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MidReal Story
The Billionaire Rebound
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 previously impoverished orphan who was raised in foster care. He is resilient, determined, and proud. Shane had a tough childhood with no family, living in poverty and being treated poorly by those around him. His life changed when he inherited his grandfather's vast fortune, making him the wealthiest person in the world. Despite being criticized for his circumstances, he vowed to rise above his past and make those who judged him pay for their ignorance.
Alex
He is Shane’s friend and assistant. He is resourceful, ambitious, and cheeky. Alex was once a homeless kid that Shane helped rescue, aligning their backgrounds closely. He assists Shane in managing his newfound wealth without getting too comfortable in his role. Alex provides insight into the implications of Shane’s actions and helps with strategic decisions regarding how to utilize their combined resources for maximum impact.
Grandfather
He was Shane's wealthy grandfather. He was supportive, wise, and protective. Grandfather secretly raised Shane in his mansion instead of adopting him officially, providing for his education and wellbeing despite societal norms. Grandfather died leaving behind a vast fortune, which shocked the world and benefited Shane. His actions are pivotal in Shane's transformation from poverty to unimaginable wealth, instilling a sense of justice and opportunity in him.
I was an orphan, a poor one.
I had been raised in foster care and had never known my parents.
The family that had taken me in had been selfrighteous and cold.
They treated me poorly from the start and made sure I knew I was only there because it was my grandfather's wish.
He paid them monthly to take care of me and make sure I got a good education.
They were supposed to be my guardians but they were far from it.
They made my life a living hell and I couldn't wait to turn 18 and leave.
But before that, something else happened.
My girlfriend, Sasha, left me for someone wealthier.
She had dated me for three years, waiting for the day I would also become rich.
She thought I was a late bloomer and that once I finished university, I would get a good job and become wealthy.
But she didn't want to wait that long, so she went looking for someone who could give her the life she wanted sooner rather than later.
I was sitting alone in my cramped studio apartment, staring at the crisp white envelope on my coffee-stained table.
The return address read "Morton & Associates, Legal Services."
My hands trembled as I picked it up, the paper feeling unusually heavy in my grasp.
I tore it open carefully, pulling out a formal letter with a gold letterhead.
The first line caught my breath - "Regarding the last will and testament of Richard Weber."
My grandfather.
I hadn't heard that name spoken in years, not since the monthly checks to my foster family stopped coming.
Reading further, my vision blurred as numbers with too many zeros stared back at me.
I paced back and forth across my apartment, clutching the phone with sweaty palms.
After three rings, a crisp female voice answered, "Morton & Associates."
My throat tightened as I identified myself and mentioned the inheritance letter.
The receptionist's tone shifted instantly from professional to deferential.
"Mr. Weber, please hold for Mr. Morton. He's been expecting your call."
While on hold, I glanced at the letter again, still unable to process the string of zeros.
Classical music filled my ears until it cut off abruptly, replaced by a deep, authoritative voice.
"Mr. Weber, it's a pleasure to finally speak with you," Mr. Morton said warmly.
"Can you tell me why my grandfather left me this fortune?" I asked, my voice barely steady.
"Your grandfather believed you were the only one who could carry on his legacy with integrity," Mr. Morton replied, his words heavy with implication.
I leaned back in my worn desk chair, listening intently as Mr. Morton explained the process of claiming my inheritance.
There were three requirements: I had to visit the estate in person, provide DNA verification, and attend a private meeting with the board of trustees.
I scribbled notes on the back of an overdue electric bill as he spoke.
The thought of stepping foot in my grandfather's mansion made my stomach twist - I'd only seen it in newspaper photos.
"And when should I arrive?"
I asked, glancing at my threadbare suit hanging in the closet.
"Tomorrow morning at 9 AM sharp," Mr. Morton replied firmly.
I stand in my cramped bedroom, methodically folding my few decent clothes into a worn duffel bag.
Each item represents a piece of my old life - the faded blue dress shirt I wore to every job interview, the scuffed leather shoes I had on during my first date with Sasha.
My hands pause over a small, crumpled photo on my dresser.
It's the only picture I have of my foster family - their smug faces and tight smiles sneering up at me.
I slip it between my folded clothes, a bitter reminder of why I'm doing this.
The apartment feels suffocating now that I know what awaits me.
I zip the bag closed, grab the letter from my grandfather's lawyer, and take one final look at the shabby studio that witnessed all my struggles.
Standing in the dimly lit hallway, I slide my key into the apartment door lock for the last time.
The metal feels cold against my fingers as I turn it, hearing that familiar click.
My duffel bag weighs heavily on my shoulder, containing everything I own.
Through the thin walls, I hear Mrs. Chen's TV next door - the same game show that's played every morning at this hour.
The peeling wallpaper and stained carpet of the hallway seem more noticeable now, knowing I'll never walk this path again.
I step out into the brisk morning air, ready to face the unknown.
I walk down the cracked sidewalk toward the bus station, my duffel bag's strap digging into my shoulder.
The morning traffic rushes past, spewing exhaust into the cold air.
At the crosswalk, I check the inheritance letter's address one more time, memorizing the details of my grandfather's estate in Newport.
A city bus pulls up beside me, "DOWNTOWN TERMINAL" displayed on its front.
