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MidReal Story
The Billionaire Reborn
Scenario:Shane Weber has led a hard broke 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 one of the three Trillionaire families in the world. He endures constant criticism and judgement from those around him. He vowed that those who had labelled 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, Shane will get revenge on those who treated him badly. Will he succeed?
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Shane Weber
He is the adopted son of the Trillionaire,Edgar Weber's son. He is resilient,misunderstood,and determined. Shane grew up in an orphanage and faced a life perceived as worthless by others. His former girlfriend,Melissa,left him for someone wealthier. Despite criticism and inheritance of his grandfather's wealth,Shane thrives on the betrayal of those who wronged him. He finds solace in his late grandfather’s wisdom and seeks to reclaim his life,embracing his true identity.
Edgar Weber
He is Shane's adoptive father and a Trillionaire. He is wealthy,protective,and distant. Edgar struggled with grief after losing his real son in an accident and resented Shane for replacing him. He kept Shane at arm’s length until his eventual acceptance upon realizing Shane's worth. Edgar provides Shane the keys to his legacy without conditions,showing unexpected respect and acknowledgment of Shane’s true worth.
Melissa
She is Shane's former girlfriend. She is superficial,materialistic,and manipulative. Melissa broke off her relationship with Shane for being "poor" and chose someone wealthier instead. Her actions highlight her shallow values and desire for status. When Shane inherits his grandfather's wealth,she tries to win him back but is rejected. Her attempts to reconnect underscore her regret and longing for Shane,despite her initial disdain for him.
I was born to be a loser.
I had been an orphan since I was little and had been raised in the orphanage.
Everyone said I was worthless, and my life would never change.
"Shane, you're so poor. You'll never be able to marry me!"
My girlfriend, Melissa, laughed at me before she left me for a richer guy.
I didn't care; I just smiled.
My life was about to change, and it would be huge.
"You're smiling, Shane. That's weird."
Preston looked at me.
"Go to hell, Preston!"
I didn't want to waste my time talking to him.
He was the one who envied me for having a girlfriend like Melissa.
He thought he was better than me because his family was richer.
But I knew the truth; his dad was in debt up to his neck.
He couldn't even afford to pay his tuition fees on time.
"Yeah, go to hell, Shane. At least we're not as poor as you are."
Preston mocked me.
"Well, I guess we'll see about that, won't we?"
I smiled again; it made them confused.
"What are you talking about?"
Preston looked at me.
It didn't matter; I wouldn't tell them anything.
They wouldn't believe me anyway.
"I'm telling you, that guy is weird. Let's just ignore him."
I walked away from them, heading toward the parking lot.
There was a sleek black Mercedes waiting for me.
The windows were tinted, but I could see the manila envelope on the passenger seat.
That was what I had been waiting for.
The car door opened, and a man in his 50s stepped out.
He was wearing a suit and tie, his shoes polished to perfection.
He bowed slightly as he handed me the envelope.
"Mr. Weber," he said, calling me by my grandfather's last name for the first time.
I took the envelope and opened it.
Inside, there were documents and a letter.
I pulled out the letter and read it.
It was written in my grandfather's handwriting.
"Dear Shane," it said.
"I'm sorry I never got to meet you. But I'm glad you're here now. The Weber fortune is yours."
I folded the letter carefully and put it back in the envelope.
The man opened the back door of the Mercedes, and I got inside.
He joined me, sitting across from me.
He pulled out a stack of papers from his briefcase and began to spread them out on the leather seats.
"These are your assets," he said.
I looked down at the papers; they were spreadsheets filled with numbers.
"Your grandfather left you with billions in liquid assets," he explained.
I nodded, my eyes scanning the pages.
Then he pulled out a stack of photos.
"These are some of the private islands you own," he said, flipping through them.
The islands were beautiful, located in the Caribbean and Mediterranean.
Next came a fleet of mega yachts - gleaming white vessels that were larger than apartment buildings.
Finally, he pulled out a stack of property deeds.
