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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 one.
I was seventeen when my adoptive parents kicked me out, telling me they couldn’t afford to keep me.
They were rich, but they wanted to buy a yacht, and I was just in the way.
They were the ones who’d told child services that they couldn’t afford to keep me, and I was thrown back into the system.
It didn’t matter that I was a good student, that I worked hard.
It didn’t matter that I’d been promised a future with them, that I’d been told I was their child, just as much as their biological daughter was.
None of that mattered.
I had no one.
I ended up in foster care until I turned eighteen and went out on my own.
I worked multiple jobs, did whatever it took to survive.
And then I met her.
Penelope was beautiful, gorgeous, stunning.
She was smart and funny and charming.
I thought I fell in love with her the minute I saw her.
She loved luxury, expensive things, and I didn’t have much money, but she said it didn’t matter.
She said she loved me for who I was, not for what I could buy her.
I believed her.
For a year, we were happy.
We were planning a wedding.
I sit across from her at our usual coffee shop, watching her stir her latte with a spoon.
She hasn’t taken a sip yet, but I know she’ll finish the whole thing before we’re done here.
She’s wearing the diamond tennis bracelet that her new man bought her, and it catches the afternoon light as she moves her hand.
She won’t meet my eyes as she tells me how Marcus can give her things that I can’t, how he can give her the life she deserves.
Luxury cars, beach houses, shopping sprees.
She doesn’t mention the fact that I worked three overtime shifts to buy her that perfume she’s been wanting for months.
She slides the engagement ring across the table to me, and I stare at it.
It’s a small diamond, not nearly as big as the one on her left hand now, but it was perfect to me.
It was everything I could afford, everything I’d saved up for.
It looks tiny and insignificant next to the massive rock that Marcus gave her. "I’m sorry," she says again, standing up and smoothing down her designer skirt.
"I really am."
Her heels click on the floor as she walks away from me, out of my life forever.
My fingers close around the small diamond ring, its metal still warm from her hand.
The coffee shop is loud and busy around me, but I barely hear any of it.
I stare at her half-empty latte, remembering how I saved up my tips for months to buy us this weekly coffee date.
The barista who knows our usual order catches my eye from behind the counter, and I see the sympathy in his expression.
I stand up, leaving both cups on the table, and walk to the door.
Outside, I pull out my phone and delete her contact information, delete all of our photos together, delete every trace of the last two years.
I walk into Goldsmith Jewelers, the same place where I bought the ring six months ago.
The saleswoman recognizes me, and her smile turns sympathetic as she sees the ring in my hand.
I place it on the counter, and she looks at me with pity as I tell her I want to sell it back to her.
She takes out her loupe and examines the ring, typing something into the computer.
"Two thousand dollars," she says, and I nod.
It’s less than half of what I paid for it, but I don’t care.
She counts out the cash while I look at a travel magazine that someone left on the counter.
There’s a picture of a resort in Bali, white sand beaches and crystal waters.
Luxury villas and private pools.
I push open the glass door of Wanderlust Travel, the crisp bills from the ring sale still warm in my pocket.
The agency’s walls are plastered with exotic destinations - white sand beaches, crystal-clear waters, overwater bungalows that look like they belong in a fantasy novel.
All of them are places I can’t usually afford, even with all of my tips and overtime shifts.
A middle-aged woman in a navy blazer sits at a desk near the back of the office.
She looks up as I enter, her practiced smile faltering for a second as she takes in my worn jeans and faded t-shirt.
"Can I help you?" she asks, her voice smooth as silk.
I walk toward her desk, ignoring the way she looks me up and down like I don’t belong here.
When I reach her desk, I pull out the stack of bills from my pocket and place them on the desk in front of her. "I want a one-way ticket to Bali," I say, looking into her eyes.
She raises an eyebrow, glancing at the cash. "Planning a spontaneous adventure, are we?"
I nod, feeling a strange mix of freedom and uncertainty. "Yeah, I think it's time for a change."
