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MidReal Story
The Billionaire Who Inherited A Somalian Empire
Scenario:this story is about business and betrayal and schemes and theft and fights and lawsuits and charity and lies and sex and nudity and adultery and bdsm and power and government and politics and my name is mohamed abdi i am a car brand owner and car company owner and my companys name is revolt and i am 24 years old and i am muscular and i have tattoos and dark skin and i became the richest man on the planet by inventing cars that drives on water and the car name brand is Revolt Motors and the cars runs on water and can drive for long hours and then be filled with water in the fuel tank and my father abdinur abdi he is 49 years old and he has dark skin and my mother layla abdi she has dark skin and my sister munira abdi is 18 years old and she has dark skin and my brother mahad abdi is 23 years old and he has dark skin and my parents didnt think i would be successful at anything but i proved them wrong and i now have 600 billion dollars in my bank account and the money is growing fast
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Mohamed Abdi
He is the founder of Revolt Motors, a revolutionary car company that invented cars driving on water. He is ambitious, determined, and rebellious. Against his parents' expectations, he pursued his dream and created a successful business. Mohamed's wealth grew from 100 million to 600 billion dollars in just five years. He faced betrayal from his business partner and created a new technology to save the world from pollution. He is now the richest man in the world.
Abdinur Abdi
He is Mohamed Abdi's father and a former government official in Somalia. He is traditional, skeptical, and conservative. Abdinur initially believed that Mohamed would never succeed but was proven wrong. He has a rigid view of business and society, often disapproving of Mohamed's unconventional methods. Despite their differences, he eventually acknowledged his son's success and supported his decisions. Abdinur holds significant influence due to his former government position.
Layla Abdi
She is Mohamed Abdi's mother and a former teacher in Somalia. She is supportive, progressive, and encouraging. Layla laid the foundation for Mohamed by teaching him English at the age of six. She believed in his potential from the start and was a key figure in urging him to pursue his dreams despite family traditions. Her progressive views on education helped shape Mohamed's ambitious nature.
My name is Mohamed Abdi.
I am the owner of a car brand and company called Revolt.
I am 24 years old.
I have dark skin, tattoos, and a muscular body.
I am the richest man alive.
I have 600 billion dollars in my bank account.
When I was growing up, my parents thought I would never succeed at anything.
But I proved them wrong.
When I was 19 years old, I invented cars that drive on water.
The car brand name is Revolt Motors.
The cars run on water for long hours and then be filled with water in the fuel tank.
Everything changed when I invented those cars because oil became useless since water is available everywhere and anywhere.
I started with 100 million dollars, but now I have 600 billion dollars in my bank account, and the money is growing fast every day.
My parents are now proud of me.
They thought I would never succeed at anything, but they were wrong.
My father, Abdinur Abdi, is 49 years old and has dark skin.
He was a government official in Somalia before.
My mother, Layla Abdi, is also 49 years old and has dark skin.
She was a teacher in Somalia before.
My sister, Munira Abdi, is 18 years old and has dark skin.
She graduated from college recently and looks exactly like me.
My brother, Mahad Abdi, is 23 years old and has dark skin.
I walk through the gleaming showroom of our flagship Revolt Motors store in Dubai, where the rich and famous come to buy their new cars.
Sheikh Mohammed bin Rashid Al Maktoum, the ruler of Dubai, is here with his security detail.
He is looking at a limited-edition Revolt SUV that costs 1 million dollars.
I walk over to him and greet him.
"Good morning, Sheikh Mohammed. How are you?"
I ask him.
"I am good, Mohamed. How are you?" he replies.
"I am good too. I see you are looking at our new SUV. Do you like it?"
I ask him.
"Yes, I like it. I want to buy it," he says.
"Okay, I will call my sales manager to help you with the paperwork," I say.
"Okay, thank you," he says.
I call my sales manager Ahmed on his phone and tell him to come over and help Sheikh Mohammed with the paperwork.
Ahmed comes over and greets Sheikh Mohammed before taking him to his office to sign the papers.
Ahmed is a 35-year-old man from Egypt who has worked for me for 5 years now.
He has dark skin and a well-built body.
He graduated from college with a degree in business management and marketing. After Sheikh Mohammed leaves, Ahmed comes back to me with some papers in his hand.
"What are those papers?" I ask him.
"These are our quarterly reports. We have broken all records this quarter," he says.
"Really? How many cars did we sell this quarter?" I ask him curiously.
"We sold 100,000 units last month alone. And this quarter we sold 500,000 units globally," he says proudly.
"Wow! That's amazing! Our global sales have increased by 50% this quarter," I say happily.