"You own penthouses in New York, London, and Dubai," he said.
I felt my hands begin to shake as I looked at the documents.
My life was about to change in ways I never could have imagined. The man pulled out one last thing from his briefcase - a small black metal card.
He handed it to me, and I took it, feeling its weight in my hand.
"It's a platinum card," he explained.
"There is no spending limit."
The man introduced himself as Harrison Wells, my grandfather's personal attorney.
He pulled out a sleek laptop and began to walk me through the presentation.
The Weber Group was a vast conglomerate with interests in real estate, finance, technology, and more.
It was a maze of holding companies, investment firms, and global enterprises.
My head spun as he explained the complex corporate structure and how the wealth was distributed across different entities for tax efficiency.
I listened intently, trying to absorb every detail.
But it was overwhelming.
"Mr. Wells," I said, "I think I need some time to process all of this."
He smiled kindly.
"Of course, Mr. Weber. Let's start with the basics. We'll get you set up with your personal accounts and move you into the penthouse downtown."
He tapped a few keys on his laptop, and a picture of the building appeared on the screen.
"Is this really all mine?" I asked, still in disbelief.
Harrison nodded, his expression serious.
"Every bit of it, Mr. Weber. Your grandfather wanted you to have a fresh start."
Harrison led me through the gleaming lobby of Weber Tower, past uniformed staff who bowed their heads respectfully as we passed.
We stepped into a private elevator, and he inserted a keycard into a slot.
"The penthouse takes up the top three floors," he explained.
"There's a rooftop garden, an infinity pool, and a private gym."
My hands were clammy as I gripped the keycard tightly in my palm.
The elevator doors opened directly into a vast living space.
Floor-to-ceiling windows offered breathtaking views of the city skyline.
I walked slowly across polished marble floors, running my fingertips over the supple leather of the furniture and the crystal decanters that sparkled on a sideboard.
It was surreal to think that all of this belonged to me.
"Would you like a tour of the rest?"
Harrison asked, gesturing toward the hallway that led to the bedrooms.
I trailed behind him as he led the way, his polished shoes clicking against the marble.
The corridor was dimly lit, with recessed lights illuminating the original artwork that hung on the walls.
The frames were ornate and expensive-looking, adding to the overall sense of opulence.
"This is your home office," Harrison said, gesturing to a room filled with dark wood and leather.
"There's also a theater room, and three guest suites."
I nodded, taking it all in.
We reached a massive wooden door at the end of the hall.
Harrison produced another keycard and swiped it through the reader.
"Your master suite, Mr. Weber," he said, pushing the door open.
I stepped inside, my eyes widening in awe.
The bedroom was larger than my old apartment, with floor-to-ceiling windows that offered a stunning view of the city.
The king-sized bed was positioned in front of the windows, so that I would wake up every morning with the sun rising over the skyline.
A walk-in closet was already stocked with designer suits and shoes, their price tags still attached.
I wandered over to run my hand over the soft fabric of a tailored jacket.
I turned to Harrison, realizing that this was just the beginning.
"Shall we head up to the rooftop level?"
Harrison asked, leading me back to the elevator.
"The penthouse has its own private staircase," he explained as we climbed.
"There are security cameras throughout the building, and a team of guards on duty 24/7."
The elevator doors opened onto a small landing, and Harrison pushed open a glass door that led out to the rooftop.
The door slid open automatically, and I stepped out into the bright sunlight.
The rooftop was a sprawling garden oasis, with mature trees and flowering plants lining winding stone paths.
A glass greenhouse stood at one end, reflecting the afternoon sun like a mirror.
I walked to the edge of the roof, where a transparent barrier offered an unobstructed view of the city below.
From this height, I could see for miles in every direction.
I could see my old neighborhood, the orphanage where I grew up, and the diner where I used to work.
It all looked impossibly small from up here. "The helipad is tucked behind the greenhouse," Harrison said, pointing it out.
"The Weber Group helicopter is always on call."