Her smile softens, and she taps a few keys on her computer. "Well, let's get you started on your new journey."
The travel agent's fingers dance across her keyboard, her eyes scanning the screen as she searches for flights.
At first, her expression is dismissive, like she’s expecting to find nothing within my budget.
But then something catches her attention, and her eyes light up.
"Actually, Mr. Weber," she says, turning to me with a smile, "we have an incredible promotion for the Amara Luxury Resort in Bali. Their overwater villas are available at fifty percent off."
She turns her monitor so I can see the images on the screen.
They’re pictures of glass-floor bedrooms suspended above turquoise waters, with private decks and stairs leading down into the ocean.
It looks like paradise.
"How much?"
I ask, my heart pounding in my chest.
The agent checks the price and names a figure that exactly matches the amount of money I got from selling Penelope’s ring.
I feel a strange sense of destiny, like this is meant to be. "That includes butler service, a private infinity pool, and all meals," she explains.
"It's an incredible deal."
I know that Marcus must have promised Penelope these luxuries when he asked her to marry him.
It’s exactly what I couldn’t give her - the kind of life she always dreamed of having.
I hand over the crumpled bills from the jewelry store, watching as the agent counts each one carefully.
She types some more, then pauses and looks at me with a surprised expression.
"There’s been a last-minute cancellation in first class," she says.
"The airline is offering complimentary upgrades to fill the empty seats."
She prints out a new ticket and hands it to me.
Suite 1A, it reads.
I stare at the ticket in disbelief as she explains the amenities.
A fully reclining bed, gourmet meals, fine wines, and a private cabin with a personal entertainment system.
It’s a whole different world from the cramped economy seats I was expecting.
"What’s the catch?"
I ask her, still staring at the ticket in my hand.
She shrugs.
"Sometimes luck changes."
I feel a smile form on my face, genuine and warm.
It’s the first time I’ve felt like this all day.
"Well, Mr. Weber," she says, leaning back in her chair, "sometimes the universe just decides to give you a break."
I chuckle, shaking my head in disbelief. "I guess it's about time it did."
She nods, her eyes twinkling with a hint of conspiracy. "Maybe it's a sign that you're on the right path."
I walk down the jet bridge, clutching my carry-on bag in one hand and my ticket in the other.
The flight attendant at the entrance greets me with a smile, checking my ticket before gesturing for me to go left toward first class.
As I enter the cabin, I'm struck by the soft lighting and the plush leather seats.
It feels like a different world from the cramped economy flights I've taken before.
The air is thick with the scent of luxury, and I can't help but feel a little out of place.
I find Suite 1A and pause for a moment, running my fingers over the polished wood trim.
Another attendant appears, offering me a glass of champagne and addressing me as "sir."
I sink into the wide seat, which is larger than the armchair in my old apartment.
As passengers in designer clothes file past, I watch them with a mixture of curiosity and envy.
A man in a tailored suit stops beside my seat, raising an eyebrow. "First time in first class?" he asks with a knowing smile.
I nod, feeling a bit sheepish. "Yeah, just got lucky with an upgrade."
He chuckles, settling into the seat across from me. "Well, enjoy it. Sometimes life throws you a bone when you least expect it."
I step off the plane, the humid air enveloping me like a warm embrace.
The sounds of the airport buzz around me - the chatter of travelers, the hum of machinery, and the distant wail of a siren.
I make my way through customs, my heart pounding in my chest as I wait for my luggage at baggage claim.
The first-class flight was surreal - the luxurious amenities, the attentive service, and the sense of being in a different world.
It felt like a dream, a fleeting glimpse into a life I could never afford.
As I wait for my bag to appear on the conveyor belt, I notice a man standing by the exit.
He's dressed in a crisp suit and holds a sign with my name printed on it in bold letters.
"Mr. Weber?" he asks, approaching me with a polite smile.
I nod, still trying to process what's happening.
