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MidReal Story
The Billionaire's Revenge
Scenario:Shane Weber has led a hard broken 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-googolaire family in the world. He endures constant criticism and judgment from those around him. He vowed that those who labeled him a failure would eventually bow at his feet. 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, Shane will get revenge on those who mistreated him? Will he succeed?
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Shane Weber
He is a former orphan who was raised in foster care, discovering he is the heir to a multibillion dollar fortune. He is resilient, sarcastic, and determined. Shane faced immense poverty and hardship but never gave up. His life took a drastic turn when his adoptive parents kicked him out due to financial struggles. His exgirlfriend left him for someone richer. Despite criticism and judgment, Shane inherits the wealth, vowing revenge and social climb.
Grandfather
He is Shane’s wealthy grandfather who left him his entire estate. He is wise, secretive, and protective. Grandfather showed kindness to Shane by taking him in as a child and providing for his needs anonymously through gifts. Only revealing the extent of his generosity after his death, Grandfather’s actions ultimately changed Shane's fate from poverty to wealth, giving Shane the means to seek revenge on those who wronged him.
Penelope
She is Shane's exgirlfriend who left him for another man due to financial reasons. She is selfish, materialistic, and shallow. Penelope valued Shane only for his potential wealth, discarding him as soon as she found someone richer. Her relationship with Shane was marked by her constant criticism and desire for luxury, ultimately leading to their breakup and failure of their future plans.
I was an orphan, a poor boy with no one to care for me.
I had been raised in foster care, moving home to home until I was sixteen.
At that point, I was placed with a family who would eventually adopt me.
They were wealthy, and I thought my life was about to change for the better.
But it didn’t.
They treated me poorly, as if I was nothing more than a servant.
And eventually, when I turned seventeen, they kicked me out.
I was left with nothing: no money, no family, and no place to call home.
I had to fight every day to survive, to make it on my own.
It was hard, but I never gave up, always believing that my life would get better.
And then one day, it did.
My girlfriend left me for another man.
She had been the only good thing in my life, and now she was gone.
I was heartbroken, but I knew I couldn’t stop moving forward.
So I picked myself up and continued on, always believing that something better was just around the corner.
And then something amazing happened.
My girlfriend’s new boyfriend had a rich grandfather.
A multibillionaire—literally the only multi-billionaire in the world.
I sat in my cramped studio apartment, staring at the official-looking envelope on my coffee-stained table.
The return address read "Morton & Associates, Attorneys at Law."
My hands shook as I tore it open, pulling out a crisp sheet of letterhead paper.
I scanned the words, but they blurred together before my eyes.
"Substantial inheritance," "grandfather's estate," and "beneficiary" were the only phrases that stood out to me.
I dropped the letter on the floor and stumbled to my threadbare couch.
Memories flooded back into my mind.
The anonymous gifts that arrived on my birthday every year, the mysterious checks that helped me pay my rent when I was struggling to make ends meet.
I had never known who sent them, but now it all made sense.
The letter explained that my grandfather had been a wealthy man, and he had left behind a vast fortune for me to inherit. I grabbed my phone and stared at Penelope’s number, my fingers hovering over the call button.
But then I stopped myself.
What was I thinking?
She was gone, and there was no use dwelling on the past.
Instead, I carefully folded up the letter and placed it in my wallet.
I would have to think about what to do with this new information later.
I stared up at the gleaming glass tower of Morton & Associates, my worn boots scuffing against the polished marble steps.
The security guard eyed me warily as I approached the front desk, his gaze lingering on my thrift store clothes and rough hands.
"Can I help you?" he asked gruffly.
I pulled out the letter and handed it to him.
"I'm here to see someone about an inheritance," I explained.
The guard's demeanor changed instantly, his expression softening into one of deference.
"Of course, sir," he said, quickly pressing a button on his desk.
A moment later, a well-dressed man appeared at the front of the lobby, his eyes scanning the room until they landed on me.
"Mr. Harrison," the guard said, gesturing towards me.
