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MidReal Story
The Billionaire's Rebirth
Scenario:Brian Munson, Jr. 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. Brian inherited immense wealth from his grandfather, shocking everyone. He was the heir to one of the top billionare 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, Brian will get revenge on those who treated him badly. Will he succeed?
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Brian Munson
He is the former illegitimate son of a wealthy family. He was raised in poverty with no family support,facing harsh treatment and judgment. After his parents' death in a car accident,he inherited their vast fortune. Brian struggles with the guilt of past neglect but uses his newfound wealth to help others,becoming a philanthropist. He also seeks to reclaim his life,seeking forgiveness and connection with his childhood girlfriend,Emily,who left him for someone more affluent.
Emily
She is Brian's childhood sweetheart from the same neighborhood. She was initially attracted to his rough,workingclass demeanor but eventually left him for someone with more financial stability. After reuniting with Brian,she is filled with regret for her past decisions. Emily seeks forgiveness and wants to rebuild her relationship with Brian,acknowledging her mistakes and the genuine love they once shared despite social and economic pressures.
Grandfather Munson
He was Brian’s paternal grandfather who secretly raised him alongside his daughter,providing for both children in povertystricken conditions. His untimely death leaves Brian shocked and distraught but also inheriting his vast fortune. Through letters,Grandfather Munson expressed deep love and apology for not being able to publicly acknowledge Brian as his grandson.
I was born when my mother, an heiress to a billionaire family, had an affair with a man from a lower background.
My father and maternal grandparents were furious about it, and they forced my mother to give me up for adoption.
However, my grandparents later had a change of heart and decided to raise me themselves, but they did so in secret.
They bought a house in a poor neighborhood and hired someone to act as my adoptive parents.
In other words, I was raised in poverty by people who didn’t even know my real name.
I was called Brian Munson, Jr., but I had no idea who my real parents were or what my background was.
I didn’t even know that I was the illegitimate son of a billionaire family until I went to college and did some research on my own.
When I finally found out who my real parents were, I also found out that they had died in a car accident just a few months prior.
It turned out that they had left behind a vast fortune, and since I was their only child, it all went to me.
Suddenly, I went from being broke to being one of the richest people in the world.
It was truly surreal.
My girlfriend at the time, Emily, had actually been planning on leaving me for someone else because she couldn’t handle being with a poor guy anymore.
But once she found out that I was now rich, she tried to stick around.
I didn’t blame her and didn’t blame any of the other people who had treated me poorly before.
I sit across from Mr. Davidson, my father’s lawyer, in his mahogany-furnished office.
He is a middle-aged man with a kind smile and glasses perched on the end of his nose.
As he sorts through the stacks of documents before him, the leather chair creaks softly.
I watch intently as he methodically separates papers into neat piles.
Finally, he slides the first document across the polished wood desk towards me.
"This is a detailed inventory of your father's estate," he explains, his voice steady and professional.
I take the document in my trembling hands and scan it quickly.
The figures are staggering - multiple properties across three continents, controlling shares in several major corporations, and numerous offshore accounts in Switzerland.
My eyes widen as I read through the list.
Then, Mr. Davidson pulls out a small envelope from the stack of documents and hands it to me.
"This is for you," he says with a gentle smile. I open the envelope and pull out a sleek black card with the Citibank logo embossed on it.
The afternoon light catches its surface, reflecting off of it like polished glass.
"Unlimited credit," Mr. Davidson explains, placing the card on the desk in front of me.
I pick up the card, its weight substantial in my palm.
I lean back in the leather chair, my mind racing as Mr. Davidson methodically explains each document.
The inheritance breakdown spans pages - $120 billion in real estate holdings, $200 billion in company shares, and $130 billion in liquid assets spread across private banks.
My throat tightens as he points to the final total: $450 billion.
The sheer magnitude hits me like a tidal wave, and I feel my breath catch in my chest.
Just last month, I had scrounged for rent money, counting coins on my kitchen counter.
I pull out my worn leather wallet from my back pocket and open it.
Inside, there is a single twenty-dollar bill and a crumpled food stamp card that I had been too ashamed to use.
I remove the card and place it on the desk next to the black credit card.
I lean back in the leather chair, my worn jeans feeling out of place against the expensive upholstery.
The food stamp card and black credit card create a stark visual on the polished mahogany desk - my past and future laid bare.
Mr. Davidson continues explaining the details of the inheritance, but his words blur together as I fixate on the documents.
My fingers trace over my parents' names on the death certificates, then slide to the inheritance papers showing astronomical figures.
The weight of this responsibility settles in my gut.
I pick up the black card and slide it into my wallet, next to the crumpled food stamp card.
I lean forward in the leather chair, my worn sneakers scuffing against the polished floor.
"What do I need to do first?" my voice cracks slightly as I speak.
Mr. Davidson adjusts his wire-rimmed glasses and pulls out a thick folder labeled 'Immediate Actions.'
"First, you will need to meet with the board of directors next week," he explains, opening the folder.
My stomach twists at the thought - these are the same people who shunned me my entire life.
I glance down at my shabby clothes, knowing I'll need a new wardrobe just to walk into that boardroom.
