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MidReal Story
The Billionaire's Revenge
Scenario:Mace Kenmore 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. Shane inherited immense wealth from his grandfather, shocking everyone. He was the heir to the only multi Quadrillonare family 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, Mace will get revenge on those who treated him badly. Will he succeed?
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Mace Kenmore
He is an orphan who grew up in a foster home, struggling to survive. He is resilient, determined, and tough. Despite being labeled "dead" by the government due to his birth defect, he survived against all odds. His life took a turn when his former girlfriend left him for someone wealthier. However, his fortunes changed when he inherited a Quadrillion from his grandfather. Now wealthy beyond imagination, he seeks revenge on those who wronged him and becomes involved with a woman named Lila.
Eliza
She is Ryker’s wife and a former street kid like Mace and Ryker. She is strongwilled, compassionate, and protective. Her past involves surviving on the streets with her brother after their mother abandoned them. Eliza married Ryker at Mace’s urging and has been supporting him ever since. Her connection to Ryker links her directly to Mace’s past life on the streets, solidifying her role as part of the supportive network around him.
Lila
She is an unknown heiess to the Tsar dynasty from Russia. She is beautiful, curious, and enigmatic. Her parents died in a car accident when she was twelve months old, leaving her inheritance untouched. Shane found her on a plane and brought her to live with him and Mace. Lila's presence disrupts Mace's plans for revenge but forms a bond with him. Her connection to the wealthy Tsar family positions her as a potential ally or adversary.
I was born broke.
I was raised broke.
I went to jail broke.
I got out of jail broke.
And even when I finally found a job, I was still broke.
My girlfriend left me for a richer guy.
I was nothing but a poor, pathetic loser to everyone.
Even the government thought I was dead because of my birth defect.
Well, not anymore!
"You’re telling me that Shane, the bastard who adopted me, is dead?"
I asked the lawyer.
Shane was my adoptive brother and the only remaining member of the Kenmore family.
He was the reason I had been placed in the richest foster home in the country, even though I was just an orphan with no prospects.
"Well… he’s not exactly dead," the lawyer replied hesitantly.
"Then what?"
I snapped at him.
It was clear that he wasn’t telling me something, and I didn’t like it when people played games with me.
"I… uh… inherited everything from him," I said, my voice shaking slightly as I spoke.
The lawyer nodded at me, a small smile playing on his lips.
"Yes," he confirmed.
"And that means you now own a Quadrillion dollars."
A Quadrillion!
That kind of money didn’t even exist!
There was only one family in the entire world that had that kind of wealth, and they were known as the richest family in existence—the Quadrillonares!
I leaned back in the leather chair, my calloused hands gripping the armrests as the lawyer slid documents across the mahogany desk.
Through the floor-to-ceiling window behind him, the Manhattan skyline stretched endlessly, a glittering tapestry of steel and glass.
I couldn’t help but feel a sense of disbelief wash over me as I took in the view.
It was as if the city itself was mocking me, its grandeur a stark contrast to the poverty I had grown up with.
"Mr. Kenmore," the lawyer began, his voice smooth and polished.
"As you are aware, your brother Shane was a man of immense wealth and power. Upon his passing, he has left you his entire estate."
I swallowed hard, my throat tightening as I recalled Shane’s last words to me before I went to jail.
"You’ll never be anything more than a poor man," he had sneered.
And now, here I was, being told that I had inherited a fortune beyond my wildest dreams.
The lawyer continued to explain the details of my inheritance, and with each passing minute, my mind reeled at the sheer magnitude of what I had been left.
Properties spanning continents, corporations controlling industries that shaped the world, and bank accounts overflowing with more zeros than I could count.
It was almost too much to comprehend. The lawyer paused, allowing me to process the information he had just presented.
I could see the anticipation in his eyes as he awaited my response.
He knew that this was life-changing for me, and he was eager to see how I would react.
I looked down at the stack of documents on the desk before me, each one bearing my name and outlining a portion of my newfound wealth.
