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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.
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 past struggles. She represents the societal pressures and expectations that Shane fought against.
Unnamed Adoptive Parents
They are Shane's adoptive parents who kicked him out when he was seventeen. They are cruel, selfcentered, and heartless. The parents viewed Shane as a means to an end, using his presence only for social status. Their rejection of Shane after inheriting the fortune highlights their true nature and lack of empathy for his past hardships.
I was an orphan, a poor one.
I didn't know my parents and had been raised in foster care.
That was until I turned eighteen and found out my real identity.
I was the grandson of one of the wealthiest families in the world.
It was only a year ago that my life changed for the worse, and now it was about to change again.
My girlfriend Penelope had just left me for another man.
He was richer than me, well at least so far.
"You're not worth it, Shane. I'm sorry but I'm leaving you for him," she said as she gathered her things.
I looked at her with no emotion on my face.
"You're not the first to leave me.
I'm sure there will be many more.
It doesn't bother me anymore," I told her in a flat tone.
It was a lie, though.
It did bother me.
It hurt every time someone pushed me aside like I was nothing but trash.
I had been kicked out of my foster home when I turned seventeen because they couldn't afford to keep me anymore.
They were getting paid to take care of me, but it wasn't enough to cover the cost of keeping me at home with them and their biological children.
I stood there in the middle of my empty apartment, staring at the door she had just slammed behind her.
Her perfume lingered in the air, mixing with the musty smell of the cardboard boxes she used to pack up her things.
My phone was heavy in my pocket.
I took slow steps to the kitchen counter where I had left it earlier.
On top of a stack of bills and junk mail sat a business card.
The gold-embossed name caught the light from the afternoon sun streaming through the window.
My fingers trembled slightly as I picked it up and dialed the number on the back.
One ring.
Two rings.
The familiar knot in my stomach tightened as I waited for someone to answer.
This call would change everything, and I wasn't sure if I was ready for it.
The gruff voice on the other end answered, "Harrison speaking."
"Mr. Harrison, it's Shane," I said, trying to keep my voice steady.
"Ah, Shane, I've been expecting your call," he replied with a hint of anticipation.
"What exactly do you want from me?" I asked, feeling the weight of his expectations pressing down on me.
Mr. Harrison's secretary patched me through immediately when I mentioned my name.
I paced the cramped living room of my apartment, stepping over the mess Penelope had left behind.
The springs of the threadbare couch creaked under my weight as I shifted from one foot to the other.
His voice came on the line, crisp and professional.
"Mr. Harrison speaking," he said, his tone detached yet expectant.
"Hello, Mr. Harrison. It's Shane," I replied, my voice steady despite the turmoil brewing inside me.
"Ah, yes. Shane. I've been expecting your call," he responded, his tone shifting from detachment to a hint of curiosity.
"I'm calling about the letter you sent me," I said, my words coming out in a rush.
"Yes, of course. The letter. Well, let's get down to business then," he said, his voice taking on a note of excitement.
"Can you confirm your identity for me?" he asked, his tone turning formal once again.
I hesitated for a moment before answering.
"Yes, of course. My name is Shane, and I was born on January 12th, 1995."
"Very good," he said, his voice filled with satisfaction.
"And can you tell me about your parents?" he asked, his tone turning gentle.
I took a deep breath before answering.
"My parents were John and Emily Wilson. They died in a car accident when I was just a baby."
"I see," he said, his voice filled with sympathy.
"And can you tell me about your childhood?" he asked, his tone turning curious once again. "I was raised in foster care," I replied, my voice steady despite the pain that still lingered in my heart.
"I see," he said again, his voice filled with understanding.
"Well, Shane, it seems that you are indeed who you say you are," he said finally, his tone filled with excitement.
"And what does that mean for me?" I asked, my voice filled with anticipation.
"It means that you have inherited a vast fortune from your grandfather," he replied, his voice filled with enthusiasm.
"A vast fortune?" I repeated, my voice barely above a whisper.
"Yes," he replied, his voice filled with excitement.
"You are now one of the wealthiest men in the world."
I sat down on the couch, the springs creaking under my weight as I tried to process what he had just told me.
"Shane, there's more to this than just money," Mr. Harrison continued, his voice taking on a serious tone.
"What do you mean?" I asked, my curiosity piqued despite the whirlwind of emotions inside me.
"Your grandfather's legacy comes with responsibilities and secrets that could change everything you thought you knew," he replied, leaving me with more questions than answers.
Sitting in my threadbare armchair, I gripped the phone tighter as Mr. Harrison's voice crackled through the speaker.
