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MidReal Story
The Billionaire's Revenge
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 was constantly belittled and jaded by those around him. He is resilient, determined, and sarcastic. After growing up in a foster home with no family, Kevin learned to fend for himself and hold onto a dream of a better life. When his wealthy grandfather passes away, Kevin discovers he is the multitrillionaire heir. Overcoming past hardships, Kevin vows to reclaim his life, seeking revenge on those who wronged him and winning over his former girlfriend.
Maggie
She is Kevin's exgirlfriend who left him for a more affluent partner. She is superficial, coldhearted, and materialistic. Maggie initially dated Kevin for his potential financial future, but grew tired of his rough lifestyle and ended the relationship for someone else. When she returns seeking a loan to cover her wedding expenses, Kevin cunningly proposes a deal that she reluctantly accepts at a loss. Her past actions will haunt her as Kevin rises from his past struggles.
Melissa
She is the daughter of Kevin's landlord and an acquaintance from his past. She is arrogant, entitled, and dismissive. Melissa was previously uninterested in the idea of dating an impoverished man like Kevin and mocked him for his circumstances. However, with her father’s financial struggles looming due to unpaid rent from Kevin's rentfree agreement, Melissa reluctantly agrees to dinner to make amends. Her attitude shifts as she sees potential benefits from associating with a multitrillionaire.
I was a poor orphan, and my girlfriend left me for a guy who was richer.
She thought I'd never catch up to him, but she was wrong.
My life changed when my grandfather died and left me with an inheritance beyond her wildest dreams.
I was the heir to one of the only two multiquadrillion families in the world.
No one expected it, not even me.
But I didn't let that stop me.
I used my new wealth and power to get revenge on those who had wronged me and to win back my former girlfriend.
I made sure they all bowed at my feet, just like I had promised.
And as for her, I made sure she regretted her decision to leave me.
The story of my life is one of rags to riches, and it's not pretty, but it's real.
I'm not ashamed of where I've come from or what I've done to get where I am.
I did what I had to do to survive, and now I'm living the life I always dreamed of.
Here's my story.
"Kevin, you're such a loser! Why can't you even afford a decent meal? You're so pathetic."
Maggie yelled at me before she stormed out of the kitchen.
It was just another day in my life as a poor orphan.
I'd grown accustomed to people putting me down and telling me I'd never amount to anything.
But I wasn't giving up.
I lean against the kitchen counter, my fingers tracing the worn edges of the cheap laminate surface.
The dishes from our argument still litter the sink - a box of generic mac and cheese, a dented pot, plastic utensils.
Through the grimy window, I watch Maggie's silhouette disappear down the street, her designer purse swinging mockingly behind her.
The apartment feels smaller now, suffocating.
I grab my coat from the hook - the same threadbare jacket I've worn for three years - and head toward the door.
The local diner is hiring.
It's not much, but it's a start.
I slump onto my threadbare couch, the cushions exhaling a tired sigh as I settle in.
The apartment feels emptier than usual, the silence punctuated only by the hum of my ancient refrigerator in the kitchen.
My phone vibrates against the coffee table, the screen flashing an unfamiliar number.
I almost ignore it, assuming another debt collector, but something compels me to answer.
"Hello?"
A crisp voice greets me from the other end of the line, cutting through the static of disconnection.
"Good afternoon. Is this Kevin Kenmore?"
"Yes, that's me."
I fidget with the frayed hem of my jeans, a habit formed from years of uncertainty.
"I'm calling from Morton & Associates Law Firm. My name is James Morton."
The name means nothing to me, but there's something about his tone that commands attention.
"Mr. Kenmore, I'm calling regarding your grandfather's estate."
My heart skips a beat.
Grandfather?
I've never met him, never even heard his name mentioned by my mother before she passed away.
"What do you mean? I don't have a grandfather."
There's a pause on the other end of the line, and for a moment I wonder if I've misheard.
"Mr. Kenmore, you are listed as the sole beneficiary in your grandfather's will. He has passed away, leaving you his entire estate." The words hang in the air like a challenge.
Estate?
Beneficiary?
These are terms I've only ever heard in movies or read about in books.
They don't belong in my life.
"What... what does that mean?"
I ask, my voice barely above a whisper.
"It means you stand to inherit a substantial amount of wealth and property," Mr. Morton explains patiently.
"We need to schedule a meeting to discuss the details and begin the process of transferring ownership."
My hands start trembling as I reach for a pen and notepad on the coffee table.
"Tomorrow at 10 am. Our office is located at 345 Main Street."
I scribble down the address and time before thanking him and ending the call.
I spend the sleepless night pacing the cramped apartment, checking the law firm's website every hour to convince myself it's real.
The address leads to a gleaming skyscraper downtown, a world away from my neighborhood.
I dig through my closet for my only suit - a threadbare thing I bought secondhand for job interviews.
