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MidReal Story
The Billionaire Rebound
Scenario:Kevin Kenmore has led a hard broken life, a poor orphan, and his girlfriend is leaving him for a richer prospect. But his fortune is about to change dramatically. Kevin inherited immense wealth from his grandfather, shocking everyone. He was the heir to one of the only Multi Quadrillionaire families in the world. He endures constant criticism and judgment from those around him. He vowed that those who had labeled him a failure would eventually bow at his feet. Now, how will he use his new-found wealth to shape those around him, as he reclaims his life? With a new-found sense of responsibility, Kevin will get revenge on those who treated him badly. Will he succeed?
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Kevin Kenmore
He is a previously impoverished orphan who took on menial jobs to survive. He is resilient,determined,and proud. Despite being called a "failure" and "no thing," Kevin won the lottery of life when he inherited his grandfather's vast fortune. His exgirlfriend,Lanna,left him for someone wealthier. Kevin's life of hardship prepared him for his current success,where he becomes a multiquadricillionaire. He vows to use his wealth to help others and exact justice on those who wronged him.
Grandfather
He is Kevin Kenmore's paternal grandfather who passed away leaving him a vast inheritance. He is wise,kind,and supportive. Grandfather secretly provided for Kevin despite knowing his poverty,setting him up for success. His death brings Kevin the means to change his life's trajectory drastically. Through letters,Grandfather encouraged Kevin to remain humble and use his wealth to help others,leaving a profound impact on Kevin's values and decisions.
Lanna
She is Kevin Kenmore's exgirlfriend who ended their threeyear relationship for someone wealthier. She is selfish,materialistic,and heartless. Lanna couldn't handle Kevin's poverty and left him for another man. Now wealthy herself,she is oblivious to the pain she caused Kevin. When she discovers Kevin's success,she tries to reconnect,but her past actions make it difficult for her to regain his trust or even be taken seriously by Kevin.
I was once called a failure, a nobody.
I was an orphan cared for by nuns.
I had taken on menial jobs just to survive and pay for my education.
And even when I had a girlfriend, she eventually left me for someone who could provide for her better.
She was right.
I was poor.
However, my life took a drastic turn when my grandfather passed away.
It turns out that I'm not just anybody.
My grandfather was one of the richest men in the world, a multiquadricillionaire.
And he had left all his wealth to me, his only grandson.
The whole world was shocked to hear about my inheritance.
I went from being a poor nobody to one of the wealthiest men in the world in just one day.
Now, people looked at me differently.
My ex-girlfriend tried to come back to me, but I wouldn't have it.
The man who stole her from me also tried to be friends with me, but I kicked him to the curb.
All those people who looked down on me and called me a failure, I wanted them to bow down to me.
But instead of taking revenge, I decided to use my wealth and power to help others.
After all, what was the point of having so much money if I couldn't make a difference in the world?
And so, I began my journey of giving back to society and helping those in need.
I sat in my new office, looking through the stack of applications from orphanages all around the world.
My assistant, Preston, came in and helped me sort through them.
He marked the ones that were urgent and needed attention right away.
As I went through the applications, I noticed that there was one from St. Mary's Orphanage.
That was where I had grown up.
I couldn't believe it.
I decided to call them and see what they needed.
The video call connected, and I saw Sister Margaret on the screen.
She looked surprised to see me.
"Hello, Sister Margaret," I said with a smile.
"Hello, Mr. Anderson," she replied.
"I didn't expect to hear from you."
"I know. I'm sorry for not visiting sooner. But I've been busy with work."
"I understand. How are you doing?"
"I'm doing well, thank you for asking. How about you?"
"We're doing okay. We've been having some financial difficulties lately, but we're managing."
"I'm sorry to hear that. Is there anything I can do to help?"
"Well, actually, there is something you can do."
"Of course. What is it?"
"We need some funding to renovate our building. It's old and needs some repairs."
"I'd be happy to help with that. How much do you need?"
"Oh, thank you so much! We need about $100,000."
"That's not a problem at all. I'll send you the money right away." "Thank you so much! You're a lifesaver!"
"You're welcome. Is there anything else you need?"
"Well, actually, yes. We could use some more staff. We're short on teachers and caretakers."
"I'll take care of that too. I'll send you some job postings and see if we can find anyone who's interested in working at an orphanage."
"Thank you so much! You're really saving us here."
"It's no problem at all. Just let me know if there's anything else you need."
"Will do. Thank you again!"
"No problem. Bye!"
