relationship with Shane was superficial, and she failed to support him through the hardships he faced. Now, Penelope is married to the other man, living comfortably without Shane.
I was an orphan, a poor one to be exact.
I was adopted when I was a kid but got rejected by my adoptive parents.
They said I wasn't good enough to be their child.
I was kicked out of the house I was adopted to when I turned eighteen.
I had to survive on my own.
I didn't have much, so I worked multiple jobs just to make ends meet.
But it wasn't enough.
My girlfriend, Penelope, left me for another guy who had more money than me.
She said I wasn't capable of taking her to where she wanted to be in life.
That I would never be able to give her the life she deserved.
I was heartbroken but I didn't give up.
Things were about to change for me, though.
My life was about to take a drastic turn in the opposite direction.
I just didn't know that yet.
"Baby, I'm sorry but I have to leave. I have found someone who can take better care of me than you can. Someone who is richer and can give me the life I want," Penelope said as she stood in front of me with her suitcase in her hand.
It was a shock to hear that she wanted to leave me for someone else.
We had been together for three years and I thought everything was going well between us.
But I guess I was wrong.
"You're leaving me for someone else?"
I stood there, frozen in place, as she gathered the rest of her belongings.
She moved methodically, pulling clothes from the drawers and collecting the makeup items that were scattered across the small vanity in our cramped studio apartment.
She didn't look at me as she worked, her eyes fixed on the task at hand.
The silence between us grew heavier with each passing minute.
My hands clenched into fists at my sides as I watched her pack the silver necklace I had bought her for Christmas last year.
It had taken me three months of overtime pay to afford it, but she had barely worn it.
Now, she was taking it with her as she left me for someone else.
When she finished packing, Penelope stood by the door, hesitating for a moment before turning to look at me.
I could see the uncertainty in her eyes, and I knew that she was waiting for me to beg her to stay.
But I didn't say anything.
Instead, I turned away from her and walked to the window, staring out at the city below. The door clicked shut behind her, and I heard her footsteps echoing down the hallway.
I waited until I could no longer hear them before I turned back around and punched the wall.
With my hand throbbing, I sat down at the small kitchen table and opened my laptop.
The screen glowed brightly in the dimly lit room, illuminating the empty space that had once been filled with Penelope's presence.
I scrolled through the job listings on the website, searching for anything that might catch my eye.
Most of them were the same old jobs I had seen before - retail positions, customer service representatives, and entry-level administrative assistants.
But then, one listing caught my attention.
It was a position at a company called Weber Industries, and it was for an entry-level marketing role with potential for growth.
I clicked on the link to learn more about the job and the company.
Weber Industries was a well-established corporation with a diverse range of interests and investments.
They were known for their innovative approach to business and their commitment to developing new talent.
The job description sounded promising, but what really caught my attention was the name of the company.
Weber was also my birth family's last name. I had never known much about my birth family, only that they had given me up for adoption when I was just a baby.
I had always wondered why they had made that decision, but I had never been able to find out.
Now, as I stared at the screen, I couldn't help but wonder if there was some connection between me and this company.
Was it just a coincidence that we shared a last name?
Or was there something more to it?
I pushed those thoughts aside and focused on applying for the job.
I updated my resume to highlight my relevant skills and experience, making sure to tailor it to the specific requirements listed in the job description.
When I was satisfied with my application, I submitted it through the website and set a reminder to follow up with an email next week. As I closed my laptop and leaned back in my chair, my phone buzzed with an incoming text message from Penelope.
"Hey, I know this is unexpected, but I just found out something important," the message read.
"What is it, Penelope?" I replied, my curiosity piqued despite everything.
"I think you should know that the guy I'm with now... he's connected to Weber Industries."
I sit in my darkened apartment, the only light coming from the glow of my laptop screen.
The website for Weber Industries is still open, the sleek glass tower of their headquarters looming large in the background.
It's a stark contrast to the cramped studio I call home, with its worn furniture and peeling paint.
I continue folding my clothes into the old duffel bag that lies open on the floor, methodically packing away the few belongings I have.
My birth certificate, the only tangible link I have to my past, is tucked into a pocket of the bag.
The small stack of bills on the kitchen counter represents all that's left of my meager savings.
I've already emptied the drawer where I kept my emergency fund, leaving nothing behind but a handful of coins and crumpled receipts. As I pack, my hands shake slightly, betraying the turmoil that churns inside me.
I can't believe it's come to this.
My life has been turned upside down in a matter of days, and now I'm forced to leave everything behind.