The pants are too short and the jacket's missing a button, but it's all I have.
At 3 AM, I count the coins in my jar, barely enough for bus fare.
I lay out everything I'll need: the crumpled meeting notice, my ID, and birth certificate.
The next morning, as I step into the law firm's opulent lobby, a receptionist greets me with a polite smile.
"Mr. Kenmore, Mr. Morton is expecting you. Please follow me," she says, leading me through a maze of glass-walled offices.
As we enter a spacious conference room, Mr. Morton rises from his seat, extending a hand. "Good to see you, Kevin. We have much to discuss about your grandfather's legacy."
The leather chair creaks as I settle into it, feeling out of place among the polished mahogany and floor-to-ceiling windows that overlook the city.
Mr. Morton slides a thick manila folder across the table to me.
I open it, revealing a black and white photograph of an elderly man in an expensive suit.
His sharp jawline and piercing eyes are unmistakable - he looks just like me.
"This is Alexander Kenmore," Mr. Morton begins, his voice filled with reverence.
"He was a self-made billionaire who built his empire from scratch."
As he speaks, I can't take my eyes off the photograph.
My grandfather.
I never knew him, but there's an uncanny resemblance between us.
Mr. Morton continues, "Alexander Kenmore's business ventures spanned multiple industries. He owned private islands, tech companies, real estate empires... His assets are vast and diverse."
I listen intently, my hands trembling as I touch the photograph.
Those eyes, they're my eyes - intense and determined.
I lean forward in the leather chair as Mr. Morton pulls out another stack of papers from his folder.
He spreads them across the polished conference table, and I can't help but stare at the figures that dance before my eyes.
Bank statements show accounts with more zeroes than I can count.
Property deeds list mansions, office towers, and private islands across the globe.
The numbers are astronomical, making my head spin.
"As his sole heir," Mr. Morton explains, his voice steady and professional, "you now control it all. Every company, every asset, every penny of the Kenmore fortune."
I swallow hard, trying to comprehend the enormity of what I'm being told.
My throat tightens as Mr. Morton mentions that the first wire transfer of $500 billion will hit my account today.
I grip the armrest of my chair tightly, remembering Maggie's sneering face just yesterday when she called me worthless.
I think about the eviction notice on my apartment door and the stack of unpaid bills on my kitchen counter. "Mr. Kenmore," Mr. Morton says gently, breaking through my thoughts.
"I understand this is a lot to process. But rest assured, our firm will guide you through every step of the inheritance process."
I nod silently, my mind racing with a mix of emotions - disbelief, excitement, and a hint of fear.
What does it mean to inherit such wealth?
How do I even begin to grasp it?
Mr. Morton slides another set of papers across the table.
"These are for you to sign," he explains.
"They confirm your acceptance of the inheritance and authorize us to proceed with transferring ownership."
I reach for the pen that lies next to the papers.
My fingers tremble slightly as I place it on the dotted line.
I grip the heavy fountain pen, its gold nib hovering over the dotted line.
The stack of inheritance documents spreads across Morton's mahogany desk - trust agreements, power of attorney forms, and property transfers.
Each page represents billions in assets.
My hand trembles as I sign "Kevin Kenmore" again and again, my signature growing more confident with each stroke.
Morton points to specific clauses, explaining legal terms I barely understand.
The final signature complete, I set down the pen and exhale.
Morton gathers the papers, slides them into a leather portfolio, and extends his hand.
"Congratulations, Kevin," he says warmly, shaking my hand.
I look him in the eye, trying to steady my voice. "What happens now?"
Morton smiles reassuringly. "Now, we introduce you to the world as the new head of the Kenmore empire."
I stand in front of a full-length mirror, adjusting the custom-tailored Armani suit that replaced my threadbare clothes.
Mr. Morton stands beside me, reviewing key talking points one last time.
A stylist fusses with my hair and makeup, while others buzz around the penthouse office.
Through the floor-to-ceiling windows, I see news vans gathering outside the Kenmore Tower.
My phone buzzes with texts from Maggie and others who suddenly want to be friends, but I ignore them.
The PR team counts down the minutes until the press conference.
"Posture, Kevin," someone reminds me.
"Shoulders back, confident."
I take a deep breath, glancing at Mr. Morton. "What if they ask about my past?" I whisper, my voice barely audible over the bustling room.
Mr. Morton meets my gaze, his expression calm. "You tell them the truth, Kevin," he replies firmly. "That your story is just beginning."
The stylist steps back, admiring her work. "And remember," she adds with a wink, "everyone loves a good underdog tale."
I pace in the green room, adjusting my tie for the hundredth time while watching the live feed of reporters filling the conference hall.
Morton reviews my speech cards one final time, emphasizing key points about the Kenmore legacy.