"I'm Mr. Chen," he explains, holding out his hand for me to shake.
"I represent Goldstein & Associates Law Firm."
I take his hand, feeling a bit dazed.
"Can I help you?"
He hands me a thick envelope.
"This is for you," he says, his eyes serious.
"It contains some important information regarding your grandfather's estate."
I take the envelope, my heart racing in my chest. "My grandfather?"
I ask, feeling confused.
"I don't remember him ever mentioning me in his will."
Mr. Chen nods sympathetically.
"It's complicated," he says.
"But rest assured that everything has been taken care of. You just need to read the letter and follow the instructions."
I nod, feeling overwhelmed by the sudden turn of events.
"Thank you," I say, clutching the envelope tightly in my hand.
Mr. Chen smiles again and turns to leave.
"Good luck, Mr. Weber," he says over his shoulder as he disappears into the crowd.
I watch him go, feeling like I've just stepped into a different world.
A world where anything is possible, and nothing makes sense. I open the envelope and pull out the letter inside.
It's written on expensive-looking paper and bears the logo of Goldstein & Associates Law Firm at the top.
I unfold it carefully and begin to read:
Dear Mr. Weber,
We regret to inform you that your grandfather has passed away on September 10th, 2023, due to natural causes at the age of 85 years old.
I sit down on a bench in the bustling airport terminal, my hands shaking as I unfold the crisp legal documents.
The letter's formal letterhead reads "Goldstein & Associates" in embossed gold text.
Other travelers rush past me, their footsteps echoing off the walls as I scan the dense paragraphs.
My eyes catch phrases like "sole heir" and "extensive holdings," but it's all just a blur.
A photo falls from between the pages, landing on my lap.
It's an elderly man in an expensive suit, his eyes familiar even though I've never met him before.
I look up at the airport window, catching my reflection in the glass.
Our eyes are the same - a deep shade of brown that seems to hold a thousand secrets.
My grandfather's signature stretches across the bottom of the last page, followed by an astronomical sum that makes my vision blur.
I clutch the papers against my chest, scanning the terminal for the exit signs.
My backpack feels heavier now, weighed down by more than just clothes and memories.
Travelers in business attire brush past me as I weave through the crowd, their designer luggage a stark contrast to my scuffed suitcase.
At the sliding glass doors, I pause, watching yellow taxis line up outside.
The humid Bali air hits me like a wall as I step out into the bright sunlight.
I raise my hand to flag down a cab, and a driver jumps out, reaching for my bag.
"Where to, sir?" the driver asks, his accent thick but his smile genuine.
I hesitate, glancing back at the letter in my hand. "Do you know where Goldstein & Associates is located?"
The driver nods, loading my suitcase into the trunk. "Yes, sir. It's not far from here. I'll take you there right away."
I grip the leather seats of the taxi, watching the city blur by through the tinted windows.
The driver navigates narrow roads lined with temples and modern buildings, pointing out local landmarks in broken English.
My hands tremble as I review the papers again, the numbers still incomprehensible.
The law firm's address feels like a finish line - the moment my new reality becomes official.
When we turn onto a tree-lined avenue of gleaming skyscrapers, I spot Goldstein & Associates' logo on the tallest building.
The driver pulls up to the entrance, and I step out, staring up at the imposing structure.
"Good luck in there," he says with a nod, sensing my apprehension.
I swallow hard, clutching the envelope tighter. "Thanks. I think I'm going to need it."
I pause at the base of the gleaming glass tower, watching my reflection distort in the curved revolving doors.
Two security guards in crisp uniforms flank the entrance, scrutinizing each visitor.
The stream of suits and briefcases flowing through the doors seems to swallow me whole, my worn jeans and backpack standing out like a sore thumb.
I pull out the inheritance papers, double-checking the address for what feels like the hundredth time.
A woman in stilettos gives me a sideways glance as she breezes past, her designer handbag swaying from her arm.
Straightening my shoulders and gripping the envelope tighter, I step forward.
