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MidReal Story
The Billionaire's Revenge
Scenario:Kevin Kenmore, Jr. has led a hard broken life, a poor orphan, and his girlfriend is leaving him for a richer prospect. But his fortune is about to change dramatically. Kevin inherited immense wealth from his grandfather, shocking everyone. He was the heir to one of the two only multi-Quadrillonaire families in the world. He endures constant criticism and judgment from those around him. He vowed that those who had labeled him a failure would eventually bow at his feet. Now, how will he use his new-found wealth to shape those around him, as he reclaims his life? With a new-found sense of responsibility, Kevin will get revenge on those who treated him badly. Will he succeed?
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Kevin Kenmore, Jr.
resilient, and vengeful. Kevin's girlfriend leaves him for a richer man, but he vows to prove himself after discovering his inheritance. He faces ridicule and judgment from others but remains steadfast in his resolve to reclaim his life and seek revenge against those who wronged him.
Jessica Martin
snobbish, and remorseless. Jessica frequently taunts Kevin about his appearance and social standing but later regrets her actions when she learns of his inheritance.
Mark Thompson
dismissive, and condescending. Mark represents the wealth and status that Sarah craves, leading her to abandon Kevin for him. His presence highlights the class differences between Kevin's past life and his newfound wealth.
"I am sorry Kevin, I can't be with someone as poor as you anymore," said Sarah with a sobbing face.
Kevin Kenmore, Jr. was shocked to hear these words from his girlfriend.
Sarah broke down into tears, but this time her tears were not for Kevin but for the man who was ready to divorce her.
"What do you mean?"
Kevin asked with a broken heart.
"I thought you loved me, Sarah."
With a heavy heart, Sarah said, "I love you, Kevin. But I also love myself. I can't spend my life with someone who has no money and no family."
Saying this, she handed him a diary.
Kevin was shocked to see Mark Thompson's name in the lover's column.
Sarah had written her new lover's name long ago.
She was just waiting for the right time.
"Who is he?"
Kevin asked with a heavy heart.
Sarah smiled and said, "He is a rich guy who has promised to give me a luxurious life."
Saying this, she started laughing at Kevin.
"Hey Kevin, when are you going to earn some money? When are you going to get some status in the society? I can't live with someone like you. I need a rich guy to take care of my needs."
Hearing these words from Sarah was like a big slap on Kevin's face.
But he remained silent.
He knew that his life was about to change.
He would get immense wealth and would become one of the most powerful orphans in the world.
I stand in silence, letting her cruel laughter wash over me.
My fingers trace the edge of the letter in my pocket - the one I received this morning but haven't shown anyone.
The cafe around us bustles with afternoon customers, their chatter a stark contrast to our tense table.
Sarah continues mocking my poverty, listing Mark's expensive gifts while twirling her new diamond bracelet.
I slowly pull out the letter, unfold it deliberately, and slide it across the table.
Her laughter dies as she reads the numbers.
Her face drains of color.
Her face drains of color as she reads the inheritance amount again.
Her hands tremble, causing the paper to shake.
I snatch the letter back and tuck it into my pocket, watching her struggle to form words.
She reaches for my arm, but I step away.
Her designer purse falls from her lap, spilling expensive makeup across the floor.
"Kevin, I didn't mean what I said. You know I love you," she stammers, mascara starting to run.
I remain silent, remembering all the times she complained about my cheap clothes and small apartment.
She scrambles to her feet, nearly slipping on her scattered lipsticks.
I stare at her trembling form on the floor, surrounded by the scattered contents of her purse - the same purse she bragged about Mark buying her last week.
My hands are steady as I fold the inheritance letter and slide it back into my jacket pocket.
The cafe's other customers are watching us now, their coffee cups frozen midway to their lips.
Sarah's voice cracks as she begs me to stay, claiming she made a mistake.
I adjust my worn jacket, the one she always criticized, and step around her crumpled form.
I push through the cafe's glass door, hearing her sobs fade behind me.
The evening air hits my face as I step onto the busy sidewalk, weaving between hurrying pedestrians.
My inheritance letter crinkles in my jacket pocket with each step.
A taxi honks nearby, and I notice my reflection in a storefront window - still wearing the same threadbare clothes Sarah despised.
My phone buzzes repeatedly with her incoming messages, but I keep walking, passing the luxury boutiques where she always window-shopped.
At the corner, I pause at the crosswalk, watching expensive cars roll by, knowing soon I'll be able to buy any of them.