"This is the gentleman you were expecting."
Harrison smiled warmly as he approached me, extending a manicured hand for me to shake.
"Welcome to Morton & Associates," he said, his voice dripping with sophistication.
"I'm Mr. Harrison, one of our senior partners. We've been expecting you."
He led me to a private elevator in the back of the lobby, which whisked us up to a luxurious conference room on one of the top floors.
The room was filled with expensive-looking artwork and plush leather chairs, and a large mahogany table dominated the center of the space. "Please, have a seat," Harrison said, gesturing towards one of the chairs.
I sank down into it gratefully, feeling the soft leather against my callused hands.
It was a strange sensation, one that I wasn't used to experiencing.
Harrison took a seat across from me and began spreading out documents across the table.
"These are all related to your grandfather's estate," he explained, pointing to various papers as he spoke.
"There are trusts set up in your name, as well as several assets that will be transferred to you once the paperwork is complete."
I listened intently as he spoke, trying to absorb as much information as possible.
But my mind kept wandering back to Penelope and her new boyfriend.
I couldn't believe that she had left me for someone else, especially someone who came from such a wealthy family. As Harrison continued to talk, I found myself growing more and more agitated.
My hands began to shake with anger, and I could feel my heart pounding in my chest.
I knew that I needed to calm down before things got out of hand, but I couldn't seem to control myself.
Mr. Harrison slides a thick stack of papers across the polished mahogany table, his gold cufflinks glinting in the fluorescent lighting overhead.
I force my trembling hands to steady as I pick up the gold-plated pen he offers me.
The first page details the main trust fund, billions in assets spread across global investments.
My eyes widen as I scan the figures, barely able to comprehend the sheer magnitude of the wealth being transferred to me.
My signature looks childish and uncertain on the dotted line, a stark contrast to the elegant calligraphy of the lawyers who have signed before me.
Page after page, I sign my name, barely registering the astronomical figures and legal terms that dance before my eyes.
Mr. Harrison explains each document patiently, but my attention wavers as I catch glimpses of myself in the window reflection.
My shabby clothes and rough features stand out starkly against the opulent backdrop of the conference room.
"Do you have any questions about the documents, Mr. Thompson?" Harrison asked, his voice calm and professional.
I hesitated, then blurted out, "Why now? Why did my grandfather wait until he was gone to reach out to me?"
Harrison paused, choosing his words carefully. "Your grandfather had his reasons, but he wanted you to know that you were never forgotten."
As he slides the last document across the table, his gaze lingers on me for a moment before he rises from his seat.
He walks to a large briefcase resting against the wall and pulls out a small, weathered envelope.
The paper is yellowed with age, and my name is written in elegant cursive across the front.
"Your grandfather left strict instructions to give you this after the inheritance papers were signed," he says softly, his voice tinged with a mix of sadness and reverence.
I take the envelope with trembling fingers, feeling the weight of history within its fragile confines.
Before I can open it, Harrison places a thick folder beside me.
"There's more," he says quietly, his eyes filled with a deep understanding.
"A separate trust worth twice what we just discussed."
Alone in the conference room, I carefully slide my finger under the seal of the envelope, preserving the delicate paper.
The letter inside is handwritten on thick stationery, dated mere weeks before my grandfather's passing.
As I unfold the pages, a small black and white photo falls out, showing my grandfather holding me as a baby.
We're both smiling, and for a moment, I'm transported back to a time when life was simpler.
My throat tightens as I begin to read his elegant script.
He writes about how he secretly watched over me throughout the years, always keeping a watchful eye from afar.
He reveals that he had prevented my wealthy parents from interfering in my life, knowing they would only bring harm.
He explains that he had orchestrated my adoption to keep me safe from their toxic influence and ensure I could grow up free from the burden of their expectations.
I look up from the letter, my voice barely a whisper. "He... he orchestrated my adoption?"
Harrison nods, his expression somber. "Yes, your grandfather believed it was the only way to protect you from their world."