I hung up the phone and turned back to my paperwork.
Preston came in with some reports from the scholarship foundation.
He explained that they had been able to help thousands of students with their education expenses.
I was happy to hear that and asked him to keep me updated on their progress.
As I was signing the final documents for the scholarship foundation, my phone buzzed again.
After ending the call with Sister Margaret, I pulled up the global database of registered orphanages on my computer screen.
Preston watched curiously as I scrolled through thousands of facilities, each marked with a red indicator showing their financial status.
Most of them were severely underfunded.
I explained to Preston that my plan was to create a comprehensive support system for these orphanages, starting with a billion-dollar endowment.
He began drafting the paperwork while I made calls to our legal team.
Within hours, we had identified the first hundred orphanages that would receive funding, including facilities in developing nations.
I leaned back in my leather chair, studying the holographic display where Preston had organized the data into three tiers based on urgency.
The facilities marked in flashing red showed critical infrastructure failures - collapsing roofs, contaminated water systems, and severe understaffing.
"These twelve need funds within 48 hours," Preston said, highlighting a cluster in Southeast Asia.
I nodded, pulling up the wire transfer interface.
My fingers moved across the keyboard, authorizing immediate payments of $10 million each.
The confirmation alerts started pinging as the money moved.
The future of countless children was now in my hands, and I intended to change their world.
I glance at Preston's hand resting near mine on the desk, his words hanging in the air between us.
The office feels smaller suddenly, more intimate than our usual working environment.
Moving my hand away casually, I focus on the holographic display, cycling through more orphanage data.
Preston clears his throat and steps back, returning to his professional demeanor.
I authorize another series of transfers while processing this unexpected moment.
The computer chimes with each confirmation, filling the awkward silence.
When Preston hands me the next batch of reports, our eyes meet briefly before we both look away.
"Sir, there's something I need to tell you," Preston said, his voice barely above a whisper.
I paused, sensing the gravity in his tone.
"It's about St. Mary's... there's more to their situation than just financial trouble."
I lean back in my leather chair, considering his troubled expression.
The holographic displays cast blue shadows across my office, mingling with the weight of St. Mary's problems and the lingering awkwardness from our moment.
I check my watch - 7:30 PM - then pull up my private restaurant directory.
"Le Cirque at 8:30," I say, selecting the exclusive rooftop venue.
"We'll have privacy there to discuss whatever's concerning you about St. Mary's."
Preston nods, gathering his tablet and files.
"Thank you, sir," Preston replied, relief evident in his voice.
He hesitated for a moment before adding, "There's something about their director, Father Michael... he's been hiding something significant."
I raised an eyebrow, intrigued, and asked, "Do you have any idea what it might be?"
At Le Cirque, Preston and I are seated at a corner table overlooking the glittering city lights.
The waiter brings our drinks, and Preston pulls out a worn manila envelope from his briefcase.
His hands tremble slightly as he slides it across the white tablecloth.
I open it, finding financial records that reveal Father Michael has been diverting orphanage funds into offshore accounts for years.
Bank statements detail a systematic theft of donation money, with dates going back to my time at St. Mary's.
Preston explains that he discovered this while doing due diligence for our donation.
My jaw clenches as I see the exact amounts - millions meant for children's care, gone.
I close the envelope, my resolve hardening as I realize the fight for St. Mary's has only just begun.
I lean back in my leather chair, the photo of Father Michael on my desk.
The secure line connects me to Diana Chen, a former FBI forensic accountant.
She listens intently as I detail the fraudulent transfers Preston uncovered.
When I mention specific account numbers from Panama and the Cayman Islands, she interrupts to take notes.
"I'll start immediately," she assures me.
"My team will trace every dollar Father Michael stole."
I authorize her standard fee plus a million-dollar bonus for expedited work.
Before hanging up, I forward Preston's evidence folder to her encrypted server.
I arrange an emergency board meeting at St. Mary's for Friday morning, booking the main conference room where I once served as a janitor.
While waiting for Diana's final report, I instruct Preston to prepare detailed presentations showing Father Michael's money trail through Panama.
By Thursday evening, Diana's complete investigation folder lands in my inbox.
I review it meticulously, ensuring every transaction is accounted for and every trail leads back to Father Michael.
Friday morning arrives, and I step into the conference room.
Sister Margaret is already there, her face tense as she greets me with a nod.
Other board members filter in, their expressions ranging from confusion to concern.
Father Michael enters last, avoiding eye contact as he takes his seat.
