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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.
Helen Weber
She is Shane's adoptive mother who abandoned him due to financial constraints. She is cold, selfcentered, and heartless. Despite adopting Shane in infancy, Helen's poverty eventually led her to treat him as a stranger when they grew poorer. Her decision to send Shane away after finding someone else she desired demonstrates her prioritizing of her own interests over familial bonds. Her actions contribute significantly to Shane's struggles and eventual realization of his true heritage.
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 belittling of his background and lifestyle choices. She represents the societal pressures and expectations that Shane fought against.
I was an orphan, a poor one to be exact, and my life had been hard ever since I was young.
I didn't know my parents, but I had been adopted by Helen and Mark Weber when I was just an infant.
However, life took a turn for the worse when I turned eighteen and they found out they couldn't afford my upkeep anymore.
They sent me away to live on my own, stating that they had thought I would have a better life ahead since I was smart and all, but little did they know that I was nowhere near being smart.
I had just managed to pass my exams, and I didn't even know what I wanted to do with my life yet.
All I knew was that I needed to get a job to pay for my living expenses.
But it wasn't easy finding a job, especially in the state of the economy right now.
I had been walking around looking for a job all day, with no success whatsoever, when I bumped into her—Penelope, my girlfriend of three years.
She was with another man, someone who looked way richer than I was, and she was laughing with him, clinging onto him like he was her lifeline.
"Hey."
I said awkwardly when Penelope noticed me and her eyes landed on me.
She frowned immediately and got off the man she was clinging onto.
"What are you doing here?"
I stood there on the sidewalk, watching as her face morphed from shock to annoyance.
She straightened her designer dress and exchanged a look with the man beside her.
He was dressed in a suit that looked like it cost more than my entire wardrobe put together.
He extended his hand towards me, a smile on his face.
"Hi, I'm James Carlton. I'm the CEO of Carlton Industries."
His gold watch glinted in the sunlight as he shook my hand.
I couldn't help but notice how worn out my clothes were compared to his.
"Nice to meet you," I said, trying to sound confident.
But before I could shake his hand, Penelope cut in.
"Oh, he's just someone I used to know," she said dismissively.
Her words stung, especially since we had been together for three years.
James looked at me with a hint of curiosity, but Penelope quickly pulled him away.
"We should get going. We have a lunch reservation," she said, brushing past me without even a second glance. I watched as they walked away, their expensive perfumes lingering in the air.
I clenched my fists, feeling a mix of anger and hurt.
How could she just dismiss our relationship like that?
And who was this James guy anyway?
I stood there frozen on the crowded sidewalk, watching as Penelope's red dress disappeared into the upscale restaurant.
The sounds of the city surrounded me, but I couldn't move.
Strangers bumped into me, forcing me to step back against the cold stone wall of the building.
Through the large front window of the restaurant, I could see them being seated at a prime corner table.
Penelope laughed at something James said, smoothing her perfectly styled hair with one hand.
A waiter brought them champagne, and I watched as James reached across the table to touch Penelope's hand.
The same hand that I had held countless times during our struggling years together.
I clench my fists and force myself to step back from the window.
My worn sneakers scuff against the concrete sidewalk.
The restaurant's glass reflects my shabby appearance - a threadbare jacket, messy hair, and dark circles under my eyes.
A couple exits the restaurant, giving me suspicious looks as they pass.
I realize I must look like a stalker or a beggar lurking outside.
My phone buzzes in my pocket with an email notification.
I pull it out to see a job rejection from the interview I had yesterday.
I shuffle away from the restaurant, head down, when someone calls my name.
"Hey, wait up!"
It's Mike Chen, a guy I knew from high school.
He's wearing hospital scrubs and a white coat, so he must be a resident now.
He waves and jogs over to catch up with me.
"Wow, it's been ages," he says, his face lighting up with genuine recognition.
"How have you been?"
I'm about to brush him off when I notice his expression turn to concern as he takes in my appearance.
His eyes widen slightly at my disheveled state.
"Are you okay?"
I almost lie and say yes, but something about his kind face makes me hesitate.
"Want to grab a cup of coffee and catch up?" he asks before I can respond.
I almost refuse out of shame for my situation, but then I remember how Mike used to share his lunch with me when I couldn't afford cafeteria food in high school.
He was one of the few people who didn't judge me for being poor.