"Yes, our global sales have increased by 50% this quarter. And our revenue has increased by 75% this quarter," he says happily too.
"That's great news! Our company is growing fast globally. We now have 2,500 dealerships around the world," I say proudly.
"Yes, we now have 2,500 dealerships around the world. And we have created over 100,000 jobs globally," he says proudly too.
"That's great! Our company is not only making money but also creating jobs for people around the world," I say happily. My phone starts buzzing with notifications from my email account and social media accounts.
"Boss, there's something you should know," Ahmed says, lowering his voice.
"What is it, Ahmed?" I ask, sensing the urgency in his tone.
"We've received an offer—someone wants to buy Revolt, and they're willing to pay double its market value," he reveals, eyes wide with disbelief.
Sitting in my leather chair at Revolt's New York headquarters, I sip Earl Grey while reviewing our expansion plans with Mahad, my right-hand man.
Sarah, my assistant, enters with hesitation in her steps.
She hands me a formal letter bearing Tesla's logo.
My hand tightens around the teacup as memories flood back: that humiliating day six years ago, presenting my water-fuel prototype to Tesla's board.
Their dismissive laughter, Musk's condescending smirk, the security escort out.
"Tell them I'm not interested," I tell Sarah, crumpling the letter.
Alone after Sarah's departure, I lean back and savor my cardamom tea, watching Dubai's skyline through the floor-to-ceiling windows.
The crumpled Tesla letter sits in my wastepaper basket, a reminder of past rejection turned sweet victory.
I scroll through Revolt's latest stock prices on my phone - another record high.
The quiet feels earned, almost sacred.
My intercom buzzes.
I ignore it, taking another slow sip.
The steam fogs up my view of the city lights, but I don't wipe the window.
I smile, knowing the world is finally running on my terms.
I sit at my mahogany desk, watching CNBC's breaking news coverage of Tesla's stock plummeting 45% in a single day.
The footage shows angry Tesla owners setting their cars ablaze in protest outside the company's Los Angeles headquarters.
Spray-painted messages cover the building's glass facade: "Water > Electric" and "Musk Failed Us."
My phone buzzes with a text from Mahad - a viral video of customers storming out of Tesla showrooms, demanding refunds.
The reporter announces another 10,000 Tesla vehicle returns this week.
I lean back, feeling the weight of the moment, as the world finally acknowledges the revolution I've ignited.
I pace around my Dubai office, phone pressed to my ear as Mahad and I dissect Tesla's vulnerabilities.
Through the floor-to-ceiling windows, I watch workers dismantling a Tesla billboard across the street, replacing it with Revolt's latest campaign.
Mahad suggests acquiring Tesla's abandoned dealerships at bargain prices, converting them into Revolt showrooms.
I pull up a map on my tablet, marking potential locations while he outlines the legal process.
When my assistant interrupts with urgent acquisition papers, I tell Mahad to draft contracts immediately.
I stand at my mahogany desk, reviewing the final acquisition documents with my legal team.
The papers detail our purchase of 1,500 former Tesla dealerships across North America, Europe, and Asia for a fraction of their value.
My hand hovers over the signature line as I scan the numbers - $2.3 billion total, barely one month's revenue for Revolt.
Mahad points out specific clauses ensuring we can rebrand immediately.
The weight of the fountain pen feels right as I sign each page deliberately, knowing each stroke brings us closer to complete market dominance.
"Do you think Musk saw this coming?" Mahad asks, his voice tinged with disbelief.
I sit back, looking at the Dubai skyline through my floor-to-ceiling windows.
"Of course not. He never could have imagined Revolt Motors would be the one to acquire his dealerships and factories across Scandinavia, the Middle East, and Africa."
Mahad and I review the detailed plans for each location, ensuring every facility is ready for a seamless transition.
We call my trusted staff in each region, confirming they're prepared to take over the new facilities.
We discuss logistics - from rebranding to staffing - making sure every detail aligns with our vision.
As I sign off on the last document, a surge of anticipation courses through me.
"Do you think Musk saw this coming?" Mahad asks, his voice tinged with disbelief.
I chuckle softly, shaking my head.
"Of course not. He never could have imagined Revolt Motors would be the one to acquire his dealerships and factories across Scandinavia, the Middle East, and Africa."
Mahad leans forward, a glint of excitement in his eyes.
"And once we roll out our new models, it'll be the final nail in Tesla's coffin."
I stand in front of the mirror, adjusting my black Armani suit and tie.
The press conference is in 15 minutes, and my PR team has everything ready at the Burj Khalifa's grand ballroom.
Five hundred journalists from around the world are waiting to hear my announcement.
Mahad enters with the final version of my speech.
