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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 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.
Grandfather
He is Shane’s wealthy grandfather who left him his entire estate. He is wise,protective,and distant. Grandfather knew of Shane’s difficult childhood and adopted him as his own when he was young. Although he died without direct contact with Shane,his will reveals his deep trust and financial support for Shane’s future,serving as a guiding force in Shane's life transformation.
Penelope
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 marked by her constant criticism and desire for luxury,ultimately leading to their breakup and failure of their future plans.
I was an orphan, a poor one even.
I was in foster care until I was seventeen.
When I turned seventeen, my adoptive parents kicked me out because they couldn’t afford to keep me anymore.
They said I was a burden to them.
They were right; I was a burden to them, to everyone.
I had no money, no family.
I was all alone in this world.
But I never gave up.
I kept fighting until I was able to stand on my own feet.
And now, here I was, at the age of twenty-five, working in a small restaurant as a dishwasher, living in a small room above the restaurant.
My life wasn’t bad, but it wasn’t good either.
It was just okay.
But I was okay with that because I had learned to be content with what I had, with my life as it was.
And then one day, everything changed.
My life took a drastic turn when my girlfriend left me for another guy who was richer than me.
She said she couldn’t be with someone who didn’t have enough money to provide for her what she wanted from life.
I was heartbroken but not surprised.
I knew she was with me for the reason that I had a good job and could provide her with basic needs, not because she loved me or truly cared for me.
I’m scrubbing dishes at the restaurant when my phone vibrates in my pocket.
Usually, I ignore calls during work, but something compels me to check.
I dry my hands and step into the alley behind the kitchen.
The number is unfamiliar, with an area code I don’t recognize.
"Hello?"
I answer, hoping it’s not a telemarketer.
"Good afternoon, Mr. Weber," a woman’s voice says on the other end of the line.
"May I speak with Shane Weber?"
"That’s me."
"My name is Patricia Morton. I’m calling from Sterling & Associates Law Firm."
My heart starts racing.
What could a lawyer want with me?
"Is everything okay?"
"Yes, everything is fine," she assures me.
"I’m calling about your grandfather."
My heart stops for a second.
"Grandfather?"
"Yes. Your grandfather, Richard Weber. Do you know who he is?"
I’ve never met my grandparents or even heard of them before.
"No, I don’t."
"I see," she says.
"Well, Mr. Weber passed away recently, and he left you his inheritance."
My hands start trembling as I hold the phone to my ear.
"Inheritance? What kind of inheritance?"
"A rather large one," she replies.
"He left you his entire fortune." "Fortune?"
I repeat, my voice shaking with disbelief.
"Yes. Your grandfather was a wealthy man. He had a successful business and invested wisely over the years."
"How much are we talking about?"
I ask, still trying to process what she’s telling me.
"Well, after taxes and other expenses, you will receive approximately five hundred googol dollars."
I hang up the phone, staring at the alley wall, knowing everything is about to change.
My hands shake as I grip the rusty back door handle.
Five hundred googol dollars.
The number feels like a cruel joke, a mistake.
I’ve never even heard of that amount of money before.
It’s unfathomable.
Inside, the kitchen is humid and chaotic.
Dishes pile up in the sink, and my coworkers bark orders at each other.
I walk mechanically to my station, barely registering their voices.
The same steel wool pad I’ve used for months scrapes against a pot, but my mind is elsewhere.
Penelope’s face flashes before me, her smile and laughter echoing in my head.
Then I think of my adoptive parents, who deemed me worthless and kicked me out onto the streets.
I think of all those who looked down on me, who judged me based on my circumstances rather than who I truly was. The restaurant owner storms into the kitchen, his face red with anger.
"What the hell are you doing? You abandoned your post!"
He yells at me.
I drop the sponge into the sink and turn to face him.
Our eyes lock, and for a moment, there is silence between us.
Meeting my boss's angry glare, I force myself to stay composed, though adrenaline courses through my veins.
The other kitchen staff pause their work, watching the confrontation unfold.
My voice comes out steadier than I expect.
"I received a call from a lawyer. My grandfather passed away, and I need to take care of some things."
My boss's face shifts from fury to skepticism.
"What things?"