I fish out my last few dollars for the fare, counting the worn bills carefully.
With a deep breath, I step onto the bus, leaving my old life behind.
I sink into the cracked leather seat, my duffel bag resting on my lap as the bus lurches forward.
Through the smudged window, I watch familiar landmarks scroll past - the convenience store where I worked night shifts, the diner where Sasha dumped me, the park bench where I sometimes slept before finding this apartment.
The cityscape gradually transforms from cramped buildings to wider streets, then to manicured lawns.
Other passengers get off at their stops, leaving me alone in the back of the bus.
My reflection in the window looks tired but determined as Newport's wealthy neighborhoods come into view.
A man in a tailored suit sits down across from me, glancing at my duffel bag.
"You must be the grandson," he says, his voice smooth and practiced.
"Yes," I reply cautiously, "and you must be the one who sent the letter."
The well-dressed man, Mr. Morton himself, reaches into his leather briefcase and produces a brass key attached to an antique leather tag.
Along with it, he pulls out a map drawn on thick parchment.
My throat tightens as I examine the intricate drawings of gardens, fountains, and the massive mansion that awaits.
He stands, gesturing for me to follow him.
"Your new home is just a few miles away," he says.
I hesitate for a moment before rising from my seat, gripping my duffel bag tighter.
The other passengers stare as we make our way to the front of the bus.
The driver pulls over at Morton's request, and I step onto the curb, the weight of the key heavy in my palm.
The bus pulls away, leaving me standing on the edge of a new beginning.
I grip the brass key tighter as Mr. Morton and I walk down the winding cobblestone path.
The morning dew makes the stones slick beneath my worn shoes.
My duffel bag's strap digs into my shoulder as we pass manicured hedges and marble fountains.
The mansion emerges between the trees - a massive stone structure with tall windows and ivy-covered walls.
Mr. Morton points out security cameras hidden in the foliage, explaining the extensive protection system.
When we reach an ornate iron gate, he pauses and gestures for me to unlock it.
With a steady hand, I insert the key and turn it, feeling the weight of my new reality click into place.
The heavy iron gate swings open with a deep groan, revealing a circular courtyard paved with intricate stone patterns.
My worn shoes crunch on loose gravel as I take my first steps inside.
Marble fountains flank the path, their water sparkling in the morning light.
Mr. Morton's polished shoes click behind me as he directs me toward the main entrance.
A team of uniformed staff members stands at attention near the carved wooden doors, their eyes following my every move.
I grip my duffel bag tighter, its shabby fabric a stark contrast to the opulent surroundings.
"Welcome to your grandfather's legacy," Mr. Morton says, his voice echoing slightly in the vast space.
I glance at him, confusion etched on my face. "Legacy? I thought he left nothing but debts."
Mr. Morton smiles faintly, nodding toward the staff. "There's much you don't know yet, but all will be revealed soon."
I step through the heavy oak doors, their hinges creaking softly.
The grand foyer stretches three stories high, a crystal chandelier suspended above, casting rainbow patterns on the walls.
Gilt-framed portraits line the upper galleries, their subjects' eyes seeming to watch my every move.
Polished marble floors reflect the light, and my worn shoes squeak against them as I follow Mr. Morton deeper into the mansion.
He leads me past more uniformed staff, who bow slightly as we pass, their eyes fixed on my shabby duffel bag.
We approach a sweeping mahogany staircase, where an elderly man in a crisp suit stands with white gloves covering his hands.
His posture is perfect, his face a map of age and experience.
Mr. Morton introduces him as Harrison, my grandfather's most trusted servant for forty years.
Harrison's eyes meet mine, and he offers a slight bow. "It's an honor to finally meet you, young master," he says, his voice steady and respectful.
I blink, taken aback by the title. "Young master? I didn't realize my grandfather held such... expectations."
Harrison's expression remains neutral.
"Your grandfather was a man of great ambition, and he has left you a legacy worthy of your name."
Mr. Morton gestures toward a door to the left.
"Please, follow me."
I trail behind Mr. Morton, my footsteps echoing off the walls.
We enter a wood-paneled study with three men in dark suits seated behind a massive mahogany desk.
Their eyes assess me as I set my duffel bag on the floor.
A medical technician stands nearby, holding a small briefcase and eyeing me with curiosity.
Harrison enters with a leather portfolio in his hands, which he sets in front of the men at the desk.
One of them opens it, revealing stacks of documents.
"This is your inheritance," the man says, his voice firm and authoritative.
"To confirm your identity, we require a DNA test."
The medical technician steps forward with a small device, and I roll up my sleeve for the blood draw.
The needle pierces my skin, and I watch as the vial fills with crimson liquid. The technician labels the vial and places it into a container for analysis.
The men behind the desk whisper among themselves, their voices hushed but their eyes never leaving me.
Mr. Morton clears his throat, drawing everyone's attention back to him.
"Now, let us proceed with the formal terms of your inheritance," he says, opening the portfolio.
He begins reading from the documents in a steady voice, outlining my grandfather's wishes and expectations for his legacy.
I listen intently, my heart pounding in my chest as I realize the magnitude of what I am about to inherit.
As Mr. Morton finishes reading each page, he hands it to me to sign.