I enter the lawyer's mahogany-paneled office, still wearing the same worn jacket from the cafe.
Mr. Davidson, a silver-haired man in an expensive suit, spreads documents across his polished desk.
He gestures for me to take a seat, and I do, my hands shaking slightly as I pick up the first paper - a list of private islands in the Caribbean.
Then another showing five mega yachts docked in various ports.
Property deeds pile up: Manhattan penthouses, European villas, ranches in Texas.
Mr. Davidson slides a black and gold Citibank card toward me, its platinum K gleaming.
I lean forward in the leather chair, studying each document as Mr. Davidson places it before me.
The fountain pen feels heavy in my hand as I sign page after page - trust agreements, property transfers, bank authorizations.
Mr. Davidson's monotone voice explains each section, but I'm focused on the signatures.
My grandfather's elegant "K. Kenmore Sr." appears beside spaces waiting for my rougher scrawl.
With each signature, I feel my old life of scraping by slipping away.
When I reach the final page, a thick stock document with gold trim, I pause.
This last signature will make everything official.
Mr. Davidson clears his throat, "Before you sign, there's one more thing you should know."
I look up, meeting his steady gaze, "What is it?"
He leans back in his chair, folding his hands, "Your grandfather's will has a condition—Sarah must never know about this inheritance."
I lean back in the leather chair as Jake and Alexander enter Mr. Davidson's office, their familiar faces a stark contrast to the opulent surroundings.
They're still wearing their work clothes - Jake in his mechanic's uniform, Alexander in his retail polo.
Mr. Davidson raises an eyebrow, but I nod to confirm they can stay.
As I pick up the fountain pen again, Jake puts a steady hand on my shoulder.
I cross out my earlier signature where I'd started to sign, then write my name on a fresh document.
Alexander watches silently as I initial each page, keeping my inheritance from Sarah.
I grip the heavy fountain pen, its weight matching the gravity of this moment in Mr. Davidson's mahogany-lined office.
Jake and Alexander stand silently behind my chair as I methodically work through the stack of papers.
Each signature feels more confident than the last, my hand steady despite the billions at stake.
The final document sits before me, its gold trim gleaming under the office lights.
Mr. Davidson slides a letter opener across his desk to help break the seal.
I slice it open carefully, read the last terms, and sign my name with a deliberate flourish.
I notice Jake's eyes fixed on the inheritance envelope as Mr. Davidson steps out to make copies.
Jake leans in close, whispering, "Check the lining."
I carefully peel back the aged lining, and a folded note slides out - Sarah's familiar handwriting.
My hands tremble as I unfold it, remembering her tears at the cafe.
Jake and Alexander lean closer, their work uniforms rustling.
The paper feels thin, delicate, like it's been hidden there for months.
Before I can read it, Mr. Davidson's footsteps echo in the hallway.
I stare at the final inheritance summary page, my vision blurring as I try to process the number.
One hundred and fifty quadrillion dollars.
Mr. Davidson points to each digit with his gold pen, confirming what seems impossible.
Jake grabs the edge of his chair while Alexander lets out a low whistle.
The hidden note from Sarah falls forgotten from my lap as Mr. Davidson produces a sleek black folder containing immediate access to my first billion.
My hands tremble as I reach for it, but I force them steady, remembering Sarah's mockery of my shaking hands when I couldn't afford dinner.
I take a deep breath, resolve hardening as I close the folder and step into a future Sarah never imagined.
I slide Sarah's note into my jacket pocket, the leather chair creaking as I lean forward to examine the papers.
Trust fund details, bank account numbers, and property deeds spread across the mahogany desk.
Jake and Alexander exchange knowing looks, their work uniforms rustling as they step closer.
I methodically sign each page, the fountain pen's weight now familiar in my hand.
Mr. Davidson returns with a stack of final documents, his gold pen gleaming under the office lights.
He hands me the last document - a thick envelope containing my new identity cards and bank credentials.
I pause for a moment, my fingers brushing against Sarah's note through the fabric of my jacket.
Jake breaks the silence, his voice barely above a whisper, "You know this changes everything, right?"
Alexander nods, adding with a hint of urgency, "We need to talk about Sarah's note before you make any moves."
I meet their eyes, my voice steady but firm, "Let's finish here first; then we'll figure out what Sarah wanted us to know."
I grip the heavy fountain pen tightly, my knuckles white as I study the last inheritance document on Mr. Davidson's desk.