I nod silently and follow him to the corner café. We walk in silence until we reach the counter.
Mike orders us both large coffees without asking what I want.
The barista hands us our steaming cups, and Mike leads us to a small table by the window.
He doesn't ask any questions as we sit down.
After a few sips, Mike breaks the silence.
"You know, I always thought you and Penelope were meant to be," he says cautiously.
I look up from my coffee, surprised by his words.
I stare into my coffee cup, avoiding Mike's sympathetic gaze.
Memories of Penelope flood back - our first date at the cheap diner where she didn't mind splitting a burger, late nights studying together in my cramped apartment, her head resting on my lap as she fell asleep over textbooks.
The way she used to wear my old sweatshirt around campus, saying it was more comfortable than any of her designer clothes.
My fingers trace the rim of the cup, forcing a weak smile as I think about how all those moments meant nothing to her.
Mike shifts uncomfortably in his seat, clearly regretting bringing up the topic.
"Actually, there's something you should know," Mike says, lowering his voice.
I glance up, my curiosity piqued despite the ache in my chest.
"Penelope's been seeing James for months now; I overheard them at the hospital," he confesses, his eyes filled with an apology.
I force myself to look up from my untouched coffee, my fingers white-knuckled around the paper cup.
Mike's revelation still rings in my ears, but I can't bear to discuss it any further.
"How's residency treating you?" my voice comes out rougher than intended.
Mike hesitates, clearly caught off guard by my abrupt change of subject.
He clears his throat before speaking.
"It's been challenging. Long hours at the hospital and barely any sleep. Some days I don't even get a chance to shower."
He chuckles lightly, trying to ease the tension.
"I've seen some crazy cases already."
I focus intently on every mundane detail he shares - the difficult patients, the demanding attendings, the terrible coffee in the hospital cafeteria.
Mike's stories are a welcome distraction, but I can feel his eyes on me, gauging my reaction.
"Listen," he says, his tone shifting to something more serious, "if you ever need anything, just reach out, okay?"
I nod, grateful for the offer but unsure if I'll ever take him up on it.
The café's afternoon crowd begins to thin out as the sun dips lower outside.
I lean forward, my hands still trembling around the coffee cup.
Mike's patient silence and our shared history make the words tumble out before I can stop them.
"I miss her," I admit, my voice barely above a whisper.
"I miss her morning texts, her laugh when we walked in the park, the way she'd squeeze my hand three times to say 'I love you.'"
My voice cracks as I continue.
"She promised she'd stay by my side no matter what. Even when I got rejected from all those jobs."
Mike listens intently, his doctor's composure slipping for a moment as he takes in my confession.
I can see the pity in his eyes, but he doesn't interrupt.
I take a deep breath, trying to steady myself.
"I still check her social media every night," I confess, feeling a mix of shame and longing.
"Sometimes I wonder if she ever thinks about me too."
Mike nods sympathetically, his expression softening.
"It's okay to miss someone," he says gently.
"But maybe it's time to focus on yourself now."
Just then, a notification pops up on my phone, drawing both our attention.
It's Penelope's social media profile, updated with a new relationship status - "In a relationship with James."
I turn off my phone, the screen going dark as I finally let go.
After turning off my phone, I stare at my reflection in the café window.
The setting sun casts long shadows across the table, making it seem like we're the only ones left in the world.
Mike gets up to order us fresh coffee, leaving me alone with my thoughts.
I pull out my wallet from my back pocket - a worn leather one that Helen gave me on my sixteenth birthday.
It's seen better days, but I can't bring myself to replace it.
Inside, there's a crumpled business card for a local temp agency.
I've been meaning to call them for weeks, but I keep putting it off.
I don't want to admit defeat, not yet.
Mike returns with our coffees and notices me staring at the card.
"You should go there tomorrow," he says, his voice filled with encouragement.
"I can drive you there before my shift at the hospital."
My pride wants to refuse, but I think of Penelope's dismissive words and Helen's cold goodbye.
"Alright," I finally agree, my voice barely above a whisper.
"Maybe it's time I start over," I add, trying to muster some resolve.
Mike smiles, a genuine warmth in his eyes.
After saying our goodbyes, I trudge up the creaky stairs to my apartment.
The mailbox in the dim hallway catches my eye - there's an official-looking envelope wedged inside.
I tear it open while unlocking my door, scanning the formal letterhead.