"Your grandfather, Richard Weber, built his empire through technological innovations in quantum computing," he explained.
"The old man left behind not just money, but a web of corporate holdings and research facilities pursuing breakthrough discoveries."
There was a pause on the other end of the line, as if Mr. Harrison was choosing his words carefully.
"There's something else you should know, Shane," he said finally.
"What is it?"
I asked, my curiosity piqued.
"There's a private lab in Switzerland conducting classified experiments," he revealed.
"Experiments that require your immediate oversight as the sole heir."
"What kind of experiments?"
I pressed, my voice laced with urgency.
Mr. Harrison hesitated before responding.
"This information must be discussed in person, Shane. I'll schedule a meeting at my downtown office for tomorrow morning."
I hung up the phone, knowing that tomorrow would be the beginning of a life I never imagined.
After hanging up, I grabbed my worn jacket and headed out the door.
I wasn't going to wait until tomorrow morning to get answers.
I was going to Mr. Harrison's office now.
The city bus crawled through the evening traffic, giving me time to rehearse the questions I would ask about my grandfather's empire.
Outside the gleaming Weber Corp building, security stopped me at the lobby desk.
"Can I help you?" one of them asked, eyeing me suspiciously.
"I'm here to see Mr. Harrison," I replied, trying to keep my voice steady.
The guard's expression changed instantly when I gave my name.
He quickly called up to Mr. Harrison's office and then escorted me to the elevator.
"Mr. Harrison is waiting for you on the 50th floor," he said as we stepped into the elevator.
The doors opened onto a sprawling office that took up half the level.
Through floor-to-ceiling windows, I could see the glittering lights of the city below.
Mr. Harrison sat at his desk, still working late into the night.
He looked up as I entered, a hint of a smile on his face.
"Welcome, Shane," he said, "let's uncover the truth behind your inheritance."
I sat across from him at his polished mahogany desk, my worn sneakers a stark contrast to the opulence of his office.
He slid a thick leather portfolio across the table towards me.
My hands trembled as I opened it, revealing stacks of property deeds and financial statements.
As I flipped through the pages, my eyes widened in disbelief.
There were private islands in the Caribbean, a fleet of mega yachts, penthouses in major cities around the world, and liquid assets in the billions.
When I reached the last page, Mr. Harrison handed me a sleek blue card.
It was a custom Citibank platinum card with an embossed W on it.
The weight of it felt foreign in my calloused hands.
I swallowed hard and looked up at him.
"What's the total figure?"
Mr. Harrison leaned back in his chair, a knowing look in his eyes.
"Roughly two hundred and fifty googol dollars, give or take," he said casually, as if discussing the weather.
I felt my breath catch, the enormity of it all crashing over me like a tidal wave.
I leaned forward in the leather chair, my elbows on the desk.
Mr. Harrison pulled out a sealed envelope from his drawer and broke the wax seal with a silver letter opener.
He unfolded the document, his eyes scanning it quickly before he began to read aloud.
"'This is my final amendment to the inheritance terms. Unlike typical inheritances that require waiting periods and trustee oversight, I hereby declare that Shane Weber shall have complete and immediate control of every asset, company division, and research facility under the Weber name. He shall not be bound by any conditions or restrictions, and his decisions shall be final without question.'"
My throat tightened as I listened to his words.
Mr. Harrison slid the papers across his desk towards me along with a heavy signet ring bearing the Weber crest.
I hesitated, staring at the ring, then met Mr. Harrison's gaze.
"Why would he trust me with all this, without any conditions?" I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.
Mr. Harrison leaned forward, his eyes serious. "Your grandfather believed in your potential, Shane, and he knew you'd uncover the truth behind his legacy."
I stare at the signet ring in my palm, its weight both foreign and strangely familiar.
Standing up from the leather chair, I slide the ring onto my finger.
Mr. Harrison watches silently as I walk to the floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the city.
The lights twinkle below like the stars I used to watch from my cramped foster home bedroom.
I turn back to Mr. Harrison, my reflection in the glass showing a different man than the one who walked in earlier.
"I need you to arrange a board meeting first thing tomorrow," I tell him, my voice steady despite my racing heart.
He nods, reaching for the phone on his desk.
I watch as he dials a series of numbers and speaks quietly into the receiver.
I keep my back to him, my fingers tracing the intricate design of the signet ring.
The city lights below seem to pulse in rhythm with my thoughts.
I hear Mr. Harrison mention my name to someone on the other end of the line, and there's a pause—a stutter of disbelief.
