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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. After his girlfriend leaves him for a richer man, he discovers he is the heir to a multiQuadrillionaire family fortune. He vows to make those who wronged him regret their actions. Kevin faces challenges from his new family and society but remains steadfast in his pursuit of power and revenge.
Evelyn Kenmore
James Kenmore Sr. She is manipulative, cunning, and ambitious. Evelyn seeks to control the family business by using her husband's influence and tries to undermine Kevin's position as heir to the Kenmore fortune.
Jason Parker
selfabsorbed, and dismissive of others' feelings. Jason represents the wealth and status that Lily craves, leading her to abandon Kevin for him. His presence highlights the societal pressures that drive people to prioritize material success over personal relationships.
"Hey babe, I'm sorry but I can't be with someone as poor as you anymore."
Those words shattered my heart into a million pieces.
I looked at my girlfriend of three years standing in front of me, staring at me with a mixture of pity and disgust.
"What do you mean, Lily? We've been together for three years. You can't just leave me like this."
I pleaded, looking at her beautiful face that had become twisted with greed.
"Three years, Kevin? You were lucky that I even stayed with you for three years. You know I'm not from a poor background but I decided to stay with you, hoping that one day you'll become rich and successful. However, it seems like you're not destined to be rich or successful. You're 22 now and you still can't even afford a car or a house. I don't think you'll ever become rich."
She said, looking at me as if I was a cockroach.
"Lily, please don't say that. I may not have a car or a house now but I'll work hard and one day I'll give you the best life ever. Just don't leave me."
I begged, holding her hands and looking at her with tears in my eyes.
"Kevin, I'm sorry but it's too late. I have already found someone else, someone that can give me the best life ever."
She said, pulling her hands away from me.
"Someone? Who is he? Is he your colleague or what?"
I asked angrily.
I saw her shoulders stiffen at my question.
She took two steps backward, the clicking of her designer heels on the concrete echoing in my ears.
The evening sun cast long shadows across her face.
She adjusted her expensive looking handbag, one which I had never seen before.
A sleek black Mercedes pulled up to the curb behind her, its tinted windows hiding the driver.
Lily glanced at the car and then back at me with a mixture of triumph and disdain.
Without answering my question, she turned and walked to the car.
"Lily, at least tell me who he is," I called out, desperation lacing my voice.
She paused, her hand on the car door handle, and looked back at me with a smirk.
"He's someone who knows how to make things happen, unlike you."
With that, she got into the car and it drove away, disappearing around the corner.
I stood there for a few minutes, my fists clenched at my sides.
The air was heavy with the scent of expensive perfume, one which I had never seen her wear before.
It was clear that her new man had already started showering her with gifts.
My phone buzzed in my pocket, and I pulled it out to see a text from Lily.
"I'm sorry, but I deserve better."
I deleted her number and blocked her on all my social media accounts.
I walked back to my small studio apartment, passing by the diner where I worked double shifts every day.
Instead of going in to beg for extra hours like I usually did, I kept walking.
When I reached my apartment, I grabbed a worn notebook and pen from my backpack and sat down at the small kitchen table.
I stared at the blank page for a long time, my hand trembling over the empty lines.
The sound of a soft knock on the door pulled me from my thoughts.
I got up and went to the peephole.
Through the small lens, I saw Alex from next door holding two steaming cups.
I hesitated for a moment, not really in the mood for company.
But something about her concerned expression made me open the door anyway.
"Hey Kevin, saw Lily leaving," she said as she stepped into my cramped studio apartment.
Her eyes scanned the room, taking in the threadbare couch and wobbly table with mismatched chairs.
"I thought you could use this."
She set down one of the cups in front of me on the table, releasing the fragrance of freshly brewed coffee into the air.
I slumped into my rickety chair, the steam rising between us.
Alex pulled out her own notebook and clicked her pen expectantly.
"Okay, let's plan," she said, her voice filled with optimism.
But I couldn't focus on her plans for me to turn my life around.