It was surreal, yet exhilarating all at once.
"Is there anything specific you’d like to know about your inheritance?" the lawyer asked, breaking the silence that had settled between us.
I hesitated for a moment before responding.
"There’s so much here… I’m not even sure where to begin," I admitted honestly.
The lawyer nodded understandingly, his expression sympathetic.
"I understand. It’s a lot to take in. Let me tell you about some of these properties," he said, pointing at some of the documents on the desk.
"This is your house in New York. This is your house in Los Angeles. And this is your house in London."
My eyes widened as I looked at each document carefully.
"These are all mine?"
I asked incredulously. The lawyer nodded again and smiled at me warmly.
"Yes," the lawyer confirmed, "and now, what will you do with it?"
My hands trembled slightly as I flipped through the stack of papers, each one revealing another astonishing asset.
Private islands scattered across the Caribbean, a fleet of mega yachts docked in Monaco, and liquid assets that made my head spin.
The lawyer leaned forward, pulling out a sleek black case from his briefcase.
He opened it, revealing a single Citibank card.
It was unlike any card I had ever seen before—jet black with gold trim and a platinum ‘K’ that caught the afternoon light.
"Four hundred quadrillion dollars," he said, his voice steady and serious.
I reached for the card, but my fingers froze midair.
The number echoed in my mind—four hundred quadrillion dollars.
It was incomprehensible.
I could buy entire countries with that kind of wealth.
I could fund scientific discoveries, eradicate diseases, or build cities from scratch.
The possibilities were endless. The lawyer cleared his throat softly, breaking the spell that had settled over me.
He extended the card once more, waiting for me to take it—the first tangible step into this new life of unimaginable wealth and power.
I took the card, feeling the weight of destiny shift in my hand.
Sitting in the back of my new Rolls Royce, I pull out my phone and scroll through my old contacts.
The names that pop up are those of kids I grew up with in the orphanage, kids who suffered alongside me and protected each other when no one else would.
Tommy, who shared his only sandwich with me on a day when I was so hungry I thought I would collapse.
Maria, who cleaned my wounds after I got into yet another fight with the bullies.
Jake, who taught me to read when no one else cared.
My thumbs hover over the keyboard as memories flood back.
The leather seat feels foreign against my worn jacket.
Through the tinted windows, I watch people hurry past, oblivious to what’s coming.
I type out two words and hit send to all of them: "It’s time."
I direct my driver to the run-down park in Queens where we spent our youth.
The rusty swings creak in the wind, and the cracked basketball court bears witness to countless games played until the streetlights came on.
Fifteen years have passed, but nothing has changed here.
The car comes to a stop, and I step out onto the familiar broken pavement.
My expensive shoes crunch on shards of broken glass and discarded dreams.
I scan the faces gathering near the graffiti-covered wall, their eyes wide with curiosity.
Tommy arrives first, still wearing his mechanic’s uniform stained with grease.
Maria follows closely, her nurse scrubs wrinkled from a long shift at the hospital.
Jake limps over from the bus stop, leaning heavily on his cane—a reminder of the accident that took his leg.
They stare at my car, disbelief etched on their faces.
I keep my distance, remembering how we used to huddle together for warmth on cold nights like this.
Tommy breaks the silence, his voice gruff but tinged with a hint of hope.
"What's going on, man? You finally hit the lottery or something?"
I chuckle softly, shaking my head as I pull the Citibank card from my pocket.
"No, Tommy, it's bigger than that. We're about to change everything."
I spread the worn city map across the hood of the Rolls Royce, weighing it down with stones gathered from the playground.
Red circles mark the places that made us who we are—the dumpster behind Joe's Deli where we scrounged for food, the abandoned warehouse we called home for a while, and the clinic that turned Jake away when he broke his leg.
Tommy traces the route with his oil-stained finger, his eyes following the path of our past.
Maria grips her hospital ID badge tightly, her knuckles white with tension.