"But why didn't he ever tell me?" I ask, my voice tinged with both anger and confusion.
"He thought it would be easier for you to find your own path without the weight of his legacy," Harrison replies gently.
I fold the letter and photo carefully, placing them in my worn wallet - the only item I possess that connects me to this surreal new reality.
Standing up from the leather chair, I ask Harrison if he can recommend a hotel where I can stay tonight.
I can't bear the thought of returning to my cramped studio apartment, not yet.
He suggests the Four Seasons and offers to have his assistant make the arrangements.
As I gather the inheritance documents, I pull out my phone and delete Penelope's number, along with the photos of my adoptive parents.
The weight of the papers in my hands feels like a shield against their betrayal.
I step into the hallway, leaving behind the life I once knew.
Harrison clears his throat and pulls out another leather portfolio from his briefcase.
My eyes widen as he explains there's a separate trust fund my grandfather established, accessible only after I proved I could manage the initial inheritance responsibly.
The documents inside reveal detailed investment strategies and quarterly disbursement schedules.
When Harrison mentions the trust's value is double my current inheritance, I grip the armrest to steady myself.
He slides the portfolio across the polished conference table, along with a golden key.
"This is for a private vault in a secure facility," he says, his voice filled with a mix of excitement and reverence.
I take the key, feeling its weight in my palm.
"Why didn't he ever mention this vault?" I ask, my voice a mix of awe and disbelief.
Harrison smiles faintly, his eyes reflecting a shared secret. "He wanted you to discover your own strength first, to realize you could stand on your own before revealing the full extent of his support."
"But what if I had failed?" I question, the thought of such a possibility sending a shiver down my spine.
"Your grandfather believed in you," Harrison says, his voice filled with conviction.
"The vault is located in the basement of this building, accessible through a secure elevator. It's a private room where you can store valuable items, important documents, and anything else you deem necessary."
I stare at the key in my palm, my mind racing with the possibilities.
What could be inside that vault?
More secrets?
Additional wealth?
Messages from my grandfather?
I look up at Harrison, who's watching me with a knowing smile.
"Do you want me to escort you there now?" he asks.
I hesitate, unsure if I'm ready to face whatever is inside that vault.
"No," I say finally.
"I need some time to process everything first."
Harrison nods understandingly and stands up from his seat.
"Very well," he says.
"The vault is always accessible. Just use the key whenever you're ready."
I carefully place the golden key in my wallet, next to the old photo of me and my grandfather.
I gather the leather portfolio of documents and stand up from the conference table.
"Thank you, Harrison," I say, extending my hand.
He shakes it firmly and smiles.
"Anytime, Mr. Weber. Don't hesitate to reach out if you have any questions or concerns."
I nod and walk towards the door, my heart pounding with anticipation and uncertainty.
As I step into the hallway, I make a mental note to visit the vault tomorrow morning. I want to face whatever is inside alone, without any distractions or interruptions.
I take a taxi back to my cramped studio apartment, clutching the leather portfolio tightly in my hands.
As I unlock the door, the familiar smell of mold wafts through the air, reminding me of where I came from.
I drop my bag onto the floor and spread out the inheritance documents across the wobbly kitchen table.
I study each page methodically, determined to understand every detail before visiting the vault tomorrow morning.
The golden key feels heavy in my palm as I practice turning it, imagining what I might find behind that secure door.
After hours of studying, I pack a small bag with a flashlight, a notebook, and the old photo of me and my grandfather.
Just as I'm about to zip the bag, my phone buzzes with a message from an unknown number.
"Are you ready for what you'll find in the vault?" it reads, sending a chill down my spine.
I quickly type back, "Who is this, and how do you know about the vault?"
There's no response, and I'm left staring at the screen with a mix of confusion and unease.
I push the mysterious message to the back of my mind and focus on memorizing the details of my inheritance.
The numbers are staggering - 200 googol dollars, private islands in the Caribbean and Mediterranean, a fleet of mega yachts, and countless properties around the world.
