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MidReal Story
The Billionaire Reversal
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 became a multiquadricillionaire after his grandfather's death. He is resilient, determined, and sarcastic. Kevin faced immense wealth and privilege but chose to live modestly. His exgirlfriend left him for someone richer, adding to his struggles. Despite criticism and past failures, Kevin's intelligence and strategic thinking help him succeed in various ventures. He seeks revenge on those who wronged him, including his former employer, who owes him a significant debt.
Ethan
He is Kevin Kenmore's best friend and conferral engineer at Aetherium. He is loyal, witty, and supportive. Ethan stands by Kevin during his low points and celebrates with him when his fortunes change. Known for being humorous and lighthearted, Ethan provides comic relief and unwavering support. He helps Kevin navigate the transition from poverty to wealth without letting the experience go to Kevin's head.
Hudson
He is the CEO of Aetherium and a former employer of Kevin Kenmore. He is arrogant, dismissive, and ruthless. Hudson owes Kevin a significant debt after underpaying him at a previous job. His disdain for Kevin is evident due to the latter's rise from poverty to wealth without his connections. Hudson underestimates Kevin’s capabilities but faces the consequences of his mistake as Kevin seeks repayment.
I was once an orphan.
I was so poor that I had to rely on the charity of others just to survive.
But one day, a rich old man took me in and showed me love for the first time in my life.
He turned out to be my real grandfather.
And it changed everything.
My girlfriend left me for a richer guy, and I was heartbroken.
But I didn't know that my life was about to change forever.
My grandfather died, and I inherited his wealth.
I went from being a poor orphan to a multiquadricillionaire overnight.
I was now one of the richest people in the world.
And I was going to get my revenge on all of the people who had wronged me.
"You're such a loser, Kevin. I deserve better than you. I'm leaving you for someone who can actually provide for me."
Those were the last words my ex-girlfriend spoke to me before she left me for good.
I stood there in the doorway of my apartment, watching as she packed her bags and walked out of my life forever.
It wasn't like I hadn't seen it coming.
In fact, it had been only a matter of time before she left me for someone richer.
I had been poor my entire life, and I didn't have the money or the material possessions to keep her happy.
I thought our love was stronger than that, but I guess I was wrong.
I sat down on the couch in my small, cramped studio apartment and stared at the business card that my grandfather's estate manager had given me.
The card read "Wallace & Associates" and had a phone number printed on it.
My hands were shaking as I picked up my phone and dialed the number.
It rang several times before a receptionist answered.
"Hello, this is Wallace & Associates. How may I help you?"
I took a deep breath and tried to explain who I was and why I was calling, but it all came out sounding crazy.
"I'm sorry, sir," the receptionist said, sounding confused.
"I don't understand what you're saying. Who are you?"
I sighed and rubbed my temples.
This was harder than I had thought it would be.
"I'm Kevin. My grandfather died and left me his wealth. His estate manager gave me this card and told me to call you."
There was a long pause on the other end of the line.
"Sir, I think you may have the wrong number. We don't handle estates here."
I felt my heart sink.
Had I made a mistake?
But then I remembered what my grandfather's estate manager had said to me.
"He's the best in the business," he had said.
"If anyone can help you manage your inheritance, it's Richard Wallace." "Wait," I said to the receptionist.
"Can you just put me through to Mr. Wallace? Please?"
There was another long pause, and then I heard a click as the receptionist transferred the call.
A moment later, a deep voice answered.
"Hello, this is Richard Wallace."
I took a deep breath and tried again to explain who I was and why I was calling.
This time, however, Mr. Wallace listened to what I had to say without interrupting.
When I finished speaking, there was another long pause on the other end of the line.
And then Mr. Wallace spoke again.
"Kevin, is it? Well, Kevin, I think we need to talk in person. Can you come into my office today?"
I looked around at my small apartment and felt a sense of dread wash over me.
I didn't want to leave this place; it was all that I had ever known.
But at the same time, I knew that I couldn't stay here forever. "Yes," I said finally.
"I can come in today."
"Good," Mr. Wallace replied.
"I'll see you soon."
I grab my worn leather jacket, the only decent piece of clothing I own, and lock the door to my studio apartment.
The hallway is dimly lit, with flickering fluorescent lights that cast harsh shadows on the walls.
I pass by Mrs. Chen's door, where the usual smell of fried garlic wafts out into the hallway.
She always seems to be cooking something delicious, and it makes my stomach growl with hunger.
Outside, I check my watch for what feels like the hundredth time.
The city bus is late again, and I'm starting to get worried that I'll miss my appointment with Mr. Wallace.
I dig into my pocket and pull out my wallet, counting out the few crumpled bills that are inside.
It's just enough to cover the bus fare, but not much else.
As I wait for the bus to arrive, I pull out the business card that Mr. Wallace gave me and read over the address one more time.
It's a long way across town, but I know that I can't afford to take a taxi. When the bus finally arrives, I climb aboard and take a seat near the back.