I open a new tab on my laptop and type out a hasty email to the diner where I work, informing them that I won't be able to come in for my shift tomorrow.
The words blur together on the screen as tears well up in my eyes.
I take a deep breath and click send before I can change my mind.
A notification pops up in the corner of my screen, signaling an incoming text message from Penelope.
I know what it says without even reading it - another gloating message about her new life with her wealthy boyfriend. I delete it without opening it, not wanting to give her any more power over me than she already has.
With a final glance around the apartment that has been my home for so long, I zip up my bag and sling it over my shoulder.
I pause for a moment at the door, taking one last look at the place that holds so many memories - both good and bad.
As I step into the hallway, my phone buzzes again, but this time it's not Penelope.
"Hey, it's Mark from the diner," the message reads. "I heard you're leaving town, but before you go, there's something you should know about Weber Industries."
"What do you mean?" I reply, my heart racing as I wonder what new twist is about to unfold.
"I'll meet you at the diner after closing," Mark responds.
"Come alone."
I arrive at the diner just as the neon sign flickers off, signaling the end of another long day.
Mark is already there, sitting in a booth near the back.
He looks nervous, glancing around the empty restaurant as if he's worried someone might be watching.
I slide into the booth across from him, my heart pounding in my chest.
"What is it, Mark?" I ask, trying to keep my voice steady.
"I overheard something last week," he says, his voice barely above a whisper.
"Some big shots from Weber Industries came in for lunch. They were having a meeting in the back room."
He pulls out a worn manila envelope from his pocket and slides it across the table to me.
"I took this from their trash after they left. I didn't think much of it at the time, but then I heard you were leaving town and I remembered what they were talking about."
I open the envelope and pull out a stack of photocopied documents.
They appear to be financial records, detailing large transactions between Weber Industries and a company called Happy Hearts Adoption Agency. My hands tremble as I scan the pages, my eyes widening as I see a familiar case number listed on one of them - the same number that's on my birth certificate.
Mark points to a signature at the bottom of the page - Charles Weber, CEO of Weber Industries.
The same name appears on both documents, separated by twenty-three years.
I spread the documents out across the table, my fingers tracing the matching signatures.
Mark leans forward, pointing to another paper - a trust fund agreement.
The numbers make my head spin: googols in assets, properties, and shares, all tied to my birth certificate number.
"Charles Weber set this up before he died," Mark explains, his voice low.
"He wanted to make sure that his grandson was taken care of, even if he never knew about him."
My throat tightens as I realize the implications.
This could change everything.
Mark slides a business card across the table to me - the contact information for the estate lawyer handling the trust.
As I take it, his phone buzzes with an incoming text message from the diner owner.
"I have to go," he says, standing up quickly.
"But you need to be careful. If anyone finds out about this..."
I nod, my mind racing as I watch him hurry out of the diner.
I sit there, staring at the documents, trying to process everything.
A sudden thought strikes me, and I quickly text Mark before he leaves.
"Mark, do you think Penelope knows about this?"
I spend the rest of the night poring over the documents, too afraid to leave them alone in case they vanish into thin air.
By 7 AM, I'm running on fumes, but I know I can't afford to waste another minute.
I pack up my car, a beat-up Honda with a cracked windshield and a busted tailpipe, and head downtown.
The lawyer's office is in a gleaming glass tower, its reflection glinting off the windows of the surrounding skyscrapers.
I park my car in a cramped lot a few blocks away and make my way to the building on foot.
The lobby is cool and sterile, with marble floors and a security desk manned by a stern-looking guard.
I flash him the business card Mark gave me, and he nods curtly before pressing the button to call the elevator.
As I step inside, I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirrored walls - my hair disheveled, my clothes worn and faded.
I look like I just rolled out of bed and stumbled into the nearest coffee shop.
The elevator dings open on the 42nd floor, and I step out into a plush reception area.
A well-dressed woman with perfectly coiffed hair looks up from her desk, her eyes narrowing as she takes me in. "Can I help you?" she asks coolly, her voice dripping with disdain.
I hold up the business card again, hoping that it will be enough to get me past her defenses.
She looks at it for a moment before nodding curtly and gesturing for me to take a seat.
I sink down onto one of the leather couches lining the wall, trying not to draw attention to myself as I wait for someone to come out and greet me.
A few minutes later, a tall man with silver hair and glasses emerges from one of the offices.
He smiles warmly as he approaches me, holding out his hand for me to shake.
"Mr. Weber," he says smoothly.
"We've been waiting for you."