I gripped the edge of the barrier tightly, imagining what it would be like to soar above the city in my own private helicopter.
Standing in my rooftop garden, I pulled out my phone and scrolled through my contacts.
The names of my closest friends from the orphanage flashed across the screen.
There was Jake, who shared his last granola bar with me when I was hungry.
There was Mark, who taught me how to fix cars in the orphanage garage.
And there were the twins, Landon and Lance, who had my back when bullies came after me on the playground.
My thumb hovered over Jake's number first.
The last time we talked, he was struggling to make rent on his auto repair shop.
Now, looking out at the helicopter pad and the breathtaking view of the city skyline, I pressed "call" and waited for him to pick up.
"Hey, Jake, it's me," I said, trying to keep my voice steady.
"Man, it's been ages! What's up?" Jake replied, his voice crackling with the familiar warmth of old friendship.
"I've got something big to tell you—something that could change everything for both of us."
I paced back and forth near the helipad, watching the private elevator indicator climb steadily upward.
Security had already notified me that Jake had arrived in the lobby ten minutes ago.
When the doors finally opened, Jake stepped out in his oil-stained work clothes, his eyes wide as he took in the rooftop garden.
He froze when he saw me standing there, dressed in my tailored suit.
I walked over to him and gripped his shoulder, just like he used to do when I was a scared kid at the orphanage.
"Come with me," I said, leading him to the edge of the roof.
I pointed out his auto shop in the distance, its faded sign barely visible from this height.
Jake's confusion turned to shock as I explained my inheritance and told him about my offer to invest in his business.
Jake's strong arms wrapped around me in a bear hug, his calloused hands patting my back just like when we were kids.
The scent of motor oil and garage work still clung to his clothes.
I could feel his body shake slightly as he tried to contain his emotions, but tears escaped down his weathered cheeks.
"I don't know what to say, Shane," he choked out, pulling back to look at me.
His eyes were red but filled with hope.
I reached into my suit jacket and pulled out the investment contract Harrison had prepared for me.
"Come on, let's sit down," I said, guiding him to the glass table near the greenhouse.
Harrison had already laid out the contract and a pen.
I explained the terms: full ownership retained, all his debt cleared, and capital for expansion.
Jake listened intently, his hands gripping the edge of the table.
When I was done, I pushed the contract toward him.
Jake picked up the pen and began to read through it, his calloused fingers tracing over each page as if he were reading a map to hidden treasure.
He examined every clause as carefully as he used to examine an engine when we were kids.
When he reached the signature line at the end, his hand shook so much that he had to steady it with his other hand.
The pen scratched against the paper as he signed his name in bold letters.
When he finished, he looked up at me, and tears formed in his eyes again.
"Shane, this is... I can't believe this is happening," Jake said, his voice barely above a whisper.
"It's real, Jake. We're in this together now," I replied, feeling the weight of our shared past lift just a little.
"You have no idea what this means to me," he said, his voice breaking with gratitude and disbelief.
Jake's strong arms wrapped around me again, and this time, I could feel his tears dampen the shoulder of my suit.
The familiar scent of motor oil and the roughness of his calloused hands against my back brought back memories of late nights at the orphanage when he'd comfort me after a nightmare.
Standing there on my rooftop garden, with the signed contract on the glass table behind us, I felt Jake's body shake with silent sobs.
He tried to speak, but all that came out were broken whispers of thanks.
I held him steady, just as he had held me up so many times before.
"Jake, you deserve this," I said softly, pulling back to meet his gaze.
"You've always been there for me, even when no one else was."
"And now it's my turn to be there for you," I added, my voice firm with conviction.
After Jake had composed himself, we moved to the outdoor lounge area.
He pulled out his phone and showed me photos of his current garage, which was run-down but still bustling with activity.
As he explained his plans, his voice grew more animated.
"I want to expand the repair bays, hire a few more skilled mechanics," he said, pointing to different sections of the garage in the photos.
"And I want to add a specialized performance shop for custom jobs," he added, his eyes lighting up.