The other passengers glance at me briefly before turning away, their eyes lingering on my scuffed shoes and patched jeans.
I try not to notice their stares, keeping my head down and focusing on the business card in my hand.
After what feels like an eternity, the bus finally pulls up in front of a gleaming glass skyscraper.
I recognize the building from pictures that I've seen online - it's one of the most expensive office buildings in the city, and it's where Mr. Wallace has his offices.
My hands are sweating as I push open the door and step inside.
The lobby is pristine and modern, with marble floors that reflect the light from above.
I step up to the polished marble reception desk, my boots squeaking against the floor.
The receptionist is a woman in her forties, with perfectly styled hair and a crisp business suit.
She looks up from her computer screen and eyes me warily, taking in my shabby appearance.
"Can I help you?"
Her voice is cool and detached, and I can tell that she's not used to dealing with people like me.
I swallow hard and try to speak, but my throat feels dry and scratchy.
"I have an appointment with Mr. Wallace," I manage to croak out.
The receptionist raises an eyebrow, clearly surprised that someone like me has an appointment with one of the most powerful men in the city.
She types something into her computer, her manicured nails clicking against the keyboard.
"What's your name?"
"Kevin," I reply, shifting uncomfortably under her scrutiny.
As we wait for the elevator to arrive, I can't help but feel self-conscious about my appearance.
Everyone else in the lobby is dressed in suits and ties, their shoes polished to a shine.
I stick out like a sore thumb in my jeans and leather jacket, and I can feel the receptionist's eyes on me as she watches me from behind her desk. The security guard standing nearby seems equally suspicious, his hand resting near his radio as if he's ready to call for backup at any moment.
I try not to make eye contact with him, keeping my gaze fixed on the elevator doors as they slowly slide open.
When they do, I step inside and press the button for the top floor, feeling a sense of relief wash over me as the doors close behind me.
As I ride up to Mr. Wallace's office, I can't help but feel nervous about what lies ahead.
I've never been in a situation like this before, and I'm not sure what to expect.
Will Mr. Wallace be able to help me?
Or will he dismiss me as some kind of crazy person?
The elevator comes to a stop on the top floor, and I step out into a long hallway lined with expensive-looking artwork.
I walk down the hallway, my footsteps echoing on the polished floor, until I reach a large wooden door with Mr. Wallace's name etched in gold.
Taking a deep breath, I knock and hear a voice call out from inside, "Come in."
I open the door to find Mr. Wallace standing by the window, his back to me, as he says, "Kevin, I've been expecting you. There's something important you need to know about your grandfather's legacy."
I approach Mr. Wallace's mahogany desk, my boots sinking into the plush carpet that probably costs more than my monthly rent.
He gestures to a leather chair in front of his desk, but I don't sit down.
Instead, I stand behind the chair, gripping the back of it tightly with my hands.
The city sprawls out behind him through floor-to-ceiling windows, a view that I've only ever seen in movies.
"Your grandfather, Alexander Kenmore," Mr. Wallace says, sliding a thick folder across his desk to me, "was worth approximately 270 quadrillion dollars."
My knuckles whiten on the back of the chair as I stare at the number written on the folder.
That can't be right.
"As his sole heir," Mr. Wallace continues, "you inherit everything."
The folder falls open, revealing pages and pages of account statements with strings of zeros that make my head spin.
"How is that even possible?" I ask, my voice barely above a whisper.
Mr. Wallace turns to face me, his expression serious. "Your grandfather was involved in ventures that spanned the globe, many of which were kept secret for reasons you'll soon understand."
I swallow hard, trying to process the enormity of it all. "What kind of ventures are we talking about?"
He leans back in his leather chair and pulls out another folder, this one labeled "Charitable Initiatives."
"He secretly funded orphanages, medical research, and education programs worldwide," Mr. Wallace explains.
"Your grandfather was a man who believed in using his wealth to make a difference in the lives of others."
I blink, trying to wrap my head around what I'm hearing.
The same man who rescued me from poverty all those years ago had been helping thousands of others in secret.
Mr. Wallace opens the folder, revealing photographs of children playing in newly built schools, patients receiving treatment in state-of-the-art medical facilities, and communities transformed by my grandfather's anonymous donations.
"These are just a few examples," he says, pointing to the pictures.
"Your grandfather's philanthropy knew no bounds."
I can barely process the magnitude of it all.
My grandfather was a man of immense wealth and power, but he used it for good.
He helped people all over the world without seeking recognition or praise.
Leaning back in the leather chair, I stare at the photos of smiling children and grateful patients spread across Mr. Wallace's mahogany desk.
My fingers trace the edge of a newspaper clipping about a new cancer research center, funded anonymously by my grandfather.
"I don't even know where to start," I admit, my voice cracking.
Mr. Wallace pulls out another folder, this one marked "Pending Projects."
"There are several initiatives that were already in motion before your grandfather passed away," he explains.
"A children's hospital in Africa, scholarship programs in South America, and housing developments in struggling neighborhoods."
The scope of my grandfather's unfinished work hits me like a physical weight.