Clearly, no one expected this sudden shift in power.
"I expect you all at 9 AM sharp," he says firmly, his voice carrying across the room.
"Mr. Weber has taken over as CEO."
There's another pause before he hangs up.
"Done," he says, turning to face me.
"The board members will be notified within the hour."
I nod, my eyes still fixed on the glittering towers below.
"Do you think they'll try to fight it?" I ask, my voice betraying a hint of uncertainty.
Mr. Harrison shakes his head, a small smile playing on his lips. "They might grumble, but your grandfather's will is ironclad."
I let out a breath I didn't realize I was holding. "Then let's give them something to really talk about."
Standing in Mr. Harrison's office, I pull out my old cracked phone from my pocket and open the messaging app.
I type out a text to Sam and Justin, the only two friends who stuck by me through everything.
My thumbs hover over the screen as I struggle to find the right words.
Finally, I type: "Need to meet ASAP. Life-changing news."
I remember all the times they shared their last slice of pizza when I was broke, or let me crash on their couch after my foster parents kicked me out for the hundredth time.
They deserve to know what's happening.
I hit send, and within seconds, my phone buzzes with a response from Sam—a string of question marks.
Justin suggests meeting at our usual diner down the street.
I reply with a simple "On my way," knowing that this is just the beginning.
I take the elevator down from Mr. Harrison's office, still wearing the same worn jacket that seemed to blend in with the city streets just hours before.
Now, it feels out of place against the polished marble and gleaming glass of the building's lobby.
The security guards who sneered at me when I first walked in now scramble to open doors and wish me a good night.
Outside, I pause for a moment before hailing a taxi.
My eyes wander over the towering skyscrapers that seem to stretch on forever, casting long shadows across the street.
It's strange to think that I now own half of these buildings—buildings that have watched over me during late-night walks home from odd jobs, or early-morning runs to catch a bus.
My phone buzzes again with another text from Sam, asking if everything's okay.
I settle into the taxi's worn leather seat and give the driver the address of Mel's Diner, where Sam and Justin are waiting.
The smell of cigarette smoke and stale pine air freshener hangs in the cab as we weave through the evening traffic.
I catch the driver glancing at me in the rearview mirror more than once, probably wondering what someone in shabby clothes is doing getting a ride to this part of town.
My grandfather's signet ring feels foreign on my finger as I twist it nervously between my thumb and forefinger.
I pull out my phone again and type out another message to Sam: "On my way, don't worry. Good news."
It feels like a woefully inadequate summary of everything that's happened in the past hour, but I don't know how to casually text someone that you've just inherited billions.
The city lights flicker across the ring's gold surface as we drive, and I can't help but feel a strange sense of pride.
As I step into the diner, Sam and Justin are already at our usual booth, their faces a mix of curiosity and concern.
"Alright, spill it," Sam says, leaning forward with her elbows on the table.
Justin chimes in, "Yeah, man, you look like you've seen a ghost—or maybe won the lottery."
I settle into the cracked vinyl booth across from them, the familiar smell of coffee and grease hanging in the air.
Sam leans forward with concern in her eyes, while Justin stops mid-bite of his usual cheeseburger.
The diner's fluorescent lights flicker above us, casting a pale glow over the table.
I place my hands on the sticky tabletop, the signet ring glinting under the lights.
How do I tell my only true friends that I'm now worth more than entire countries?
A waitress approaches with a coffee pot, but I wave her away.
"I inherited everything."
I reach into my worn jacket pocket and pull out the thick folder of inheritance documents, placing it carefully on the table between Sam's coffee mug and Justin's half-eaten burger.
The fluorescent lights illuminate the Weber Corp letterhead and official seals as I spread out the papers.
My hands shake slightly as I point to the total sum, watching their eyes widen at the endless string of zeros.
Justin chokes on his burger while Sam grabs the nearest document, scanning it intently.
The waitress passing by does a double-take at the papers, nearly spilling her coffee pot.
After letting them absorb the documents for a few minutes, I lean back against the cracked vinyl booth and ask, "Will you guys come with me to the board meeting tomorrow?"
The diner's fluorescent lights flicker again, casting an eerie glow over the table.
Sam looks up from the documents, her eyes wide with disbelief.
"Of course," she says immediately, her voice filled with determination.
Justin hesitates, glancing down at his grease-stained work uniform.
"I don't know, man. I can't exactly take time off work."
I pull out the platinum card Mr. Harrison gave me and wave it at the waitress, who's hovering nearby with curiosity in her eyes.