"A family emergency," I reply, choosing not to reveal the inheritance amount.
My boss studies me for a moment before nodding curtly.
"Fine. Finish your shift and then you can go."
I remove my apron and place it on the counter.
"I'm done here," I say, grabbing my worn backpack from my locker.
I hurry down the restaurant's back stairs, ignoring the shouts from my now ex-boss.
The lawyer's business card feels heavy in my pocket.
I check the address - a prestigious firm downtown.
My hands shake as I count the remaining cash in my wallet, barely enough for bus fare.
The evening traffic crawls by while I wait at the stop, rehearsing questions about my grandfather.
Who was he?
Why did he choose me?
The bus arrives, and I climb aboard, watching my old workplace disappear behind me.
I slump into a hard plastic seat near the back of the bus, clutching my backpack against my chest.
The card from Weber & Associates feels heavy in my pocket as the city crawls past the grimy window.
An elderly woman glances at me, her eyes lingering on my dishwasher uniform before she turns away with a disapproving look.
I pull out my phone and type "Richard Weber" into the search bar.
A flurry of articles appears, but none mention a personal life or family.
He's a reclusive billionaire who made his fortune in quantum computing.
There's only one photo - a grainy image from decades ago.
A man with an austere expression stares back at me, his dark eyes eerily familiar.
The bus lurches to a stop, jolting me from my thoughts.
I step off onto the polished sidewalk of the financial district, clutching my backpack with its broken zipper.
Glass skyscrapers tower above me, their reflective surfaces making me painfully aware of my stained uniform.
Following the address on the lawyer's card, I walk six blocks, passing suited professionals who wrinkle their noses at my appearance.
At Morrison & Associates, a security guard blocks my path.
"Identification, please," he says gruffly.
I show him my ID and the lawyer's card.
His expression shifts from suspicion to shock as he makes a quick phone call.
"You're the heir?" he asks, his voice barely concealing his disbelief.
"Apparently," I reply, trying to sound more confident than I feel.
"Follow me," he says, gesturing towards the elevator with a newfound respect.
The elevator glides upward, its mirrored walls reflecting my disheveled appearance from every angle.
My stained uniform and scuffed shoes stand in stark contrast to the polished interior.
The security guard keeps glancing at me nervously, shifting his weight from foot to foot.
Floor numbers tick by: 20, 21, 22.
Each ding makes my stomach tighten as I imagine the lawyers waiting above, ready to transform my life with a single document.
When a young executive steps into the elevator on floor 25, she wrinkles her nose at me before recognizing the security escort.
Her eyes widen, and she presses herself against the far wall.
The elevator doors open to a marble-floored lobby where two lawyers in tailored suits wait.
I step out, gripping my backpack strap tighter as my work shoes squeak against the polished floor.
The female lawyer extends her hand, her manicured nails gleaming under the fluorescent lights.
"Mr. Weber, I'm Ms. Morrison," she says, her voice crisp and professional.
Her male colleague glances at my stained uniform with barely concealed disdain.
I shake Ms. Morrison's hand firmly, trying to ignore the sweat beading on my forehead.
"Please, follow us," she says, leading us down a hallway lined with glass-walled offices.
The click of her heels echoes through the silent space.
We stop at a door with her name etched in gold letters: "Ms. Morrison."
She opens it, gesturing for me to enter first.
I step into an opulent office with a mahogany desk and leather chairs.
The city skyline glitters through the floor-to-ceiling windows.
Ms. Morrison motions for me to sit in one of the chairs, which creaks under my weight.
It's probably worth more than my monthly rent.
She takes a seat behind her desk, pulling out a thick folder marked "Weber Estate."
"Before we begin, there's something you should know," Ms. Morrison says, her eyes meeting mine with a hint of sympathy.
"What is it?" I ask, my voice barely above a whisper.
"Richard Weber was your grandfather," she reveals, her words hanging heavy in the air.
I grip the leather armrests as Ms. Morrison opens the thick folder, revealing stacks of documents and photos.
"Richard Weber was a self-made googolaire," she explains, her voice steady.
"He had one daughter, who passed away in childbirth. He never knew his grandson existed."
I swallow hard, my throat dry.
"So, how did you find me?"