"Let's emphasize how we'll retain Tesla's workforce," he suggests, "and highlight our plans to expand their facilities."
My phone buzzes with messages from CNN, BBC, and Al Jazeera - they all want exclusive interviews.
Sarah, my assistant, confirms that the teleprompter is ready.
I check my Rolex for the last time - fifteen minutes until I step onto that stage and announce Revolt's biggest move yet.
I adjust my tie one last time, listening to the murmur of hundreds of journalists beyond the curtain.
The stage manager counts down from ten, signaling the broadcast's imminent start.
My security detail takes position as Mahad gives me a reassuring nod.
The bright lights flood the stage as I emerge, my footsteps echoing across the polished floor of Burj Khalifa's grand ballroom.
Camera shutters click rapidly while I approach the podium, its sleek design bearing Revolt's logo.
The teleprompter flickers to life, but I decide to speak from my heart instead.
"Today marks a new era for sustainable transportation," I begin, my voice steady and confident.
"We're not just acquiring facilities; we're inheriting a legacy and transforming it into something revolutionary."
Mahad steps closer, whispering, "And with this move, we're not just leading the market; we're redefining it."
I grip the edges of the podium, letting a deliberate silence fill the grand ballroom.
The journalists lean forward in their seats, pens hovering over notepads.
Camera shutters quiet down as everyone waits for my next statement.
Through the bright lights, I spot familiar faces - CNBC's top reporter in the front row, Bloomberg's team to my left, and Al Jazeera's crew filming from the right.
My throat feels dry, but I maintain my composure.
Mahad shifts behind me, probably wondering why I've stopped.
I grip the podium tighter, my voice steady as I begin, "Six years ago, at eighteen, I walked into Tesla's boardroom with a water-fuel vehicle concept. I remember presenting my detailed blueprints to Elon Musk and his team."
The room falls silent, with the exception of a few pens scratching against notepads.
I pause again, letting the tension build.
"I remember how they all looked at me with a mixture of curiosity and amusement."
I take a deep breath before continuing.
"Elon Musk himself told me that my concept was impossible, that it defied the laws of physics and chemistry."
I hear a few gasps in the audience.
"And then he laughed," I continue.
"He laughed at my dream, at my passion."
The room erupts into murmurs and gasps.
I raise my voice above the commotion, "But today, six years later, I stand before you as the founder of Revolt Inc., a company that has not only achieved what Elon Musk deemed impossible but has also become a global leader in sustainable transportation."
Applause fills the room.
"We have a market value of 700 billion dollars. We have operations in over 50 countries around the world. We are not just a company; we are a movement." The applause grows louder as I raise my fist in triumph.
"And to Elon Musk and his team, I say this: we did it. We proved you wrong."
The room erupts into cheers and applause as Mahad steps forward, placing a hand on my shoulder.
"You did it," he says, his voice filled with pride.
"But there's something you need to know," Mahad interjects, his tone suddenly serious.
I turn to him, puzzled by the shift in his demeanor.
"Elon Musk has requested a meeting with you after the conference," he reveals, "and he's bringing a proposal that could change everything."
I remain at the podium, my hands steady on its polished surface.
The room is silent, awaiting my response.
Mahad's words hang in the air like a challenge.
I turn to face him directly, my voice loud enough for the microphone to catch my words.
"Tell him no," I say, my tone firm and unwavering.
"He had his chance six years ago."
The room erupts into a frenzy of questions and camera clicks.
Journalists rise from their seats, eager to get a statement from me.
I raise my hand, signaling for them to calm down.
"I have nothing more to say," I declare, my voice echoing through the ballroom.
"Revolt Motors doesn't associate with failed visionaries."
The room erupts into chaos as I exit the stage, leaving behind a trail of unanswered questions and speculation.
Mahad follows closely behind me, his expression a mix of concern and confusion.
"Sir, what just happened?" he asks, struggling to keep up with my pace.
I stop abruptly, turning to face him with a stern expression.
"What happened is that I just told the world what Elon Musk did six years ago," I reply, my voice firm and unwavering.
"He had his chance to be a part of something revolutionary, but he chose to mock me instead."
Mahad nods in understanding, his eyes filled with admiration for my courage. "And now," I continue, "he wants to come crawling back with some proposal that he thinks will change everything. But it's too late for that. Revolt Motors is a global leader in sustainable transportation, and we don't need him or anyone else to tell us how to do things."
Mahad nods again, his expression filled with pride and loyalty.
"You're right, sir," he says, his voice filled with conviction.
"We don't need anyone else. We're Revolt Motors, and we're unstoppable."
I smile at Mahad's enthusiasm, feeling a sense of pride and accomplishment wash over me.