He leads me back to his office, which is even more impressive than the reception area - floor-to-ceiling windows offering a breathtaking view of the city skyline, shelves lined with expensive-looking artwork and rare books. He gestures for me to take a seat across from his massive mahogany desk, then settles into his own chair and steeples his fingers together thoughtfully. "So," he begins.
"Tell me about yourself."
"I'm not sure where to start," I admit, my voice wavering slightly.
"Well, let's begin with what you know about your connection to Charles Weber," he suggests, his eyes keen and assessing.
"I just found out last night," I confess, "and honestly, I'm still trying to wrap my head around it all."
The lawyer nods sympathetically, reaching into the top drawer of his desk and pulling out a cream-colored envelope.
It's sealed with red wax, stamped with the Weber family crest.
He slides it across the desk to me, watching as I carefully break the seal and unfold the thick paper inside.
The handwriting is elegant and precise, filling three full pages.
The date at the top is just a few weeks before Charles's death.
I scan the opening lines, my heart pounding in my chest.
"I've been watching you from afar for years," he writes.
"I wanted to reach out so many times, but I respected your adoptive parents' wishes to keep my involvement in your life a secret. I've watched you work multiple jobs just to make ends meet, seen you struggle through school despite the odds against you. And yet, you never gave up. You kept pushing forward, even when it seemed like everything was stacked against you. That's the kind of determination that made me proud to call you my grandson." The letter goes on to offer business advice and words of wisdom, but I find myself returning again and again to those opening lines.
Charles had been watching me all these years, silently cheering me on from behind the scenes.
I lean forward in the leather chair, studying the lawyer's composed expression.
The morning sun streams through the floor-to-ceiling windows behind him, casting a warm glow over the room and illuminating the dust motes dancing in the air between us.
My throat feels dry as I form the words, but I force myself to maintain eye contact with him.
"What exactly does this inheritance entail?" I ask, gesturing to the stack of documents on his mahogany desk.
He pulls out a thick folder from his drawer and begins laying out papers one by one across his desk.
Each document reveals a different aspect of my newfound wealth: properties, investments, company shares.
As he explains the scope of it all, my hands clench tighter around the armrests of my chair.
I can't believe what I'm hearing.
"Of course, there's also the matter of your grandfather's mansion," he continues, pulling out one final document.
I cut him off before he can continue, needing to clarify one thing above all else.
"Mr. Weber," I interrupt, my voice firm.
"What exactly is my role in the company now?"
He leans back in his chair, a small smile playing on his lips as he slides another stack of papers across the desk towards me.
I scan the top sheet, my eyes widening at the numbers listed there.
It's more money than I've ever seen in my life - 450 googol dollars, to be exact.
The lawyer points to various line items as he explains each one: private islands scattered across the Caribbean, a fleet of mega yachts docked in exotic ports, penthouses in major cities around the world.
My mind reels as I try to comprehend the sheer scale of it all.
And then he pulls out one final item - a sleek blue Citibank card with a platinum W embossed in its center.
I almost laugh at the absurdity of it all.
This single piece of plastic now holds more wealth than I've ever dreamed possible.
I lean forward in the leather chair, studying each page the lawyer slides across his mahogany desk.
The fountain pen feels foreign in my hand as I initial document after document - trust agreements, power of attorney forms, company directives.
My signature looks childish next to the formal legal text, but I force myself to write deliberately, knowing each stroke transfers massive wealth and power into my control.
The lawyer points to the final signature line on the last page, explaining that this officially establishes me as CEO of Weber Industries.
My hand hovers for a moment as I consider the weight of this decision.
"Are you sure I'm ready for this?" I ask, my voice barely above a whisper.
The lawyer nods reassuringly, his eyes meeting mine with a steady confidence.
"Your grandfather believed in you, and so do I," he replies, his tone firm yet encouraging.
I lean back in the leather chair, my signature still glistening wet on the final page.
The lawyer slides the documents into a folder, explaining the next steps in a smooth, practiced voice.
Through the floor-to-ceiling windows behind him, I watch the city sprawl below - my city now, in a way.
My phone buzzes with another text from Penelope, but I silence it without looking.
Instead, I pull out the letter my grandfather left for me, re-reading his words about never giving up.
The lawyer clears his throat, gesturing to a sleek briefcase on the edge of his desk.
"That's everything you'll need," he says, his voice steady.
I nod, reaching for the briefcase, but pause as a thought strikes me.
"What about the rumors of the hostile takeover?" I ask, my voice tinged with concern.
The lawyer's expression darkens slightly, but he maintains his composure.