I watched as he pulled out a napkin and began to sketch rough layouts of the new additions.
His hands were steady now as he pointed out where each section would go.
While Jake planned, I pulled out my own phone and scrolled through my contacts until I found Mark's number and then the twins'.
Jake noticed and nodded knowingly.
Mark and the twins had also struggled after leaving the orphanage.
"We'll bring them in too," I said, sealing our pact with a nod.
I leaned back in the lounge chair beside Jake, who was still sketching out his expansion plans.
My finger hovered over Mark's number first.
He'd been living in his car since he lost his job as a mechanic at a local shop.
Jake nodded encouragingly as I hit dial.
Mark answered on the first ring with his usual gruff hello.
I put him on speaker so Jake could hear too.
"Mark, it's Shane," I said, my voice steady.
"Shane? What's up?" he replied, his voice laced with a mix of curiosity and wariness.
I took a deep breath and explained everything: my inheritance, Jake's expansion plans, and how we needed his expertise to make it all happen.
Jake and I exchanged glances as I spoke, both of us hoping Mark would be on board.
There was a long silence on the other end of the line before Mark finally spoke again.
"Shane, I... I don't know what to say," he said, his voice cracking with emotion.
"You don't have to say anything," I replied quickly before he could protest or make excuses.
"Just come by the penthouse tomorrow morning. We'll talk more then."
Before Mark could respond, I texted him the address of the penthouse and ended the call. Next, I dialed the twins' number.
They had managed to find work in construction but were barely scraping by.
The phone rang twice before one of the twins picked up, their voices always indistinguishable.
"Hey, Shane! What's going on?" came the cheerful but slightly weary greeting.
"Listen, I have a proposition for you both," I said, glancing at Jake, who nodded in encouragement.
I ended the call with the twins' excited voices still ringing in my ears.
Jake and I spent the next hour arranging the meeting space in my penthouse's conference room.
We set out water bottles and notepads at each leather chair.
Harrison had sent over the investment paperwork earlier, which was similar to Jake's contract but tailored for Mark and the twins' unique situations.
Jake tested the presentation screen one last time, making sure the garage expansion plans displayed clearly.
When the clock hit midnight, Jake finally headed home to get some rest.
But I stayed up, organizing folders filled with contracts, bank documents, and business proposals for each of them.
As dawn broke through the penthouse windows, I knew we were on the brink of something transformative.
I hear the elevator chime at 7 AM.
Mark stands there, wearing the same oil-stained jacket he used to wear when he worked as a mechanic.
His weathered face shows the exhaustion of sleeping in his car, but his eyes light up as he takes in the penthouse's marble floors and crystal chandeliers.
I lead him to the kitchen, where fresh coffee and breakfast pastries are laid out.
As he sips from a delicate porcelain cup with trembling hands, I notice the car keys clutched in his other fist - probably his only remaining possession.
"Welcome home, Mark," I said, and his grip on the keys loosened.
I notice his hand resting on the marble countertop, his calloused fingers just inches from mine.
The morning sun streams through the penthouse windows, casting a warm glow over the room.
Mark's dark hair is longer than I remember, and there are deep circles under his eyes from lack of sleep.
He's still wearing his mechanic's jacket, the one with the patches of grease and oil stains that never seem to come out.
It's a little worn and frayed around the edges, but it looks like it's been his constant companion for years.
As he reaches for a fresh croissant, our hands touch briefly.
The contact makes him look up, and our eyes meet for the first time in years.
His brown eyes hold mine with an intensity that catches me off guard.
Neither of us moves away.
"Shane, I can't believe you did all this," Mark said, his voice barely above a whisper.
"You deserve a fresh start, Mark, and we need someone we can trust," I replied, feeling the weight of the moment.
Mark nodded slowly, a flicker of hope crossing his face. "Alright, let's build something great together."
A sharp burning smell hits my nose before the alarm starts wailing.
Mark and I exchange worried glances, abandoning our coffee cups on the counter.