I ask, my voice trembling slightly.
Ms. Morrison glances at her colleague before continuing.
"Your grandfather searched for you for years after your mother's death. He hired private investigators but lost track of you when you entered the foster system."
She slides a black and white photo across the desk.
A young woman with my eyes smiles at the camera.
"This is your mother, Sarah," Ms. Morrison says softly.
The male lawyer shifts uncomfortably in his seat as I reach for the photo with trembling fingers.
I lean forward in the leather chair as Ms. Morrison opens another folder, spreading documents across her mahogany desk.
She explains the transfer process while her colleague takes notes.
The paperwork shows multiple properties: a mansion in Beverly Hills, a penthouse in Manhattan, and a villa in Tuscany.
My eyes widen as she mentions the private jet and yacht collection.
I grip the armrest tighter.
A bank statement reveals accounts in Switzerland and the Cayman Islands.
My heart pounds as I realize the life I never knew was mine for the taking.
I lean forward in the leather chair as Ms. Morrison pulls out a detailed financial statement.
My eyes scan the endless list of assets: three private islands in the Caribbean, a fleet of mega yachts docked in Monaco, and dozens of luxury properties across six continents.
She slides a metallic blue Citibank card across her mahogany desk.
The platinum W catches the afternoon light.
I pick it up with trembling fingers.
The card feels substantial in my palm.
Ms. Morrison explains it's linked to my grandfather's main account, which holds over five hundred googol dollars in liquid assets.
I stare at the card, my mind racing with possibilities.
"What am I supposed to do with all of this?" I ask, my voice a mix of awe and confusion.
Ms. Morrison leans forward, her expression softening. "Live the life he wished for you, Mr. Weber. It's your legacy now."
Still sitting in Ms. Morrison's leather chair, I pull out my phone and scroll to Joey's number first.
My finger hovers over the call button as I remember the nights he bought me dinner because I couldn't afford to buy us coffee.
I press the call button and wait for him to answer.
The phone rings once before he picks up, his familiar voice greeting me with "Hey man, what's up?"
I open my mouth to respond but can't find the words.
The platinum card feels like it's burning a hole in my pocket.
I clear my throat and try again, "Not much, Joey."
"Come on man," he responds, his tone playful, "I know you better than that."
I take a deep breath before blurting it out, "I inherited some money from a distant relative."
The line goes silent for a moment before he responds, "You mean like a lot of money?"
I can hear the surprise in his voice.
"Yeah," I reply, glancing down at the platinum card still clutched in my hand, "A lot of money." After hanging up with Joey, I dial Marcus' number next.
My hands are steadier now as I wait for him to answer.
The phone rings twice before his familiar voice greets me.
"Hey man, how's it going?"
Marcus asks, his tone cheerful.
"Good," I respond, taking a deep breath before continuing, "I just found out that I inherited a lot of money from a distant relative."
There's a moment of silence on the other end of the line before Marcus responds, "What? That's crazy!"
I laugh nervously, feeling a mix of emotions as I share the news with him.
"Yeah," I say, trying to process everything myself, "It's definitely unexpected."
Marcus's voice drops to a more serious tone. "So, what are you going to do with it all?"
I pause, considering the weight of his question. "Honestly, I have no idea yet, but I want to make sure it changes more than just my life."
I stand at my old apartment window, typing out a group text to Joey and Marcus.
The screen of my cracked phone reflects the dishwashing uniform I'm still wearing.
"Hey guys, want to meet up? Maybe grab some dinner?"
I suggest Rico's Diner, our usual spot from when I was broke.
I wait for their responses, my fingers hovering over the platinum card in my pocket.
Joey is the first to respond with a thumbs up emoji.
Marcus follows with "Is everything okay?"
I hesitate for a moment before typing out "Yeah, just need to talk about something important."
I remember all the times they helped me when I had nothing.
They both agree to meet in an hour.
I check my reflection in the cracked bathroom mirror one last time, still wearing the stained dishwasher uniform.
The platinum card sits heavy in my jacket pocket as I lock the tiny apartment door behind me.
Walking down the creaky stairs, I pass Mrs. Chen, who usually hassles me about late rent.