The guard raises an eyebrow but nods as I show him Mr. Chen's business card.
With a deep breath, I step inside, ready to face the unknown.
I walk through the marble-floored lobby toward the sleek reception desk, my worn sneakers squeaking against the polished stone.
The receptionist, a young woman in a crisp white blouse, looks up from her computer screen and immediately wrinkles her nose at my appearance.
I clear my throat and maintain eye contact, refusing to be intimidated by her judgment.
"Good afternoon," I say, holding out the business card.
"I'm here to see Mr. Chen."
Her eyes flicker from the card to my disheveled state before she picks up her phone and dials a number.
I stand there awkwardly, feeling like an outsider amidst the gleaming modern decor.
After a brief conversation in rapid Indonesian, she hangs up and turns to me once more.
Her expression remains skeptical as she types something into her computer.
A printer whirs to life beside her desk, spitting out a visitor badge that she hands to me with a tight smile.
"Forty-second floor," she says curtly, already turning back to her screen.
I nod, affixing the badge to my shirt.
As I head toward the elevators, a voice calls out behind me, "Wait, are you here about the Chen estate?"
I turn to see a man in a tailored suit approaching, his eyes sharp with curiosity.
"Follow me," he says, leading me to a private elevator tucked away in a corner.
I notice the way his polished shoes click against the floor, a stark contrast to my scuffed sneakers.
He swipes a keycard and presses the button for the forty-second floor.
"Mr. Chen is eager to meet you," he explains, his tone professional but with a hint of intrigue.
As the doors close, I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirrored walls of the elevator.
My reflection stares back at me from multiple angles - the wrinkled t-shirt, the messy hair that's seen better days, and the worn backpack slung over my shoulder.
I look like I've been through a storm, not like someone about to inherit a fortune.
The assistant clears his throat, breaking my self-conscious reverie.
"So, you're related to Mr. Chen?"
His voice carries a note of curiosity as he studies me in the reflection.
I nod, unsure how much to reveal.
"Yes, he was my grandfather."
The words feel foreign on my lips, as if I'm still trying to process this new reality myself.
The assistant nods thoughtfully, his eyes never leaving mine in the mirror.
"I see," he murmurs, his expression unreadable.
The elevator climbs smoothly upward, each floor number ticking by like a countdown to my new life. At floor thirty-eight, the assistant straightens his tie and turns to face me directly.
"Prepare yourself," he says with an enigmatic smile.
"There's more to this meeting than just the inheritance."
I raise an eyebrow, trying to gauge his meaning.
"What do you mean?"
He doesn't answer, simply gestures for me to follow him as the doors open.
We step out into a spacious corner office with floor-to-ceiling windows that offer a breathtaking view of the coastline.
The room is filled with the scent of fresh coffee and the distant hum of traffic.
Mr. Chen, an older man with a kind face and sharp eyes, rises from behind his mahogany desk to greet me.
"Welcome," he says, extending a hand.
"I've been expecting you."
I shake his hand, feeling a mix of nerves and anticipation.
"Thank you for seeing me," I reply, my voice steady despite the butterflies in my stomach.
He motions for me to take a seat across from him, and I comply, trying to appear more confident than I feel.
"So," he begins, leaning back in his chair, "let's get down to business."
He slides a stack of documents across the desk toward me.
"These are the details of your grandfather's estate."
I take the papers and begin flipping through them, my eyes widening as I see the extent of his holdings.
Private islands in the Pacific.
A fleet of mega yachts docked in Monaco.
Penthouses in every major city around the world.
The numbers blur together on the page until I have to grip the leather armrests of my chair to steady myself. "It's... quite extensive," I manage to say, my voice barely above a whisper.
Mr. Chen nods sympathetically.
"Yes, your grandfather was a very successful man."
I swallow hard, trying to process it all.
"And what's the total value?"
I ask finally, my voice shaking slightly.
Mr. Chen pulls out one final document and hands it to me.