Following the acrid scent, we hurry down the hallway toward the theater room.
Smoke seeps under the door, and I grab the handle but pull back - it's hot.
Mark yanks off his mechanic's jacket, wrapping it around his hand.
He opens the door, releasing a cloud of gray smoke.
Through the haze, we spot sparks shooting from the entertainment system's power strip.
"Shane, get the fire extinguisher from the kitchen!" Mark shouted, his voice urgent but steady.
I sprinted back, adrenaline coursing through me as I grabbed the extinguisher from beneath the sink.
Mark was already pulling cords from the wall when I returned, his movements quick and precise.
I grip the red fire extinguisher tightly as I rush back to the theater room, my heart pounding against my designer suit.
The acrid smell of burning electronics fills my nose as Mark stands back from the smoking power strip, his hands still hovering protectively near the wall.
Following the safety training from my diner days, I pull the pin and test the extinguisher with a quick burst.
Then I aim the nozzle at the base of the flames, sweeping side to side as white foam coats the expensive equipment.
The fire subsides, leaving us in silence, surrounded by the remnants of smoke and the realization that this was just the beginning.
Standing in the smoke-damaged theater room, I help Mark clean foam off his jacket while studying his exhausted face.
The adrenaline from the fire has faded, leaving an awkward silence between us.
I gesture at the vast penthouse around us and mention the five empty guest suites down the hall.
My voice wavers slightly as I suggest he move in instead of sleeping in his car.
Mark freezes mid-motion, grease-stained hands still holding his soiled jacket.
He stares at me with disbelief, then glances down at his worn boots leaving scuff marks on my marble floor.
"Are you sure?" he asks, his voice barely audible over the distant hum of the city below.
I walk Mark down the hallway to the guest wing, watching his hesitant steps on the marble floor.
Opening a suite door, I show him the king bed, private bathroom, and walk-in closet - all larger than his old apartment.
Mark stands frozen in the doorway, his worn jacket and grease-stained jeans a stark contrast to the luxury.
When he mumbles about not belonging here, I grab his shoulder firmly and tell him this is his home now.
His eyes water as I press the suite's keycard into his trembling hand.
I step closer, seeing vulnerability in his eyes as he stares at the keycard.
Without hesitation, I wrap my arms around him in a tight bear hug, feeling his body tense with surprise.
His worn mechanic's jacket is rough against my suit, but I don't care.
"You belong here with me," I say firmly into his shoulder, remembering all the times he fixed my bike at the orphanage without asking for anything in return.
Mark's resistance crumbles as he hugs me back, his calloused hands gripping my jacket tightly.
I guide him to sit on the plush sofa in his new suite, our shoulders touching as we sink into the cushions.
The evening light casts long shadows across the room, illuminating the dust motes dancing in the air.
Mark's familiar scent of motor oil mingles with the leather of the sofa, transporting me back to our days at the orphanage.
He tells me about fixing bikes together, teaching me how to replace chains and adjust brakes.
When our eyes meet, the air thickens with unspoken feelings.
My heart pounds as I shift closer, drawn to his weathered features and kind eyes that have watched over me since childhood.
I lean forward on the sofa, pulling the keycard from my pocket while keeping my eyes locked on Mark's face.
The plastic card catches the evening light streaming through the windows, its black surface reflecting our images like a tiny mirror.
Mark's weathered hands remain folded in his lap as I hold the keycard between us, its presence almost palpable in the silence.
His eyes dart between the card and my face, uncertainty etched in his tense posture.
I move closer until our shoulders touch, the warmth of his body seeping through my suit.
My voice is barely a whisper as I speak, "Let's start fresh."
A small smile tugs at the corners of my mouth as I extend the keycard toward him.
I hold out the keycard between us, watching his expression shift from hesitation to acceptance.
His calloused fingers brush against mine as he takes the card, turning it over in his hands to examine the Weber Group logo.
The tension in his shoulders finally releases as a genuine smile spreads across his face.
He nods slowly, deliberately, the meaning clear between us.