We may have started as underdogs, but we've proven ourselves to be leaders in our industry.
And no one can take that away from us.
As we exit the ballroom and make our way back to our offices, I can't help but feel a sense of satisfaction and vindication.
We've proven Elon Musk wrong, and we've done it without his help or support. But as we approach our offices, I notice something strange.
"There's a crowd gathering outside," Mahad observes, peering through the glass doors with a furrowed brow.
I squint to get a better look, noticing the placards and banners waving in the air.
"Protesters?" I ask, surprised by this unexpected turn of events.
I exit through the glass doors, flanked by my security team.
The crowd is larger than I anticipated, their signs and banners becoming clearer as we approach.
Some read "Justice for Tesla Workers," while others demand "Environmental Impact Reports" for our water-fuel technology.
The afternoon sun beats down on us, casting long shadows across the pavement.
I raise my hands, signaling for the crowd to quiet down.
Mahad tries to pull me back inside, concerned about safety risks, but I shake him off.
The chanting dies down as I approach the makeshift podium the protesters have set up.
A woman steps forward, her voice steady and clear. "We're not here to fight you," she says, meeting my gaze with determination. "We just want answers about the environmental impact of your technology."
I nod, acknowledging her concern. "I understand your worries," I reply, my tone conciliatory yet firm. "And I'm committed to transparency; let's arrange a meeting to discuss this in detail."
I motion for my security team to clear a path through the crowd while maintaining eye contact with the woman, who I later learn is Sarah Chen, the protest organizer.
She hesitates for a moment, clutching her "Water Rights Matter" sign tightly against her chest.
Then, with a nod, she agrees.
We lead her inside the Burj Khalifa, its marble lobby gleaming under the fluorescent lights.
I direct her to my private conference room on the 124th floor, overlooking the sprawling cityscape of Dubai.
The elevator ride is tense and silent, with only the sound of our footsteps echoing off the walls.
Mahad follows us, his tablet at the ready to take notes.
As we enter the room, I gesture for Sarah to take a seat across from me at the glass table.
The city stretches out before us, a tapestry of lights and skyscrapers. She places a thick folder of environmental research and data on the table, her hands trembling slightly.
I lean forward, intrigued by her determination and passion for this cause.
I lean forward in my leather chair, methodically reviewing each page of the report Sarah has brought.
The thick folder is filled with detailed statistics and graphs about water consumption patterns, ecosystem impacts, and sustainability metrics of our technology.
My eyes linger on a particularly concerning graph about groundwater depletion in regions with our highest sales.
Sarah fidgets nervously in her seat while I study the colored charts and statistics, occasionally glancing at Mahad who takes notes on his tablet.
When I reach the final page showing projected water scarcity in developing nations, I close the folder and look directly at Sarah.
"I appreciate your dedication to this cause," I say, my voice measured.
"But I need time to consider the implications of these findings and discuss them with my team."
She nods, her expression a mix of determination and understanding.
"Thank you for listening," she replies, gathering her belongings.
"I hope we can work together to find a solution that benefits everyone."
I watch her leave, my mind already racing with the potential consequences of our technology on the environment.
The weight of responsibility settles heavily on my shoulders as I turn to Mahad.
"Schedule a meeting with Elon Musk for tomorrow morning," I instruct him, my voice firm.
"We need to discuss this further and explore options for sustainable practices."
Mahad nods, typing furiously on his tablet to coordinate the logistics.
I stand up and walk over to the floor-to-ceiling windows, gazing out at the city below.
The protesters are still gathered outside, their signs barely visible from this height.
I press the intercom button on my desk, connecting me to Sarah's office.
"Sarah, please arrange a meeting with Elon Musk for tomorrow morning," I instruct her, my voice firm but controlled.
"Yes, sir," she responds promptly, her tone professional.
"And please ensure that all necessary security measures are in place."
I end the call and turn back to Mahad, who is already coordinating with our security team to prepare for the meeting. "Mahad, please ensure that the conference room is ready by 9 am tomorrow," I instruct him, my mind already racing with strategies for the meeting.
"Yes, sir," he replies, jotting down notes on his tablet.
As I walk back to my desk, I notice a stack of files waiting for my attention.
I sit down and begin reviewing them methodically, making notes and decisions as I go.
The sound of papers shuffling and pens scratching fills the room as I work diligently.
After what feels like hours, I finally finish reviewing the last file and lean back in my chair, satisfied with the progress I've made.
I glance out the window again, noticing that the protesters have dispersed and the streets are quiet once more.
The city lights flicker in the distance, but the weight of tomorrow's decisions looms larger than the skyline.