The PR team fusses with my appearance - straightening my jacket, dabbing powder on my forehead.
Through the door, I hear the crowd's murmur growing louder.
My phone buzzes again with Maggie's number, but I silence it without looking.
The stage manager signals five minutes.
I take deep breaths, remembering all the nights I went hungry.
Morton places a reassuring hand on my shoulder. "Kevin, remember why you're doing this," he says softly. "It's not just about the money; it's about proving to yourself and everyone else that you belong here."
I nod, feeling a surge of determination. "And what if they ask about my family?" I ask, my voice tinged with uncertainty.
Morton gives me a steady look. "You tell them that family is complicated, but you're ready to write your own chapter now."
I take slow, measured steps toward the podium, my new Italian leather shoes clicking against the polished floor.
Camera flashes explode like lightning, momentarily blinding me.
The weight of my grandfather's gold watch on my wrist feels heavy, a constant reminder of my new status.
Behind me, Morton gives an encouraging nod.
The teleprompter flickers to life, but I push aside the prepared speech in my jacket pocket.
Instead, I grip the edges of the podium, my knuckles whitening as I scan the crowd.
I clear my throat, my voice steady despite the nerves. "Ladies and gentlemen, thank you for being here today," I begin, feeling the weight of their expectations. "Before I address the future of the Kenmore empire, there's something personal I need to share."
I take a deep breath, my eyes locking onto a young reporter in the front row.
"I grew up in foster homes, bouncing from one family to another," I continue, my voice steady but laced with vulnerability.
"I worked two jobs to afford community college, but every door I knocked on was met with rejection."
The room falls silent, the only sound the quiet hum of cameras.
"I remember nights spent studying in my car because I couldn't afford rent," I admit, my voice cracking slightly.
"And there were times when I went hungry, just to make ends meet."
The reporters lean forward, their pens paused mid-stroke.
"But there were people who believed in me," I add, my voice filled with gratitude.
"Social workers who saw potential in a lost kid. They made me promise that if I ever got a chance, I would succeed."
A veteran reporter in the back row wipes away a tear, her eyes shining with understanding.
"And now, this inheritance is more than just money," I say, my voice filled with conviction.
"It's validation that my grandfather saw something in me that no one else did."
The room erupts into a flurry of questions and camera clicks. "Mr. Kenmore, how does it feel to have gone from poverty to wealth overnight?"
"Can you tell us more about your relationship with your grandfather?"
"What are your plans for the Kenmore empire?"
I take a deep breath, gathering my thoughts before responding.
"It's surreal," I admit, "but it also reminds me of where I came from. And as for my grandfather, he was a man who saw potential in everyone."
I pause, looking out at the sea of expectant faces.
"As for plans, we're working on it," I say with a hint of a smile.
"But rest assured that we will honor the Kenmore legacy while forging our own path forward."
The questions continue to flow like a relentless tide.
"Mr. Kenmore, what message do you have for those who doubted you?"
"Can you tell us more about your experiences in foster care?"
"How do you plan to use your new wealth to make a positive impact?"
I take another deep breath before answering.
"To those who doubted me," I begin, "I hope my story shows that anyone can rise above their circumstances with hard work and determination."
I glance down at the podium, remembering the nights spent studying under dim streetlights.
"And as for using my wealth," I continue, meeting their eyes with resolve, "I plan to invest in education and opportunities for those who come from backgrounds like mine."
A young journalist raises her hand, her voice cutting through the noise. "Mr. Kenmore, do you think your story will inspire others to follow in your footsteps?"
I nod, feeling the weight of their attention. "I hope so," I reply earnestly. "If my journey can light a path for even one person, then all the struggles were worth it."
I retreat from the podium, my ears ringing from the thunderous applause.
Reporters surge forward, shoving microphones and shouting follow-up questions.
Morton steps in beside me, his hand firm on my shoulder as he guides me through the chaos.
Security creates a narrow path while camera flashes continue to blind me.
My new Armani suit feels damp with sweat, but I keep my head high, grandfather's watch heavy on my wrist.
At the exit, I pause and turn back for one final wave.
On the massive screens above the crowd, I see my face projected in stark clarity.
The doors close behind us with a resounding thud, muffling the cacophony.
I sink into the plush leather seats of the limousine, my body still trembling with adrenaline.
Through the tinted windows, I watch as reporters scramble for one last photo before the car pulls away from the curb.
Morton slides in beside me, his expression a mix of relief and pride.
The driver navigates through the crowded streets, leaving the chaos behind.
My phone buzzes nonstop, a constant reminder of the whirlwind unfolding around me.
Messages flood my screen - congratulations from Maggie, acquaintances from my past, and business contacts eager to establish connections.
I remove grandfather's gold watch from my wrist to examine it more closely.
The intricate details and weight of it are a testament to his impeccable taste.