The card represents more than just access to the penthouse - it's a new beginning for both of us.
Mark's voice is gruff but soft as he finally speaks, "You really think I can fit into this world of yours?"
I nod, my gaze steady and reassuring, "You've always been part of my world, Mark, even when you didn't realize it."
He chuckles, a sound filled with both relief and disbelief, "Guess it's time I start believing in second chances."
I hear the elevator chime and stand up from the sofa, leaving Mark to settle into his new suite.
Through the penthouse windows, I spot the twins' beaten-up truck in the parking lot far below.
When the elevator doors open, Landon and Lance step out in their dusty construction clothes, their faces uncertain.
They're thinner than I remember, their faces weathered from outdoor labor.
Lance clutches his hard hat while Landon's hands are shoved deep in his pockets.
I approach them slowly, remembering how they once shielded me from bullies.
Landon glances around the opulent suite, his voice tinged with awe, "This place is something else, isn't it?"
Lance nudges him, a hint of skepticism in his tone, "Yeah, but what's the catch, huh? People like us don't just end up in places like this."
I smile gently, meeting their wary eyes with reassurance, "No catch. Just a chance to build something new together."
I guide them through the glass doors to the penthouse balcony.
Their work boots leave small dusty prints on the otherwise polished floor.
The evening sun casts a golden glow over the cityscape.
I position them at the railing, Lance gripping the metal barrier with his calloused hands while Landon whistles softly at the view.
Standing between them, I gesture toward the financial district, where cranes mark ongoing construction projects.
I explain how their expertise could help expand our real estate division.
Landon raises an eyebrow, a hint of a smile playing on his lips, "You mean to tell me we're gonna be building skyscrapers now?"
Lance chuckles, shaking his head in disbelief, "From fixing fences to touching the sky, huh? That's quite the leap."
I nod, my voice firm with conviction, "It's time we all reach higher than we ever thought possible."
I stand with the twins on my penthouse balcony, watching their expressions shift as I gesture to the empty guest suites visible through the glass doors.
Landon's eyes widen at the suggestion, while Lance shifts uncomfortably, his tool belt still cinched around his waist.
I explain how the three-floor layout offers privacy, pointing out the separate entrances and living spaces.
When Lance mentions their current cramped apartment's lease, I offer to handle the contract termination.
Landon looks at me, a mix of hope and disbelief in his eyes, "You'd really do that for us?"
I nod, sincerity in my voice, "You're family to me, and family looks out for each other."
Lance finally relaxes, a small smile breaking through his skepticism, "Well then, I guess it's time we start packing."
I lean against the balcony railing with Landon and Lance, discussing their move-in plans.
Lance steps away to take a phone call about their apartment, leaving Landon and me alone.
The city lights flicker on as dusk settles.
Landon moves closer, our shoulders touching as he points to a construction site he worked on last month.
His hand accidentally brushes mine on the railing, but instead of pulling away, his fingers stay there.
The contact sends electricity through my arm.
I turn to face him, catching an intense look in his eyes that makes my breath catch.
Landon's voice is low, almost a whisper, "There's something I've been meaning to tell you."
I swallow hard, the air between us charged with unspoken words, "What is it, Landon?"
He hesitates for a moment, then finally says, "I've always wanted more than just friendship with you."
Standing with Landon on the balcony, I feel his hand resting against mine on the cold railing.
The city lights blur as my focus shifts to his proximity.
I remember all the times he stood up for me at the orphanage, making me feel protected and valued.
My heart pounds as I turn to face him fully, our bodies mere inches apart.
"I've wanted you too," I whisper, my voice shaking.
Landon's eyes widen in surprise, then soften with understanding.
He reaches up slowly, his calloused fingers brushing my cheek.
After Landon leaves to help Lance pack their belongings, Lance returns to the balcony where I'm still standing.
His work boots scuff against the floor as he approaches, more hesitant than his twin.
When he reaches the railing, his shoulder brushes mine.
The city lights reflect in his eyes as he struggles to speak.