The paper's gold trim catches the afternoon light streaming through the office windows.
Jake shifts his weight in his work boots while Alexander leans against the mahogany bookshelf, both watching intently.
Sarah's hidden note burns in my jacket pocket, but I focus on the task at hand.
The document's legal text blurs before my eyes as memories of Sarah's cruel words echo in my mind.
Jake clears his throat, breaking the tension, "What if Sarah knew something we don't?"
Alexander crosses his arms, eyes narrowing, "You think she left a warning in that note?"
I nod slowly, feeling the weight of their concern, "Whatever it is, we owe it to her to find out."
I hold the last inheritance document in my trembling hands, Jake and Alexander watching silently.
Sarah's hidden note burns in my pocket, but I push thoughts of her aside.
The heavy fountain pen feels cold against my fingers as I position it above the gold-trimmed signature line.
Mr. Davidson stands at his office window, his silhouette dark against the evening sky.
I take one final look at my old student ID - a reminder of my poverty-stricken past - then slide it back into my worn wallet.
I sign my name with the heavy fountain pen, the ink flowing smoothly across the paper.
The final inheritance document is complete.
Jake and Alexander exchange a glance, their faces reflecting a mix of relief and anticipation.
Mr. Davidson collects the papers, arranging them neatly in a leather portfolio.
He hands me the portfolio, his voice professional, "Everything is in order. You'll receive your new credit cards and property keys shortly."
A black credit card and set of property keys slide across his desk toward me.
I pick them up, feeling the weight of my new identity.
Sarah's hidden note remains unopened in my jacket pocket - I'll deal with that later.
I stand up from the leather chair, shaking Mr. Davidson's hand firmly.
"Thank you for your assistance," I say, my voice steady.
Jake pats my shoulder as we head for the door.
We stand with Jake and Alexander outside the massive iron gates of my new mansion, its Gothic spires piercing the night sky.
Jake pulls out his phone, using the flashlight to examine the ancient keyhole.
Alexander checks the perimeter, ensuring we're alone.
My hands tremble slightly as I insert the ornate brass key from the inheritance portfolio.
The gate creaks open, revealing a winding cobblestone driveway lined with overgrown hedges.
Sarah's unread note shifts in my pocket as we walk toward the looming structure.
I pause at the threshold, feeling the mansion's secrets waiting in the shadows.
I pause at the mansion's entrance, turning to face Jake in the dim light.
His work uniform looks out of place against the Gothic architecture.
The question weighs heavy on my mind - what happens to our friendship now that I'm wealthy?
Alexander stands a few steps behind, pretending to study the overgrown hedges.
My throat feels tight as I ask Jake, "Will we still be friends?"
Jake looks hurt that I'd even question it.
"Of course," he says, his voice sincere.
"Remember when you were broke? I shared my lunch with you every day."
I turn from Jake to face Alexander, who's still lingering by the overgrown hedges.
The mansion's shadow falls across his work uniform.
"Alex?"
I ask, my voice barely above a whisper.
"Will we still be friends?"
Alexander steps forward, his boots crunching on the gravel driveway.
He looks at me with a steady gaze.
"Remember when you were stranded on the side of the road? I gave you my last twenty dollars for gas."
His voice remains steady as he continues, "And when I was going through hard times, I slept on your apartment floor for weeks."
The brass mansion key feels cold in my hand as Alexander promises, "Nothing will change between us."
I stand frozen on the steps as Alexander's words hang in the night air.
My heart pounds in my chest.
Jake shifts uncomfortably beside us, pretending to study the Gothic architecture.
Alexander's work uniform brushes against my arm, his hand still holding mine.
The brass key digs into my palm as I recall all the times he was there for me, the quiet strength he'd provided during my poorest days, and the lingering looks he'd given me that I'd tried to ignore.
I lead Alexander up the stone steps, Jake following behind us.
Our joined hands sway between us.
The brass key slides into the ancient lock, and the massive oak door creaks open.
The grand foyer stretches before us, marble floors reflecting the crystal chandeliers.
Moonlight streams through towering windows, casting long shadows across Persian rugs.
Alexander's work uniform looks out of place against the ornate surroundings, but his grip on my hand remains steady.
I pull him closer, our shoulders touching as we take our first steps into the echoing entrance hall.
Jake clears his throat, muttering something about checking the kitchen.
Alexander glances at me, a hint of a smile playing on his lips.
"You know, this place is as intimidating as it is beautiful," he says softly.