The words blur together until I focus on the key phrases: "grandfather," "sole heir," and "substantial inheritance."
My hands tremble as I read the details.
Harold Weber, the reclusive tech billionaire I never knew was my grandfather, has left me his entire fortune.
I slump against the doorframe, trying to process the news.
Mike, noticing my stunned expression, asks, "What's wrong? You look like you've seen a ghost."
I hand him the letter, my voice shaky as I say, "Turns out I'm the heir to a fortune I never knew existed."
Mike reads the letter again, his eyes widening as the fluorescent hallway lights flicker above us.
The shadows dance across his stunned face, and I can't help but think of all the possibilities - buying my own company, a penthouse overlooking the city, revenge against those who wronged me.
His hand accidentally brushes mine as he points at the lawyer's contact information, and I pull away sharply.
The concerned expression on his face is too familiar, reminding me of our high school days when he pitied my poverty.
I fold the letter carefully and unlock my door, my voice barely above a whisper as I say, "I need some time alone to process this. Can we talk tomorrow?"
Mike nods, understanding in his eyes, as I close the door and step into a future I never imagined.
I stumble through the dark apartment, my hand outstretched in front of me until I find the worn couch.
The springs creak under my weight as I sink into the familiar dips in the cushions.
My eyes adjust slowly, tracing the outline of water stains on the ceiling - the same ones I counted during sleepless nights after Helen kicked me out.
The letter is still clutched in my hand, its crisp paper a foreign feel against my calloused fingers.
I hold it up in the dim light filtering through the blinds, covered in a thin layer of dust.
Each time I reread the words "sole heir" and the staggering amount, my breath catches.
I fold the letter and place it on the table, realizing that tomorrow, everything changes.
I pace my apartment all night, unable to sleep.
The letter burns a hole in my mind, the words echoing in my thoughts.
At 6 AM, I grab my phone and dial Mike's number.
He'll be up for his shift at the hospital soon.
The familiar rings echo through the phone as I stare at the letter on my coffee table, its official letterhead gleaming in the early morning light.
When he answers groggily, I ask him to meet me at Denny's before his shift.
My voice cracks as I explain that I need his help understanding the legal terms in the letter.
Mike's voice is still thick with sleep as he replies, "Sure, I'll be there in twenty. You sound like you haven't slept at all."
I let out a shaky laugh, trying to mask my anxiety. "Yeah, well, it's not every day you find out you're a billionaire."
There's a pause before Mike asks softly, "Are you sure this is what you want? Money changes everything."
I grab my worn jacket and the inheritance letter, my hands trembling as I lock my apartment door.
The early morning hallway feels different now - every crack in the walls, every flickering light reminds me of my past poverty.
Walking to Denny's, I clutch the letter in my pocket, its weight pressing against my leg with each step.
Through the diner's window, I spot Mike already seated in a booth, his medical scrubs visible under his coat as he checks his phone.
The familiar smell of coffee and pancakes hits me as I push open the door, but even this comfortable place feels strange now.
I slide into the cracked vinyl booth across from Mike, my fingers lingering on the envelope in my pocket before reluctantly passing it over.
The morning sunlight streams through the grimy window, illuminating the dark circles under Mike's eyes from his night shift.
A tired waitress approaches with coffee, her worn uniform mirroring the shabbiness of my own clothes.
Mike carefully unfolds the letter, his medical ID badge catching the light as he leans forward to read.
His eyes widen at the inheritance amount, and he sets down the letter to stare at me.
I stare at his hand touching mine on the sticky table, my throat tightening as he says softly, "We should celebrate tonight. Dinner, maybe some drinks?"
The waitress returns with pancakes I didn't order, courtesy of Mike as usual.
He's always been kind like that, but now it feels different - less like charity and more like genuine friendship.
I glance down at my threadbare jacket and worn shoes, a stark contrast to Mike's stable career as a doctor.
When he pulls out his phone to make dinner reservations at an upscale restaurant, I stop him.
Instead, I suggest meeting at his apartment - somewhere we can be alone without prying eyes.
I walk with Mike to the parking lot, both of us quiet after the heavy conversation.
The morning sun feels harsh on my face, and I squint as we approach his car.
For the first time, I notice the details I'd normally ignore - the shine of expensive cars, people's designer clothes, the quality of their watches.
Mike unlocks his modest sedan, the same one he's had since residency started.