Finally, Lance admits he's also harbored feelings for me since our orphanage days.
His confession mirrors Landon's, but carries its own weight and sincerity.
I grip the railing tighter, realizing both twins have chosen this moment to reveal their hearts to me.
I sit with Landon and Lance in my penthouse living room.
The city lights twinkle through the floor-to-ceiling windows behind us.
The twins sit on either side of me on the leather sofa, their construction-roughened hands resting close to mine.
We've been in tense silence for what feels like hours.
Finally, Lance speaks up, breaking the quiet, "So, I guess we've both got feelings for you."
His voice is soft, a mix of uncertainty and sincerity.
Landon nods beside me, his eyes meeting mine briefly before he looks away.
"I guess we do," he agrees quietly.
I feel my heart pounding in my chest, trying to process this unexpected turn of events.
"You're both okay with... sharing?"
I ask cautiously, not wanting to assume anything.
Lance and Landon exchange a glance before turning back to me.
"We've always shared everything," Lance says simply.
Landon nods in agreement, his fingers brushing lightly against my arm on the sofa. I swallow hard, my mind racing with the implications of their words.
"So... what exactly are you proposing?"
I ask softly, my voice barely above a whisper.
Lance takes my left hand in his while Landon takes my right.
Their grips are gentle but firm, conveying a sense of determination and sincerity.
"We're willing to share you," Lance says quietly, his eyes locking with mine.
"If you're willing," Landon adds softly.
I stare at them both, processing their unconventional proposal.
It's not something I've ever considered before, but as I look into their eyes, I see the genuine affection and desire there.
"Are you both serious about this?"
I ask finally, needing confirmation before I make any decisions.
Lance and Landon exchange another meaningful glance before turning back to me.
Lance and Landon nod in unison, their calloused hands warming mine.
"We are," Lance says softly.
"We've always cared about you," Landon adds quietly.
Just then, sharp knocks echo through the penthouse, startling all of us.
The twins tense up protectively beside me, their construction worker instincts kicking in.
I glance at the security camera feed on my phone to see who's at the door.
It's Robert from the orphanage, looking disheveled in a hospital uniform.
His face is pale and urgent.
I squeeze the twins' hands before standing up.
Robert was always the one who brought me medicine when I was sick.
He wouldn't come here unannounced unless something was seriously wrong.
I hurry across the marble floor to my penthouse entrance, the twins following closely behind me.
Through the security feed, I see Robert shifting anxiously on his feet, his eyes darting around.
He looks like he's aged years in just a few months.
My hand hesitates on the door handle as memories flood through me.
Robert was there when I had fevers as a child, when I broke my arm trying to climb a tree in the orphanage yard.
He was always there for us, no matter what.
When I open the door, the hospital antiseptic smell hits me first.
Robert's eyes are red-rimmed, his scrubs wrinkled from a long shift at the hospital.
"Thank God you're here," Robert says, his voice trembling slightly.
"What's going on, Robert?" I ask, concern lacing my words.
"It's about the orphanage," he replies, glancing nervously at Lance and Landon. "There's been an accident."
I guide Robert to my living room, Lance and Landon hovering close behind.
Robert's scrubs are stained with what looks like blood, and his hands tremble slightly as he accepts a glass of water from me.
"The east wing caught fire," he explains, his voice strained.
"It's where the younger kids sleep."
My heart clenches at the thought of those innocent faces in danger.
"How many were hurt?" "Several are in critical condition at the hospital where I work," Robert answers, his voice cracking.
"They suffered severe burns and smoke inhalation."
He pauses, taking a sip of water before continuing.
"I've been working non-stop to help them, but it's not enough. That's why I came straight here after my shift."
He looks up at me with pleading eyes.
"I know you've always been generous to the orphanage, but we need more help now than ever. The medical bills are mounting, and I don't know how we'll cover them all." Lance and Landon move closer, their presence both comforting and protective.
I can see the concern etched on their faces as they listen to Robert's words.