Mr. Davidson continues, "You will also need to hire a personal assistant to help you manage your schedule and daily affairs."
I fidget with the new credit card, my mind racing with all the things I'll need to buy.
Just then, a knock echoes through the office, and Mr. Davidson looks up.
"Come in," he calls out.
The door swings open, and my heart stops.
A woman strides in, wearing an impeccable navy suit that makes my thrift store clothes look even shabbier.
Her long black hair is pulled into a sleek ponytail, and her eyes are fixed on the papers in her hand.
She doesn't notice me at first, but as she steps closer, recognition floods her face.
My heart sinks as I realize who she is - Alex Chen, the most popular girl in school ten years ago.
The same girl who turned me down for prom without even looking at me.
Now she's standing here, one of my board members.
She freezes mid-step, her eyes locked on mine.
Her confident smile falters as she processes who I am.
Mr. Davidson rises from his chair, clearing his throat to break the silence.
"Alex Chen, this is—"
But Alex doesn't let him finish.
Her eyes never leave mine as she takes another step forward.
I force myself to meet her wide-eyed stare, noting how her confident demeanor has cracked.
My extended hand hangs in the air between us as she remains frozen, her manicured fingers clutching her portfolio too tightly.
Mr. Davidson clears his throat again, breaking the tension.
Alex finally reaches out, her hand trembling slightly as it meets mine.
Her grip is weak, nothing like the firm handshakes she gives in board meetings I've watched online.
"Welcome back, Brian," she manages, her voice barely above a whisper.
The same voice that once laughed at my secondhand prom suit now wavers with uncertainty.
I release her hand and gesture to the chair beside me.
"Thanks, Alex," I reply, trying to keep my voice steady.
She sits down, smoothing her skirt nervously, and glances at Mr. Davidson before speaking again.
"I never thought I'd see you here," she admits, her eyes searching mine for something unspoken.
I lean back in my chair, processing her words.
Mr. Davidson slides a formal letter across his desk.
"Brian, as part of your inheritance terms, the board has already approved your appointment as Vice President of Munson Industries."
Alex's face drains of color as she grips her leather portfolio tighter.
When I reach for the letter, my hand brushes against the old food stamp card still lying on the desk.
Mr. Davidson continues, "The board has already approved this decision. You will be working closely with Alex to ensure a smooth transition."
Alex stands abruptly, her designer heels clicking against the hardwood floor.
"I need to make a call," she says, her voice tight.
Before leaving, she turns back and forces a tight smile.
"Welcome to the team, Brian," she says, her voice strained.
Then she hurries out of the office, leaving me alone with Mr. Davidson.
He spreads a series of organizational charts across his desk, pointing to different divisions and explaining their reporting structures and key responsibilities.
As he talks, my eyes keep drifting to the doorway where Alex disappeared moments ago.
Her panicked exit weighs heavily on me.
Mr. Davidson outlines my first week's schedule: meetings with executives, facility tours, and briefings with each department head.
I'll be taking over Alex's corner office on the top floor.
The transition plan feels like a weapon in my hands.
Once I've signed all the necessary paperwork, Mr. Davidson hands me a stack of documents.
"Everything you need is here," he explains.
"Your new credit card, ID badge, and security clearance forms."
I glance at the documents, then back at Mr. Davidson.
"Why didn't anyone tell me about this sooner?" I ask, trying to mask my frustration.
Mr. Davidson sighs, leaning back in his chair. "Your father wanted it to be a surprise," he says, his voice tinged with regret.
I lean back in my chair, processing his words.
Mr. Davidson pulls out a thick binder labeled "Transition."
He walks me through the first steps: meeting with key executives, reviewing financial reports, and understanding ongoing projects.
My fingers trace the Munson Industries logo on the binder's cover as he talks.
The corporate jargon feels foreign, but I force myself to focus, taking notes on a legal pad.
When Mr. Davidson mentions tomorrow's executive breakfast meeting, I glance down at my worn clothes again.
I leave Mr. Davidson's office and head straight to the nearest luxury mall.
Clutching my new black credit card, I stride into Armani.
A saleswoman looks me up and down before approaching, her expression skeptical.
"Can I help you find something?" she asks coolly.
I flash the credit card, and her demeanor changes instantly.
"Oh, welcome, sir! How may I assist you?"
I select a charcoal suit, crisp white shirt, and Italian leather shoes.
The saleswoman fusses over me, fetching accessories and offering style advice.
In the fitting room, I practice my posture in the mirror, straightening my shoulders and squaring my jaw.
I rehearse how I'll address the executives tomorrow—confidently, authoritatively.
When I emerge dressed in the tailored suit, the saleswoman gasps in approval.
"You look stunning, sir!"
I glance at my reflection: a different man from this morning.
Polished, powerful.
I exit Armani carrying multiple bags, each filled with expensive suits and accessories.
The weight of the shopping bags reminds me of the food bank boxes I used to carry.
Walking through the mall, I catch glimpses of my reflection in store windows—the new suit fits perfectly, making me look like the executive I'm supposed to be.
Other shoppers who initially gave me dismissive looks now step aside, some even nodding respectfully.
At the mall entrance, I pause to check my appearance one final time.