I stand at the head of the table, Diana's complete investigation folder in my hands.
"Father Michael," I begin, my voice steady, "we have undeniable proof of your financial misconduct."
His eyes widen, and he stammers, "This is a misunderstanding; I can explain everything."
Sister Margaret interjects sharply, "Explain how you could betray the trust of those who depended on you?"
I spread the financial records across the polished oak conference table.
The board members lean in, their faces reflecting a mix of shock and disbelief as they examine Diana's meticulous report.
Sister Margaret's hands tremble as she reads the bank statements, her eyes widening at the millions diverted from the children's care.
Father Michael slumps in his chair, his collar damp with sweat.
The other board members pass the documents between them, whispering among themselves.
Preston stands guard at the door, ensuring no one leaves.
Sister Agnes gasps as she sees a wire transfer receipt.
I pull out the final piece of evidence - photos of Father Michael's secret villa in Panama.
I stand firm, watching Father Michael's composure crumble.
His shoulders heave while he clutches his chest, sliding down in his chair.
Tears begin flowing as he chokes out details of his first theft - a small donation he'd pocketed during my time there as a child.
Sister Margaret reaches for his hand but pulls back.
He describes setting up the Panama accounts, voice breaking when he mentions using the children's social security numbers.
Preston moves closer as Father Michael lists specific amounts and dates, his confession punctuated by deep, wracking sobs.
I lean back against the conference room wall, maintaining eye contact with Father Michael as he spirals deeper into his confession.
Through his tears, he reveals stealing from the Christmas gift fund and using donation checks to pay off gambling debts.
Preston edges toward the door, phone already in hand.
When Father Michael notices this movement, his voice catches.
He lurches forward, grabbing Sister Margaret's arm, begging her not to let this happen.
I step between them, firmly removing his grip from her while Preston speaks quietly into his phone, giving our location to the police.
Father Michael's voice cracks as he pleads, "Please, Sister Margaret, you know me; I never meant for it to go this far."
Sister Margaret shakes her head, tears in her eyes, "You were like a brother to me, Michael, but the children come first."
Preston hangs up the phone and says calmly, "The authorities are on their way; it's time to face the consequences."
I place my hands on Father Michael's shoulders, firmly pressing him back into the leather conference chair as his body shakes with sobs.
The room falls silent except for his ragged breathing and Sister Margaret's quiet prayers.
Standing behind him, I maintain steady pressure while Preston positions himself by the door, phone still in hand.
Through the window, I glimpse flashing police lights approaching the building.
Father Michael's shoulders heave beneath my grip as he whispers "I'm sorry" over and over.
When his hand moves toward his jacket pocket, I tighten my hold, remembering my own powerless days in this very room.
Sister Margaret's voice trembles as she speaks, "Michael, don't make this harder than it already is."
Father Michael's eyes dart between us, desperation etched in every line of his face, "I just wanted to make things right for once."
Preston steps forward, his tone firm yet compassionate, "The best way to do that now is to cooperate and tell the truth."
I keep my hands firmly on Father Michael's shoulders as he continues trembling in the chair.
His sobs have quieted to whimpers, but I don't trust his sudden stillness.
Through the window, red and blue lights paint the walls while heavy footsteps echo down the hallway.
Sister Margaret moves to stand beside me, her rosary beads clicking softly against her habit.
When Father Michael's hand twitches toward his pocket again, I tighten my grip.
Preston's key scrapes in the lock, and the door swings open to reveal three uniformed officers.
I slowly loosen my grip on Father Michael's shoulders as the three officers enter the conference room.
His trembling subsides, and he slumps forward in defeat.
When Officer Martinez approaches with handcuffs, Father Michael raises his hands without resistance.
"I accept my punishment," he whispers, nodding slightly.
Sister Margaret clutches her rosary tighter as the officers position themselves around him.
Preston steps aside from the doorway, and I back away, watching Father Michael's head bow.
Officer Martinez secures the handcuffs while her partners flank him.
I release my hold on Father Michael's shoulders and move aside as Officer Martinez and her partners flank him.
His handcuffs click with each shuffling step toward the door.
Sister Margaret clutches her rosary, tears streaming down her face as she watches her longtime colleague being led away.
Preston holds the conference room door open while Father Michael passes through, head bowed and shoulders slumped.
The officers guide him past the framed photos of smiling orphans lining the hallway.
His shoes scrape against the worn linoleum floor - the same floor I used to mop as a janitor.
As the door closes behind them, the weight of unspoken truths lingers in the empty room.