"Can you show us what happened?" I ask gently, knowing that visual evidence will help us understand the gravity of the situation better.
Robert nods, pulling out his phone to show us photos of the damage.
The images reveal charred walls, melted toys, and a scene of utter devastation.
I rush to my home office, Robert following close behind.
The rustle of his scrubs echoes in the hallway as we move.
At my desk, I grab my phone and pull up Harrison's emergency contact number.
Simultaneously, I log into the Weber Group's medical division portal on my computer.
Robert stands anxiously beside me, rattling off specific supplies they desperately need - burn dressings, ventilators, pediatric medication.
My fingers fly across the keyboard, authorizing immediate transfers and deliveries.
When the hospital administrator answers my call, I identify myself as Shane Weber.
"Mr. Weber," the administrator says, his voice filled with a mix of surprise and respect.
"How can I assist you?"
"I'm calling about the children from the orphanage," I explain firmly.
"I want you to do everything in your power to save them."
"Yes, of course," he replies hastily.
"We'll do everything we can."
I end the call, my gaze meeting Robert's anxious eyes.
I gather Robert, Lance, and Landon in my penthouse living room.
Robert pulls up the building schematics on his phone, while the twins assess the structural damage from the photos.
I call Harrison again, arranging for emergency supplies to be delivered immediately - blankets, clothes, and temporary housing units.
The twins suggest using their construction crew for repairs, marking damaged areas on a printed floor plan.
When Robert mentions the children's temporary relocation to the gym, I check my watch and grab my coat.
"Shane, wait," Robert says urgently, his voice barely above a whisper.
I pause, turning back to face him, noticing the weight of something unspoken in his eyes.
"The fire wasn't an accident," he confesses, his words hanging heavy in the air.
I sit with Lance in my penthouse office, the soft hum of the air conditioning providing a subtle background noise.
He leans forward, his weathered hands gesturing as he explains the security division of his construction company.
"We have forensics experts on staff, surveillance specialists, and even a few former detectives who work for us," he says, his voice filled with a mix of determination and pride.
"We've handled cases like this before."
His eyes darken slightly as he mentions arson cases they've investigated in the past.
I pull up the orphanage blueprints on my laptop, turning the screen towards him so he can see.
Lance studies the layout intently, his finger tracing the outline of the east wing where the fire started.
He points out potential entry points and camera locations, his mind already working through strategies for their investigation.
"Let me call my team leader," he says, pulling out his phone and dialing a number.
I sit back in my chair, watching as Lance's team sends over security footage from the orphanage.
I pull it up on my computer, leaning forward to examine the grainy images.
The footage shows shadowy figures moving near the east wing, their movements deliberate and cautious.
Lance leans over my shoulder, his construction-roughened hand pointing out specific details.
"That one," he says, his voice low and focused.
"See how he moves? It's not a natural gait."
I study the figure, noticing the slight limp in their step.
"And look at how they're avoiding the cameras," Lance adds, his finger tracing a path across the screen.
"This person knows the layout of the building."
We watch as the figures disappear into the darkness, just moments before the fire breaks out.
Lance's eyes narrow, his expression grim.
"This was intentional," he says, his voice filled with conviction.
"Someone targeted those kids."
I nod in agreement, my mind racing with questions and fears.
"Let's go to the site tomorrow," I say, determination etched on my face.
Lance straightens up, his body tensing slightly.
"I'll bring my most experienced security personnel," he says firmly.
"And I'll have Landon scout the perimeter first."
We both know this is just the beginning.
I lean closer to the screen, my shoulder brushing against Lance's in the dim light of my office.
He points out more details, his finger tracing the path of the suspect.
I listen intently, my mind processing every word.
As he moves his hand to point at something else, his rough fingers accidentally brush against mine on the keyboard.
A jolt of electricity shoots through me, and I freeze, acutely aware of the warmth of his body next to mine.
Lance pauses mid-sentence, his hand hovering near mine.
Neither of us moves for a moment, the tension thick between us.