As I turn it over, I notice an engraving on the back that I hadn't seen before.
"Family is everything," it reads.
Morton leans over, glancing at the watch with a knowing smile. "Your grandfather always believed in that," he says softly. "He wanted you to understand that this empire is more than just business; it's about the legacy and the people who built it."
I nod, my fingers tracing the engraving as I stare out the window.
The city blurs by, a kaleidoscope of lights and sounds.
My mind drifts to the list of names on my tablet - kids from St. Mary's Orphanage, each one a friend who shared in the struggles and triumphs of my childhood.
I remember Tommy, who defended me from bullies; Sarah, who shared her last cookie with me; and Mike, who helped me with my homework when no one else cared.
We were more than just roommates; we were family.
I pull out my phone and open the group chat with them.
My fingers hover over the keyboard as memories flood back.
I draft a message, knowing that these words will change their lives just as mine has changed.
"Remember our promise? It's time. Meet me tomorrow."
I press send, feeling the weight of a new beginning.
I sink deeper into the plush leather seat, feeling the tension drain from my shoulders.
The limo's gentle vibrations and quiet hum help slow my rapid heartbeat.
My grandfather's watch sits heavy in my palm as I continue tracing the engraving.
Through the tinted windows, I watch the city lights blur past, remembering countless nights walking these same streets when I couldn't afford bus fare.
The driver's voice breaks through my thoughts.
"Mr. Kenmore, would you like to head straight to your new penthouse?"
I nod silently, still processing how my life has transformed in just 24 hours.
I lean back against the leather headrest, letting my eyes drift closed as the limo cruises through the city.
Suddenly, a voice crackles through the intercom, jolting me awake.
"Kevin, this is James Morton. I know this is overwhelming, but I promised your grandfather I'd help you adjust."
His voice carries the same warmth from our first meeting.
I press the intercom button, my hands still trembling slightly.
"Mr. Morton, thank you for everything. I'm still trying to process it all."
"Of course," he replies.
"Your grandfather left detailed instructions for your transition. Tomorrow morning, we'll have breakfast at the Kenmore Building to discuss the family's business operations and your role. There's a lot to cover."
The limo glides smoothly through downtown traffic as Morton outlines tomorrow's schedule.
I settle into my new penthouse suite at the Kenmore Tower, the documents spread across a mahogany desk that costs more than my old apartment's yearly rent.
The city sparkles through floor-to-ceiling windows as I carefully read each page.
I want to understand my grandfather's empire before meeting Morton tomorrow.
My phone buzzes constantly with messages from Maggie and others, but I ignore them, focusing instead on financial statements and company portfolios.
As my eyes grow heavy, I notice a handwritten letter tucked between the pages.
"Kevin, if you're reading this, it means I've finally passed on," the letter begins.
I can almost hear my grandfather's voice as I read his words.
"Remember, the true strength of our family lies not in wealth, but in the bonds we forge."
I sit at the mahogany desk in my penthouse, methodically going through the documents for the tenth time.
My fingers trace over the numbers, trying to make sense of them.
350 googol dollars.
The figure is incomprehensible, dwarfing the net worth of every billionaire on Earth combined.
I pull up a calculator on my tablet, attempting to count the zeros.
The screen can't even display the full amount.
I dial Morton's number, needing confirmation.
"Mr. Morton, I'm going over the documents and... I need to confirm this number."
"Of course, Kevin. What do you need to know?"
"The total inheritance... 350 googol dollars. Is that correct?"
There's a brief pause before he responds.
"Yes, Kevin. That's correct."
I ask him to repeat it three times just to be sure.
"Kevin, your grandfather made unprecedented investments in quantum computing and space mining. Those ventures generated wealth beyond anything seen before."
"Space mining?" I echo, disbelief tinging my voice.
"Yes," Morton replies calmly. "Your grandfather was always a visionary, and he saw potential where others didn't."
"But why keep it a secret from the family?" I ask, trying to grasp the enormity of it all.
I spread the property documents across my penthouse desk, examining the glossy photos of pristine private islands in the Caribbean and Mediterranean.
A thick folder reveals details of five mega yachts, including the 600-foot "Alexandria" named after my grandfather.
The real estate portfolio spans global landmarks - penthouses in Dubai, châteaux in France, and mansions in Beverly Hills.
As I lift the lid of an elegant ebony box, nestled inside is a Citibank card, its surface gleaming with a striking platinum K that seems to whisper secrets of untold wealth and power.
Morton explains it's the ultra-exclusive Citibank K card, limited to those with over a trillion in assets.
"Kevin, your grandfather believed in preparing for the future, not flaunting wealth," Morton explains.
"But why am I only finding out about this now?" I ask, my voice a mix of frustration and awe.
"He wanted you to understand the responsibility that comes with it, not just the privilege," Morton replies, his tone gentle yet firm.