Jake leans heavily on his cane, his gaze fixed on the warehouse's silhouette in the distance.
"We're buying these places," I explain, my voice steady.
"We're going to turn them into shelters for kids like us, clinics that won't turn anyone away."
Maria's eyes glisten with unshed tears as she whispers, "You mean... we're giving them the chance we never had?"
Tommy nods, a rare smile breaking through his tough exterior. "Damn right, we are. We're gonna rewrite the rules."
Jake chuckles, a sound filled with both disbelief and excitement. "Guess it's time to show the world what a bunch of orphans can do with four hundred quadrillion dollars."
I lean against the Rolls Royce's polished hood, tracing my finger along the map's worn creases to the spot marked "Joe's Deli."
"Still owned by the same guy," Tommy says, pointing to a photo of the deli owner, his face twisted in anger.
"He's the one who called the cops on us for digging through his trash."
Maria leans in closer, her voice filled with determination.
"Why buy just the deli? Let's buy the whole damn block."
Jake taps his cane against the concrete, his eyes scanning the map.
"I say we start with that clinic. They're already struggling financially. It won't take much to make them an offer they can't refuse."
I pull out my phone and dial a number, putting it on speaker as it rings.
A crisp voice answers, "Mr. Kenmore, what can I do for you?"
"My new lawyer," I explain to my friends.
"Mr. Johnson, please initiate acquisition proceedings for Joe's Deli and the clinic on 5th Street. We'll discuss details later."
The line goes silent for a moment before Mr. Johnson responds, "Very well, Mr. Smith. I'll begin negotiations immediately."
I end the call and open my banking app, typing in the amount: $1,000,000.
My friends watch in awe as I confirm the transfer with a single tap.
"It's done," I say, pocketing my phone.
"We start tomorrow."
While finalizing the plans with my friends around the Rolls Royce, a familiar figure emerges from the darkness of the park.
He's limping, his gait uneven as he approaches us.
I recognize him instantly—Carlos, the man who used to work maintenance for several slumlords in Queens.
He looks at the car, then at my new clothes, before his eyes settle on me.
His face breaks into a crooked smile, a mixture of surprise and curiosity.
"Well, well, well. Look who's back," Carlos says, extending a hand.
"What's with the fancy ride and suit? You hit it big or something?"
I shake his hand firmly, a mix of nostalgia and suspicion swirling inside me.
"Carlos, what are you doing here?"
He shrugs, his eyes darting between my friends and me.
"Just passing through. I still work for some of those slumlords. Keeping their buildings standing."
I study him closely, trying to gauge his intentions.
"And what exactly do you do for them now?"
Carlos leans against the car, crossing his arms over his chest.
"I keep records. Addresses, code violations, proof of tenant harassment. They think I'm just their maintenance guy, but I've been gathering evidence for years."
He pulls out a worn notebook from his pocket and flips it open.
"Everything is here. Names, dates, illegal activities."
My heart quickens as I scan the pages filled with handwritten notes and newspaper clippings.
This could be exactly what we need to accelerate our plans for neighborhood transformation.
"How much for this information?" Carlos looks at me with a hint of mischief in his eyes.
"Well, I was thinking... maybe we could come to some sort of arrangement."
I nod slowly, understanding the unspoken offer on the table.
"Tell you what," I say, reaching into my pocket and pulling out a stack of crisp hundred-dollar bills.
"This should cover it."
Carlos' eyes widen as he takes in the amount I'm offering.
"Damn, kid. You really did hit it big."
He hands over the notebook with a satisfied grin.
I sit on the hood of my Rolls Royce, flipping through Carlos's notebook while Maria explains her idea.
The detailed records of building code violations, tenant harassment, and illegal evictions could help us identify which properties to target first.
Tommy and Jake nod in agreement as Maria points out Carlos's fifteen years of experience in maintenance.
"He could be useful," she says, her voice filled with conviction.
"We should hire him."
I wave Carlos over from where he's standing awkwardly by the park bench.