"This is your grandfather's bank statement," he explains.
"The total value of his assets is listed at the bottom."
I take the paper and scan it quickly, my eyes widening as I see the figure at the bottom of the page.
It has more zeros than I can count.
I look up at Mr. Chen in shock.
"This can't be right," I stammer.
He smiles kindly at me.
"I assure you, it is."
"But there's something else you need to know," Mr. Chen continues, his tone shifting to one of gravity.
I look up from the papers, my heart pounding. "What is it?"
He leans forward, his eyes locking onto mine. "Your grandfather left a condition in his will—before you can claim any of this, you must complete a task he set out for you."
I sit across from Mr. Chen in his corner office, the city skyline stretching behind him like a canvas of steel and glass.
He leans forward, his eyes locking onto mine with a serious intensity.
"Your grandfather left you a letter in his will," he says, sliding an envelope across the polished mahogany desk toward me.
I hesitate for a moment before picking it up, feeling the weight of its contents.
The paper is thick and embossed with my grandfather's crest—a symbol I've only recently come to recognize.
Slowly, I open the envelope and pull out the letter, unfolding it with a mix of trepidation and curiosity.
The handwriting is familiar yet foreign, a reflection of the man I never really knew.
As I begin to read, each sentence reveals more about my grandfather's life and his reasons for choosing me as his heir.
The words dance across the page, telling a story of love, loss, and legacy.
I feel my heart swell with emotion as I read on, discovering pieces of myself in the lines.
When I finally finish, I set the letter down on the desk, folding it back into its envelope.
Mr. Chen watches me closely, his expression a blend of empathy and expectation.
"Well?" he prompts gently.
I take a deep breath, meeting his gaze. "He wants me to find something," I say slowly, the enormity of the task dawning on me.
Mr. Chen nods, reaching into his desk drawer to pull out a sleek black folder.
He slides it across the desk toward me, and I open it, revealing a series of photographs.
The images depict an old mansion in rural Indonesia, its stone walls covered in vines and moss.
The windows are boarded up, and the once-grand entrance is now hidden behind overgrown foliage.
"This was your grandfather's first home," Mr. Chen explains, his voice filled with a mix of nostalgia and reverence.
"It's been abandoned for decades."
I flip through the photos, taking in the details of the decaying structure.
In one image, I see a study with dusty books lining the shelves and a large portrait hanging above the fireplace.
The subject of the portrait is my grandfather, his eyes seeming to follow me as I move.
Another photo shows a small safe in the corner of the room, partially hidden by a tattered curtain.
"That's where you'll find what your grandfather left for you," Mr. Chen says, pointing to the safe.
"But be warned, it won't be easy to access."
I look up at him, determination etched on my face.
"I'll find a way," I say firmly.
Mr. Chen nods, a hint of a smile playing on his lips.
"I have no doubt you will."
He pauses, then adds, "But there's something else you should know."
I lean in, sensing the gravity of his words.
"You're not the only one searching for it."
I leave Mr. Chen's office with a thick manila folder in my hands.
It contains detailed maps of the mansion grounds, old photographs, and cryptic notes from my grandfather about the safe's location.
As I step into the elevator, I pull out my phone and check my bank account for what feels like the hundredth time.
The numbers haven't changed - just enough to book a basic flight back to Indonesia and maybe a night or two at a cheap motel.
The receptionist who dismissed me earlier now offers to help book my travel arrangements, but I decline, remembering how she treated me earlier.
Instead, I step outside the building and call the same taxi driver who brought me here earlier.
He agrees to drive me to the airport for a reasonable price.
As we make our way through the city traffic, I open the folder and begin studying the blueprints of the mansion.
The driver glances at me through the rearview mirror, curiosity evident in his eyes.
"Looks like you've got quite the adventure ahead of you," he remarks with a knowing smile.
I nod, tracing a finger over the faded lines on the map. "Yeah, and apparently I'm not the only one on this treasure hunt."