"Bring us three new suits from that high-end store across the street. Charge it to this card."
The waitress's eyes widen as she stares at the "W" emblazoned on the card.
She nods hastily and hurries to make the call.
The waitress hurries back, her arms laden with garment bags from Maxwell's Menswear across the street.
She hands them over with trembling fingers, stealing glances at the platinum card still on the table.
Through the diner's grimy windows, I spot an unfamiliar black stretch limousine idling by the curb, its headlights cutting through the evening drizzle.
Mr. Harrison must have sent it.
I grab the suits and gesture to Sam and Justin, who are still processing everything.
"Come on," I say, standing up.
"Our ride's here."
Sam glances between the limo and me, her eyes narrowing with suspicion.
"Are you sure about this?" she asks, her voice tinged with worry.
Justin stands up, shaking his head in disbelief but finally grinning.
"Man, if we're doing this, we're doing it in style."
I hold the door for them as we step into the limousine.
Sam and Justin slide onto the pristine leather seats, their eyes wide as they take in the luxurious interior.
The leather creaks beneath us, still stiff and new.
Justin runs his hands over the polished wood trim while Sam sits rigidly, clutching the suit bags.
The privacy partition lowers with a quiet hum, revealing an elderly driver in a crisp suit and white gloves.
"Good evening, Mr. Weber," he says with a slight bow.
"My name is Edwards. I've been your grandfather's chauffeur for over 20 years. It's an honor to meet you."
I'm taken aback by the formality and the use of my true family name.
It's the first time anyone has addressed me as "Mr. Weber."
"Nice to meet you, Edwards," I manage to say.
He smiles kindly.
"Your grandfather left explicit instructions for tonight," Edwards continues, his voice steady and respectful.
Sam leans forward, curiosity piqued. "What kind of instructions?"
Edwards meets her gaze in the rearview mirror. "To take you to the estate, where everything will be explained."
The limousine glides smoothly into the rainy streets, Edwards navigating through the city with ease.
Sam examines the leather seats with suspicion, while Justin plays with the electronic controls, accidentally opening and closing the sunroof.
I stare out the window, watching as the streetlights blur past in a rhythmic pattern.
I used to walk these same streets in the rain, lost in my own thoughts.
The designer suits lie across our laps, still in their protective bags.
The price tags dangle from the sleeves, a stark reminder of a world so different from the one I've known.
As we drive through the outskirts of the city, I catch glimpses of familiar neighborhoods.
We pass by the street where my foster parents live, and instinctively, I sink lower in my seat.
Sam notices my reaction and leans closer, her voice gentle.
"Do you want to stop by and say goodbye?"
I shake my head, forcing a smile. "No, it's better this way."
I lean back, deliberately avoiding eye contact with the run-down houses passing by outside.
Sam stops asking questions when she notices my jaw clenched tight.
Justin continues fiddling with the car's controls, accidentally activating a massage function in my seat.
The gentle vibration is foreign against my worn jeans.
Edwards navigates the wet streets smoothly, taking us further away from the life I once knew.
Through the tinted windows, I watch as my old neighborhood fades into the darkness.
Sam breaks the silence, her voice barely above a whisper. "Do you think your grandfather knew about all this?"
I shrug, trying to mask my uncertainty. "If he did, he never let on."
Justin looks up from the controls, curiosity lighting his eyes. "What do you think he's got planned for us at the estate?"
I watch as rain streaks across the limousine windows, blurring the view of the passing cityscape.
We pull through massive iron gates, and Edwards follows a winding driveway up to my grandfather's estate.
The mansion looms ahead, its stone facade illuminated by ground lights that cast long shadows across the manicured lawn.
Edwards parks under a covered entrance, where an elderly butler stands waiting with an umbrella.
Sam grabs my arm before I can open the door.
"Are you ready for this?"
I grip the door handle tightly, remembering all the nights I slept on park benches after being kicked out of my foster home.
"No," I answer honestly, "but I don't have a choice."
The butler steps forward, opening the door with a knowing nod, as if welcoming me back to a destiny I never chose.
I exit the limousine onto wet marble steps, my worn sneakers squeaking against the polished stone.
The elderly butler, Thompson, holds a black umbrella over me while maintaining perfect posture.
Behind me, Sam and Justin scramble out with our designer suits, gawking at the towering facade of the mansion.
The entrance looms ahead - massive wooden doors with intricate brass handles shaped like lions.
Thompson guides us forward, his polished shoes clicking on the marble.
The rain drums against the umbrella as we reach the threshold.