"Carlos, you know this neighborhood better than anyone. We're looking to acquire properties and make a difference. Would you be interested in managing our acquisitions?"
Carlos' eyes widen, his mouth agape.
"Me? You want me to work for you?"
I nod, a smile tugging at my lips.
"Yes, and we'll pay you $250,000 a year."
Carlos grips the edge of the car to steady himself, his face pale.
"I... I can't believe it."
He pulls out his phone and dials a number before putting it on speaker.
A woman's voice answers, tinged with concern, "Carlos? Is everything okay?"
Carlos grins, his eyes shining with excitement. "Maria, you won't believe it. I just got offered a job that'll change our lives."
There's a pause on the other end before Maria's voice comes through, filled with disbelief and hope. "Are you serious? What kind of job?"
Carlos looks at me, then back at his phone. "Managing property acquisitions for some old friends who are turning this place around."
I nod encouragingly as he continues, his voice steady. "And they're paying me more than I ever dreamed of."
The woman on the phone lets out a small gasp. "Oh my God, Carlos. This is incredible."
Carlos laughs, a sound of pure joy. "I know, right? We're finally getting out of this mess."
I direct my driver to take us all to Giuseppe's, the Italian place I'd walk past for years, dreaming of eating there.
Carlos hesitates, glancing down at his worn work clothes.
"I don't know if this is the right place for me," he says, his voice laced with uncertainty.
I pat him on the back, reassuring him.
"Nonsense. This is a celebration. We're all going."
The maître d' looks at our mismatched group suspiciously as we enter.
He eyes Carlos' worn clothes and Maria's nurse's scrubs before his gaze settles on me.
"Can I help you?" he asks, his tone dismissive.
I flash him my black Citibank card, and his demeanor instantly changes.
"Right this way, sir," he says, leading us to the best table in the house—a cozy leather booth overlooking Manhattan's skyline through a floor-to-ceiling window.
Tommy lets out a low whistle as he takes in the crystal chandeliers and fine china.
Maria smooths her scrubs self-consciously, while Jake props his cane against the wall before sliding into the booth.
Carlos pulls out his phone again, dialing his wife's number to invite her to join us. A waiter approaches our table, his expression polite but guarded.
"What can I get you tonight?"
I smile warmly at him.
"Champagne for everyone," I say, catching the waiter off guard with my request.
He nods quickly and disappears into the kitchen.
A few minutes later, he returns with a bottle of champagne and delicate flutes for each of us.
Standing at our corner booth, I grip the delicate champagne flute, still unused to such luxury.
The waiter carefully pours Dom Perignon for everyone before retreating to the kitchen.
Carlos' wife Maria rushes in, still wearing her housekeeping uniform.
She hugs her husband tightly, tears in her eyes.
Tommy helps Jake adjust his position so his bad leg is more comfortable.
Nurse Maria straightens her scrubs self-consciously, her eyes darting around the restaurant.
The maître d' hovers nearby, clearly uncomfortable with our working-class appearance but saying nothing due to my black card on the table.
Carlos raises his glass, his voice filled with emotion.
"To new beginnings and old friends," he says, his eyes glistening.
Maria wipes a tear from her cheek, nodding in agreement. "And to finally having a chance to make things right."
I raise my own glass, studying the faces around the table.
Tommy's mechanic hands grip his crystal stem awkwardly.
Nurse Maria keeps smoothing her wrinkled scrubs.
Jake rests his bad leg under the table, his eyes fixed on the view outside.
Carlos and his wife lean into each other, still processing their new reality.
The Dom Perignon sparkles under the chandelier as I stand a little taller, commanding attention.
My voice carries across the table, echoing in the quiet restaurant: "Here's to many more nights like this."
Carlos looks around the table, his voice soft but determined. "And here's to making sure no one else has to go through what we did."
Jake nods, his eyes serious. "We'll make it happen, Carlos. Together."
I pull out my phone and search for luxury properties in Manhattan.
Turning the screen towards my friends, I show them images of a massive penthouse overlooking Central Park.