My hands tremble as I examine the blue Citibank card, its platinum W gleaming under the dim light of my apartment.
I organize the papers into neat stacks, marking important sections with sticky notes.
I sit at my cramped desk, staring at the golden key and the bank's contact information.
My fingers hover over my cracked phone screen before dialing Morton & Associates' number.
The late evening traffic noise filters through my thin apartment walls as I wait through several rings.
A receptionist answers, her voice smooth and professional.
"Good evening, Morton & Associates. How may I assist you?"
I clear my throat, trying to sound confident.
"Hello, I'm calling about a vault appointment."
"Of course, sir. May I have your name and account number, please?"
I hesitate for a moment before responding.
"My name is Shane Weber. I'm not sure about the account number."
There's a brief pause on the other end of the line.
"Mr. Weber, could you please hold for just a moment?"
I nod, even though she can't see me.
"Yes, of course."
The line goes silent for a few seconds before another voice comes on.
"Mr. Weber, this is the vault department. How may I assist you?"
"I'd like to schedule an appointment to access my vault," I say, my voice catching slightly.
"Tomorrow morning would be ideal."
There's another pause before she responds.
"Very well, Mr. Weber. We have an opening at 9 AM tomorrow morning. Would that work for you?"
"Yes, that's perfect," I reply, relieved.
"Great," she says.
"I'll send you a confirmation email with all the details. Please arrive 15 minutes prior to your appointment time." "Thank you," I say, hanging up the phone.
As I place it back on the desk, I notice that my hands are still trembling slightly.
I take a deep breath, knowing that tomorrow will change everything.
I pace around my studio apartment, trying to decide whether to tell anyone about the inheritance.
Finally, I pull out my phone and create a group chat with Brian, Jackson, and Lance - the only people who stuck by me through everything.
My hands tremble as I type out a message asking them to meet tomorrow after my vault appointment.
Brian responds first, his message filled with concern.
"Is everything okay?" he asks.
Jack, always the jokester, sends a laughing emoji.
"Did you win the lottery or something?"
Lance, ever the serious one, asks if I'm in trouble.
I don't reveal too much just yet, but assure them that I'm okay.
I wake up at 5 AM, unable to sleep from anticipation about the vault.
After a quick shower in my cramped bathroom, I put on my cleanest jeans and button-down shirt.
The golden key sits heavy in my pocket as I walk through the empty pre-dawn streets toward Morton & Associates.
The towering building looks different in the dim morning light - less intimidating, more approachable.
I find a coffee shop across the street and order a black coffee.
As I wait for my drink, I watch the early bank employees arrive.
A familiar voice interrupts my thoughts as I sip my coffee.
"Shane, is that you?" Brian asks, appearing beside me with a curious expression.
I nod, surprised to see him so early. "Yeah, I couldn't sleep," I admit.
I set my coffee down and study his face, noticing the dark circles under his eyes that match my own.
He slides into the chair across from me, still wearing his hospital scrubs from the night shift.
The familiar scent of antiseptic clings to him.
"Why are you here so early?" he asks, taking a sip of his coffee.
I repeat my earlier question.
"Why are you here?"
He shrugs.
"I saw your location on the tracking app and thought I'd check on you."
We set up the tracking app years ago when I was homeless and he worried about my safety.
It's been a long time since he used it to find me, but I appreciate his concern.
"Everything's fine," I assure him, pausing as I consider telling him everything right then and there.
The golden key presses against my leg through my pocket.
I sit in my favorite diner with Brian, Jackson, and Lance.
The vault's contents are still fresh in my mind, but I haven't found the right words to tell them yet.
The worn leather booth feels familiar against my back as I fidget with my coffee cup.
My friends exchange worried glances, waiting patiently for me to speak.
Brian still wears his hospital scrubs, while Jackson and Lance are dressed for their construction jobs.
The inheritance documents and vault key press against my leg through my jacket pocket.
When Lance finally asks what's wrong, I pull out my grandfather's photo and place it on the table.