When he offers me a ride home, I decline, needing time alone to think.
He hesitates before leaving, clearly worried about my state of mind.
I walk beside him to his car, the morning light beginning to dim.
Our shoulders brush, sending a shiver down my spine as we reach his car.
I watch as he fumbles with his keys, dropping them twice before managing to unlock the door.
The familiar scent of his cologne wafts over me as I bend to pick up the keys, our fingers touching briefly and sending electricity through my body.
Standing up, I notice how his medical scrubs accentuate his strong frame.
I lean against his car, watching the morning traffic pass by.
The letter in my pocket feels heavy, weighing me down.
I try to form the words, but they won't come.
When Mike opens his car door, I grab his arm instinctively.
We both freeze, surprised by my sudden movement.
My hand tightens around the familiar fabric of his scrubs as memories flood back - shared lunches, late-night study sessions, today's breakfast.
My voice comes out rough as I ask him to stay, to help me navigate this overwhelming change.
We sit at my kitchen table, the harsh fluorescent light overhead illuminating the papers spread out before us.
The documents list islands in the Caribbean, mega yachts in the Mediterranean, and penthouses in cities around the world.
My hands tremble as I lift the sleek blue Citibank card, its platinum W gleaming.
Mike leans closer, his shoulder pressing against mine as he reads the number - 450 googol dollars.
The figure seems impossible, more wealth than I can comprehend.
I lean back in my kitchen chair, hyper-aware of Mike's presence beside me.
The inheritance papers scatter across the table as his arm brushes mine while reaching for another document.
The familiar scent of his hospital soap mixed with coffee fills my senses.
When he turns to explain a legal term, our faces are inches apart.
His kind eyes meet mine, and my breath catches.
The kitchen's fluorescent light casts shadows across his concerned expression.
My pulse races as I notice the slight part of his lips.
I shift in my chair, moving closer to Mike until our shoulders press together.
The inheritance papers scatter as I turn to face him directly.
His eyes widen slightly at my proximity, but he doesn't pull away.
The kitchen's fluorescent light casts shadows across his face as I watch his expression.
My fingers brush against his hand resting on the table, and I feel his pulse quicken through his wrist.
The familiar scent of his hospital soap fills my senses as I lean in, my voice dropping to a whisper.
"Mike, I found out last night that my parents weren't who they said they were," I confess, my voice trembling.
He blinks, processing my words before asking softly, "What do you mean? Who were they then?"
I swallow hard, the truth finally spilling out, "They were part of a secret organization that amassed this fortune, and now it's all mine."
I stare at the scattered inheritance papers, my mind racing with the revelation I just shared.
Mike shifts closer, his leg pressing against mine under the table.
The kitchen's fluorescent light casts harsh shadows across his face, but his eyes remain soft and understanding.
My hands tremble as I try organizing the documents, dropping several pages.
Mike's fingers brush mine as he helps gather them, and suddenly he's facing me, our faces inches apart.
The familiar scent of his hospital soap fills my senses as his thumb traces my jawline.
I close my eyes, feeling the weight of the world shift as his lips meet mine.
I pull away from Mike's kiss as my phone buzzes on the kitchen table.
The screen glows with an unknown number and a Manhattan area code.
Mike's hand still rests on my shoulder as I answer hesitantly.
"Hello?"
A smooth voice greets me, "Good morning, Ms. Thompson. My name is Thomas Sterling from Sterling & Associates. I hope I'm not interrupting anything important."
I glance at Mike, whose expression turns worried.
"No, it's fine. What can I do for you?"
The lawyer clears his throat before continuing, "I've been informed that you've received the inheritance documents. Have you had a chance to review them?"
"Yes, I have," I reply, my eyes darting to the scattered papers between Mike and me.
"Excellent," the lawyer responds, his tone too cheerful for my liking.
"I'm calling to inform you that we've received word from our client that they're willing to make a generous offer to settle this matter immediately."
My stomach tightens at his words.
"What kind of offer?"
I ask cautiously.
Thomas Sterling's voice takes on a more serious tone, "They're prepared to offer you five million dollars in exchange for signing a confidentiality agreement and relinquishing any further claims."
Mike's eyes widen as he leans closer, whispering urgently, "That's a lot of money, but why are they so eager to keep this quiet?"