The 20,000-square-foot space spans three floors, with enough rooms for each of us and a sprawling view of the city.
Tommy lets out a low whistle at the $95 million price tag.
But before he can say anything, I'm already on the phone with my lawyer, making an offer on the spot.
We wait in silence as I speak to him, our anticipation palpable.
Finally, I hang up and turn to my friends with a smile: "It's ours."
Carlos pulls out a napkin and starts sketching a rough floor plan of the penthouse.
He marks off areas for each of us, including a large space for our mission control center.
His wife leans over his shoulder, her voice filled with excitement.
"We could use the lowest floor as a command center," she suggests.
"Track all our property acquisitions and investments from there." Jake nods, his eyes scanning the floor plan.
"And we'll need elevator access for my leg," he adds.
Nurse Maria starts listing off medical supplies we'll need to stock up on.
I lead everyone through the penthouse, pointing out the different rooms and features.
We finally reach the tech room, where stacks of equipment are waiting to be distributed.
Opening sleek metal cases, I hand out encrypted smartphones and radios to each person.
Carlos examines the military-grade radio while his wife tests the new phone's features.
Jake sits at one of the high-end computer stations, marveling at the 8K monitors as technicians install our private server rack.
Tommy helps the IT team run fiber optic cables through the walls for our secure network.
Maria configures the computers in the medical wing, ensuring they connect to our private cloud.
I watch as she works, impressed by her efficiency.
I lead our group up to the penthouse's rooftop terrace, where the Manhattan skyline stretches out before us in the evening light.
Carlos helps Jake navigate the stairs while Tommy carries a case of champagne.
Maria and her sister-in-law arrange glasses on a marble table.
The city below is alive with lights, but I can't help remembering nights spent sleeping in alleys, watching these same towers mock us with their wealth.
I pop the first bottle, the cork sailing over the edge of the building.
As I pour, Jake pulls out his phone to show me breaking news about our property acquisitions downtown.
The headline reads: "Anonymous Group's Bold Move Shakes Up Manhattan Real Estate."
Standing on the rooftop terrace, I raise my glass of champagne while the city lights glitter below us.
Jake shifts his weight off his bad leg, leaning against the glass railing.
Tommy pours more drinks while Maria and Carlos's wife huddle together against the evening chill.
Carlos checks his phone, showing me another news alert about our property acquisitions.
The champagne fizzes in our glasses as I clear my throat.
"To changing this city," I say, thinking of the dumpsters and alleys where we once slept.
Standing at the penthouse's marble bar, I pour aged whiskey into crystal glasses while my friends gather around.
Carlos adjusts financial reports on his tablet, showing our recent acquisitions.
His wife organizes property documents on the counter.
Jake settles onto a leather barstool, massaging his bad leg after a long day of coordinating logistics.
Tommy and Maria return from inspecting the medical wing's installation progress.
I distribute the drinks, feeling the weight of our shared history as I lift my glass.
"To our next big venture," I declare, watching determination spark in their eyes as they raise their glasses.
Carlos leans in, his voice low but urgent.
"Have you told them about the other investors yet?"
I hesitate, glancing at the others before replying, "Not yet, but they need to know we aren't doing this alone."
I motion for everyone to take a seat on the leather couches in our penthouse lounge, where floor-to-ceiling windows frame the city lights.
Jake hobbles over, leaning on his cane, while Carlos helps his wife settle into an armchair.
Tommy and Maria sit across from me, their faces tense with anticipation.
I pull up a secure folder on my tablet, displaying profiles of our three major investors.
They're tech billionaires and old-money families who've pledged their support to our cause.
As I explain their involvement, Maria's eyes narrow with concern.
Tommy leans forward, studying the faces on screen.
Before I can finish, Jake interrupts, demanding to know why I kept this secret.
I stand at the penthouse window, watching their reflections as they process the news.
Taking a slow breath, I turn to face them and explain.