I nod, squeezing his hand, "But with you here, it feels like home."
I stand with Alexander in the foyer, our hands still linked, when Jake's hurried footsteps echo from the kitchen hallway.
He bursts into the foyer, clutching a yellowed envelope.
Dust coats his fingers.
The word "Inheritance" stands out in faded black ink across the front.
Jake's face is flushed as he waves the envelope, nearly knocking over an antique vase.
"You need to see this," he pants, brushing cobwebs from his sleeve.
Alexander releases my hand as we gather around Jake, who carefully breaks the brittle seal.
He unfolds the letter, his eyes scanning the page.
"Look," he says, pointing to a paragraph highlighted in yellow.
I follow his finger to a passage about a specific painting hanging in the living room.
"It's a portrait of your grandfather," Jake explains, "the one above the fireplace."
Alexander and I exchange curious glances as Jake leads us into the living room.
The painting looms above the marble fireplace, my grandfather standing stern in a tailored suit.
Jake points out a strange tilt to the frame, as if it's been slightly adjusted.
Alexander moves closer to examine it.
I reach up to adjust the painting, but as soon as my fingers touch it, the frame breaks free from its mount.
It crashes down, barely missing Alexander as he jumps back.
Behind where the portrait hung, embedded in the wall, sits a steel safe with an antiquated dial lock.
I lean close to Alexander as he works the safe's dial, our shoulders touching.
Jake holds the dusty letter under his phone's flashlight, illuminating the brass numbers.
The dial's clicking echoes through the dark mansion.
Alexander's fingers move precisely, testing each combination we find hidden in the letter's text.
His work uniform scrapes against the marble fireplace as he crouches there, fully focused.
When the first set of numbers fails, Jake points to another cryptic line about my grandfather's birthday.
I hold my breath as Alexander spins the safe's dial to my grandfather's birth date - 07-15-1940.
The mechanism clicks softly, and the heavy door swings open with a metallic groan.
Jake's phone light reveals a thick stack of yellowed papers tied with faded red ribbon.
My hand trembles as I reach for them, but Alexander steadies me with a gentle touch.
The documents smell musty, like old books.
When I carefully untie the ribbon, a small black and white photograph falls onto the marble floor.
"That's my grandmother," Alexander says, picking up the photo with a reverent touch.
Jake leans in closer, squinting at the image.
"But why is she with a man who isn't your grandfather?"
I carefully unfold the papers from the safe while Alexander holds the old photo of his grandmother.
Jake points to a document with a familiar crest - the same one from my inheritance papers.
My hands tremble as I read the letterhead: "Last Will and Testament of Elizabeth Kenmore."
I had always believed my grandmother died penniless, but this reveals she left me a second fortune through a secret trust.
The papers detail offshore accounts, gold reserves, and a network of international properties.
Alexander looks at me, his eyes wide with disbelief.
"Why would she keep this hidden from us all these years?" he asks, his voice tinged with a mix of awe and betrayal.
Jake shakes his head slowly, "Maybe she was protecting you from something—or someone."
I spread the property documents across the mansion's antique desk while Alexander and Jake hover nearby.
A Swiss estate catches my attention - a sprawling château near Lake Geneva.
The deed has a red warning stamp, but it's in French, so I can't read it.
I pull up satellite images on my laptop.
The château's Gothic towers mirror the architecture of the mansion we're in.
Jake points out unusual monthly maintenance payments in the financial records, but no staff names are listed.
Alexander notices that property taxes are paid through a numbered account.
I sit at my grandfather's mahogany desk, spreading out the mysterious documents.
Alexander dials his uncle's law firm on speaker phone.
The connection crackles, and a man's voice echoes in the dim study.
"Attorney James Chen speaking. Who is this?"
"Uncle James, it's Alexander. I'm with my friend, Sophia."
Attorney Chen's tone shifts to warmth.
"Sophia, nice to finally speak with you. How can I help?"
Jake arranges the papers in order - grandmother's will, Swiss property deeds, and those strange maintenance records.
I describe the red warning stamp on the château documents.
Attorney Chen goes silent.
"I need to see you immediately," he says abruptly.
"I can't discuss this over the phone."
Alexander exchanges a worried glance with me, his brow furrowing.
"Is it that serious, Uncle James?" he asks, trying to keep his voice steady.
Attorney Chen hesitates before replying, "Let's just say your grandmother's secrets might be more dangerous than we thought."