I cover the phone with my hand, my heart pounding as I reply, "Because whatever my parents were involved in, it's bigger than we thought."
I pace my kitchen while on speakerphone with Thomas, watching Mike frantically scribble notes on a piece of paper.
The lawyer's voice echoes through the room, "We've prepared a draft of the agreement. I can email it to you right away."
I nod, even though he can't see me, "That would be great. Thank you."
Thomas clears his throat, "Our client is eager to finalize this matter as soon as possible. Can you give me an answer by the end of the day?"
I catch Mike shaking his head no from the corner of my eye.
My voice remains steady as I respond, "I appreciate your urgency, but I need at least 24 hours to review the agreement with my advisors."
The lawyer sighs audibly, "Very well. I'll send over the documents immediately. Please let me know if you have any questions or concerns."
As we hang up, Mike looks at me with a mixture of confusion and concern.
"What do you think?"
I ask him, leaning against the counter.
He rubs his chin thoughtfully before replying, "It sounds like they're trying to buy your silence. But why?"
I shrug, feeling a knot in my stomach.
"I don't know, but I'm not going to make any decisions without knowing more."
Mike nods in agreement, "You're right. Let's take a closer look at that agreement and see what we can find out." The phone rings again, shrill and insistent.
I hesitate for a moment before answering it.
"Hello?"
Thomas Sterling's voice greets me once more, "Mr. Weber, I hope I'm not interrupting anything important."
"Not at all," I reply cautiously.
"I wanted to follow up on our previous conversation regarding the offer from our client," he says smoothly.
"Yes?"
I respond warily.
"Well, after further discussion with our client, they're willing to increase the offer to eight million dollars," he announces.
Mike's eyes go wide as he mouths "eight million" silently.
I grip the phone tighter, trying to keep my voice steady.
"That's very generous," I say finally.
"But I still need time to review the agreement with my advisors."
Thomas sighs audibly on the other end of the line.
"I understand your concerns, Mr. Weber. However, our client is eager to finalize this matter as soon as possible. They're willing to wait 24 hours for your decision."
I glance at Mike again, who shrugs uncertainly.
I lean forward over my kitchen table, pressing the speakerphone button harder.
"What exactly are they trying to hide with this offer?"
My question hangs in the air as Thomas goes silent.
Mike shifts closer, his shoulder against mine as we wait for the lawyer's response.
The lawyer clears his throat twice before speaking again, "Our client is simply following standard procedures to protect their interests. It's a generous offer, and I strongly advise you to consider it carefully."
I interrupt him before he can continue his rehearsed speech.
"Mr. Sterling, I appreciate your advice, but I need a straight answer. What exactly are they trying to hide?"
This time, Thomas's professional demeanor cracks.
"Mr. Weber, I strongly advise you to accept this generous offer and move on with your life."
I end the call by hanging up mid-sentence, my hands shaking with anger at his evasive answers.
Mike pulls his laptop out of his medical bag and sets it on my kitchen table while I grab my old phone.
We sit shoulder-to-shoulder, our legs touching as we dig through search results about Harold Weber and his tech empire.
When Mike finally finds an archived news article, he clicks on it.
The article is grainy, but the photo shows my grandfather standing with a group of scientists.
Mike squints at the screen, "Wait, isn't that Dr. Langston? The one who disappeared under mysterious circumstances?"
I nod slowly, feeling a chill run down my spine, "Yeah, and look at the date—this was taken just weeks before he vanished."
Mike leans back in his chair, eyes wide with realization, "This isn't just about money, is it? It's about what they were working on."
It's late at night, the only light coming from the dim overhead bulb in my kitchen.
Mike and I have been researching for hours, our eyes scanning documents and articles on his laptop screen.
The table is cluttered with empty coffee mugs and scattered papers.
I'm reading a news article about another scientist who disappeared under mysterious circumstances when my hands start to tremble.
Mike looks up from his own research, concern etched on his face, "What's wrong?"
I hand him the phone, unable to speak.
He scans the article, his brow furrowing as he reads.
Suddenly, he reaches across the table and takes my hand in his.
His touch is warm, comforting, as he steadies my shaking fingers against the cold phone screen.
"We'll figure this out together, no matter what," he whispers, his thumb gently stroking the palm of my hand. I freeze, suddenly aware of how close we are—our legs touching under the table, our faces inches apart in the dim light.
The tender gesture sends a shiver down my spine.