"These investors approached me shortly after I inherited my fortune," I say, remembering those early days of navigating the complexities of wealth.
"They wanted to help us transform this city, but they couldn't do it openly. They offered more than just money – resources, connections, and influence."
Jake frowns.
"Why keep it a secret?"
"Because if anyone knew they were involved," I reply, "it would have drawn attention to our plans in Queens. We needed to make our moves quietly, without speculation or interference."
Tommy leans forward, his eyes fixed on the tablet screen.
"So who are these people?"
I pull up detailed dossiers on each investor.
Their profiles reveal their motivations and stakes in transforming the city.
Maria's expression shifts from concern to curiosity as she reads through the files.
"They're not just rich," she says, glancing up at me.
"They have personal reasons for wanting change."
I nod.
"That's right. Each one has a connection to this city's struggles. They want to make a difference, but they can't do it alone."
Jake's voice cuts through the tension.
"What makes you think we can trust them?"
I meet his gaze steadily.
"I've done my research," I say, walking to the wall screen in our lounge.
I pull up surveillance footage of our investors' past charitable work.
The first video shows them secretly funding homeless shelters in Brooklyn.
The second reveals how they protected whistleblowers who exposed corporate corruption.
Jake watches intently from his leather chair, his cane tapping against the floor.
Tommy and Maria lean forward, studying the footage.
Carlos takes notes, while Maria gasps at the revelation of specific names and dates.
I pace the penthouse living room, my friends watching me with anxious anticipation.
The encrypted phone buzzes on the marble coffee table, and I quickly answer.
A familiar voice greets me, confirming that our investors want to meet face-to-face at our headquarters tomorrow morning.
Jake grips his cane tighter, while Maria wrings her hands in her nurse's scrubs.
I put the call on speaker, and the investor explains that they'll bring proof of their humanitarian work and detailed plans for our partnership.
Tommy whispers to Carlos about security concerns, but Carlos is already coordinating with our building's protection team.
I end the call and turn to my friends.
"We'll be ready," I assure them.
Carlos stands at the penthouse command center, directing our ex-military security team.
He speaks through the radio, guiding them to checkpoints throughout the building.
Snipers are positioned on adjacent rooftops, while guards are stationed at every entrance.
Carlos marks their locations on the digital blueprints of our building and surrounding structures.
The team sweeps each floor with detection equipment, checking for any hidden threats.
Additional cameras are installed, providing a 360-degree view of the area.
I watch Carlos work, impressed by his strategic mind and ability to adapt to any situation.
He's not only a skilled fighter but also a brilliant tactician.
I trust him with my life, and he's proven himself time and time again.
Once the security measures are in place, Carlos turns to me with a serious expression.
"Sir, it's time for you to get ready," he says, handing me a bulletproof vest.
I take it from him, feeling its weight in my hands.
"Is this necessary?"
I ask, though I already know the answer. Carlos nods solemnly.
"It's protocol. We can't take any chances."
I sigh, knowing he's right.
I slip on the vest under my suit jacket, feeling its bulk against my skin.
Just weeks ago, my biggest concern was affording dinner.
Now, I stand at the head of our penthouse conference table, watching my friends settle into their leather chairs for our late-night meeting.
Carlos passes out earpieces and panic buttons to each of us, while his wife, Maria, hands out detailed security protocols.
Jake reviews building blueprints on his tablet, marking emergency exits and potential entry points.
Tommy checks the weapons concealed under his jacket, and Maria organizes medical response kits in case of emergencies.
I tap the bulletproof vest under my suit jacket, reminding everyone to wear theirs tomorrow.
"Any updates?"
I ask Carlos.
He leans forward, his eyes locked on mine.
"We detected surveillance drones around the building earlier. They've since been taken down."
The room falls silent, tension thickening the air.
Maria breaks the silence, her voice steady but concerned.
"Do you think they're from the investors, or someone else?"
Carlos shakes his head, his expression unreadable.
"It's hard to say, but we can't rule out any possibilities yet."