She starts to open her mouth, but I keep walking, knowing I'll never have to dodge her again.
Outside, the evening air feels different somehow.
I pause at the bus stop but then pull out my phone to call a taxi instead.
I settle into the worn leather backseat of the taxi, noticing how the driver eyes my uniform in his rearview mirror.
When I give him Rico's Diner address, he grunts disapprovingly at the destination in the poor side of town.
The familiar route looks different from inside a taxi rather than a crowded bus.
We pass the restaurant where I quit hours ago, and I spot my ex-boss smoking angrily outside.
We pull up to Rico's Diner, and I hesitate for a moment before pulling out the platinum card to pay.
The driver's eyes widen at the transaction, a stark contrast to his earlier disdain.
Through the diner's grimy windows, I spot Joey and Marcus already seated at our usual booth - the one with the torn vinyl seat I've sat in countless times while counting quarters for my coffee.
The neon sign buzzes overhead, casting red shadows on the sidewalk.
My work uniform still smells like dish soap, but the weight of the platinum card reminds me I'm not the same person who started his shift this morning.
I step inside, greeted by Rico's familiar fluorescent lighting and the smell of burnt coffee and grease.
Joey and Marcus look up from their menus, their faces reflecting concern as they take in my dirty uniform.
We've been coming here since we were kids, back when I was too broke to afford a meal.
The waitress Betty always slipped me free refills on my coffee.
She stands near the counter, her eyes widening as she sees me walk in still wearing my uniform.
I pass by other customers who glance up from their meals, their expressions mirroring the mix of confusion and concern on Joey's and Marcus's faces.
The vinyl booth squeaks as I slide in across from them, the familiar sound grounding me for a moment.
"Hey," Joey says, leaning forward with concern etched on his face.
"Are you okay? You quit your job?"
Marcus studies my face intently, waiting for an answer.
I reach into my backpack and pull out the thick folder of inheritance papers.
Spreading them across the sticky diner table, I watch as Joey and Marcus lean forward, their coffee cups forgotten.
They stare at the official letterhead from Morrison & Associates, their eyes widening.
My hands tremble slightly as I show them the document listing my grandfather's estate value - five hundred googol dollars.
Betty walks over to refill our cups, but she freezes when she sees the papers.
Joey's mouth drops open as he reads the numbers.
Marcus grabs one document, his eyes widening at the list of properties.
"This is real?" Joey whispers, disbelief mingling with awe in his voice.
"Yeah, it's all mine," I reply, still trying to process the enormity of it myself.
Marcus shakes his head slowly, a grin spreading across his face. "Looks like we're not just here for coffee anymore."
I lean back in the vinyl booth, watching Joey and Marcus flip through the papers.
The familiar smells of grease and coffee from Rico's seem distant now, replaced by a sense of possibility.
"I was thinking about getting a villa," I say, fidgeting with my platinum card.
"Would you guys want to move in with me?"
Joey chokes on his coffee while Marcus freezes mid-bite of his burger.
Betty hovers nearby, openly eavesdropping now.
The fluorescent lights flicker as my friends exchange glances, their expressions a mix of disbelief and excitement.
I lean back in the vinyl booth, watching Joey's enthusiastic reaction while Marcus remains quiet, processing the offer.
The diner's usual chatter fades into the background as I pull out my platinum card and wave Betty over to settle our bill.
She hurries to our table, notepad at the ready, but freezes when I ask for the check - not just for our meals, but for everyone in the diner.
"Everyone's meals are on me today," I say with a smile.
Betty's eyes widen as she scribbles down the order.
I watch as she rushes to the kitchen, her voice carrying above the din as she informs the staff of the unexpected generosity.
The bell above the diner door chimes as more customers enter, unaware that their dinner is already paid for.
Joey starts listing off furniture he'll need for his room while pulling up villa designs on his phone.
The possibilities are endless, and for the first time, I feel truly free.
While Betty spreads the news to the rest of the diner, I pull up luxury real estate listings on my phone.
The cracked screen flickers as I scroll through images of California coastal villas and Colorado mountain estates.
Joey and Marcus lean in, their eyes widening at the multimillion-dollar mansions.
The fluorescent lights above us flicker as I suggest we take a road trip to visit these properties in person.
Joey immediately starts checking his work schedule, while Marcus pulls out a notebook to map potential routes.
Betty returns with fresh coffee, lingering to peek at the multimillion-dollar mansions on my phone.
Joey looks up, grinning. "So, when do we leave?"
Marcus taps his pen against the notebook thoughtfully. "How about this weekend? We could start with the coast and work our way inland."
Betty nods approvingly, her eyes twinkling. "You boys are about to have the adventure of a lifetime."
I pull up the luxury car rental website on my cracked phone screen, scrolling past Porsches and Ferraris.
Joey and Marcus peer over my shoulders, their eyes widening at the sleek vehicles.
Betty hovers nearby with the coffee pot, watching as I select a black Mercedes G-Wagen for our coastal property tour.
The $2,000 daily rate flashes on the screen, but I don't hesitate.
My platinum card feels natural in my hand now as I enter the details.
The confirmation email arrives just as Betty sets down our check.
I cover it with a $500 tip before passing it back to her.
I pull up Google Maps on my cracked phone screen, zooming in on the California coast.
Joey and Marcus huddle around the diner booth, tracing the route from San Francisco to Los Angeles.
I tap on luxury estates along the way, adding them to our itinerary.
Joey circles beaches where he wants to stop and surf while Marcus calculates the driving time between properties.
Betty refills our coffee cups, asking about our departure time.
I book three rooms at the Ritz-Carlton for tomorrow night using my platinum card.
The confirmation email arrives just as the sun starts setting outside Rico's windows, casting long shadows across our planning session.
Joey leans back, a mischievous glint in his eyes. "You think we'll run into any celebrities at the Ritz?"
Marcus chuckles, shaking his head. "Only if they don't mind sharing the spotlight with us."
Betty grins as she tops off Joey's cup. "With your luck, you'll be the stars of the show."
I pull up the final itinerary on my phone, showing Joey and Marcus the confirmed bookings - the G-Wagen rental, three oceanfront suites at the Ritz, and appointments with high-end realtors.
Betty hovers nearby with fresh coffee as I detail tomorrow's 6 AM departure from my apartment.
Joey grins at the thought of valet parking while Marcus methodically checks the driving routes one last time.
The diner's evening crowd thins out as we linger over empty plates, the reality of our luxury trip sinking in.
Back in my tiny apartment, I stuff clothes into my worn backpack while glancing at the rental confirmation on my phone.
The platinum card sits on my rickety bedside table next to the inheritance papers.
My alarm clock reads 11 PM as I double-check the morning pickup time for the Mercedes.
Through the thin walls, I hear Mrs. Chen arguing with another tenant, but her voice doesn't bother me anymore.
After setting my phone alarm for 5 AM, I lay down on my lumpy mattress for the last time, staring at the water-stained ceiling.
Traffic hums outside, muffled by the thin walls.
The platinum card glints on my bedside table next to the crumpled inheritance papers.
My phone buzzes with excited texts from Joey about tomorrow's trip, but I leave them unanswered.
The familiar sounds of Mrs. Chen arguing next door fade into the background as exhaustion takes over.
My eyes grow heavy while I imagine the California coast, luxury cars, and beachfront mansions waiting for us.
Joey's voice cuts through the haze of sleep. "Hey, did you see the news about that missing billionaire?"
Marcus replies, a hint of curiosity in his tone. "Yeah, they say he vanished after leaving his estate near Malibu."
I sit up, suddenly alert. "Wait, isn't that one of the places on our list?"
I sit on my worn mattress, scrolling through news articles on my cracked phone screen.
The name James Harrison catches my eye - he disappeared from his coastal mansion three days ago.
Photos show a sprawling estate that eerily resembles one in my inheritance papers.
I pull out the documents, comparing addresses while sirens wail outside my window.
The properties are only two miles apart.
My hands shake as I find more connections - both men worked in quantum computing, both were reclusive, and both amassed unusual wealth.
Joey leans in, his voice low and urgent. "You think your uncle knew him?"
Marcus nods slowly, piecing it together. "If they were connected, maybe your inheritance is more than just money."
I swallow hard, the weight of the revelation settling in. "We need to find out what really happened to Harrison."