My gaze kept drifting to the pile of unpaid bills on my counter, to the patched holes in my walls, to the single light bulb hanging from a frayed wire in the corner of the room.
When Alex suggested I could take coding classes at the community college, I barely heard her.
My phone buzzed again on the table, and I reached for it mechanically.
I expected another text from a bill collector or maybe Lily trying to apologize, but instead it was from an unknown number.
"Opportunity knocks only once," it read.
I gripped the phone tightly, staring at the screen as Alex continued to ramble on about job openings.
My thumbs hovered over the keyboard, ready to type out a response.
Finally, I tapped out a single question: "Who is this?"
I waited for what felt like an eternity, my eyes fixed on the screen as Alex chatted away beside me.
The message showed as delivered, but there was no response.
Alex finally noticed my distraction and leaned over to peer at my screen.
I quickly angled it away from her prying eyes.
Minutes ticked by, and the coffee grew cold in front of me.
I kept glancing at the phone, willing it to buzz again.
But it remained silent.
I checked the number again, wondering if it was a wrong number or a prank.
There was no area code I recognized, and when I tried calling it back, it went straight to voicemail.
I set the phone face-down on the table, forcing myself to tune back in to Alex's excited chatter about a coding bootcamp she'd found online.
She pulled out her own phone and showed me the website, highlighting the success stories and salary statistics.
But my eyes kept darting back to my phone, wondering who was on the other end of that mysterious message.
When Alex noticed my distraction again, she snatched my phone off the table and slid it into her purse.
"You need a real plan, not mystery texts," she said firmly.
She pulled out her notebook again and started writing down a budget and timeline for me to enroll in the program.
But I couldn't focus on the numbers and dates in front of me.
The weight of Lily's betrayal and that cryptic message pressed down on me until I snapped.
"Alex, what if this message is my real opportunity?" I blurted out, my voice edged with desperation.
She paused, her pen hovering above the paper, and looked at me intently.
"Kevin, you can't keep chasing shadows when there's a solid path right here," she replied gently but firmly.
I nodded, knowing she was right.
But I couldn't shake the feeling that something was waiting for me just beyond the edge of my awareness.
Alex packed up her things and said goodbye, promising to meet me again soon.
I watched her go, pacing anxiously in my cramped apartment.
The mail slot creaked open and a thick cream-colored envelope slid through, landing on the worn linoleum floor with a thud.
I picked it up, running my thumb over the raised letterhead.
It read "Morrison & Associates, Attorneys at Law" in elegant script.
The paper felt heavy in my hands as I tore it open, my heart pounding in my chest.
The words blurred together as I read the formal letter addressed to "Mr. Kevin Kenmore, Jr."
A name I'd never heard before caught my eye: William Kenmore Sr. The letterhead seemed to spin in front of me as I read on.
"Kevin, are you okay?" Alex's voice broke through my daze as she stepped back inside, concern etched on her face.
"I think... I think I've just inherited something from a relative I never knew," I stammered, still clutching the letter.
"Wait, what?" she exclaimed, her eyes widening with a mix of disbelief and curiosity.
I sat down at the rickety kitchen table, my hands shaking as I carefully unfolded the thick cream paper.
The Morrison & Associates letterhead seemed to glow in the dim light of the single bulb overhead.
Line by line, I absorbed the details: William Kenmore Sr. was my grandfather, a man I'd never heard of before.
The letter spoke of "substantial assets" and "immediate transfer of ownership."
Numbers jumped out at me: properties, accounts, holdings.
My vision blurred as I reached the final paragraph, which listed a preliminary value.
I had to read it three times before the figure sank in.
Two hundred quadrillion dollars.
I had inherited two hundred quadrillion dollars
The letter instructed me to contact Morrison & Associates directly to begin the transfer process.
A phone number sat at the bottom of the page, taunting me with its simplicity.
But my fingers refused to steady long enough to dial the digits.
Alex watched me pace around my small studio apartment, clutching the letter while staring blankly at my phone.
Finally, I stopped in front of the worn couch and took a deep breath.
I glanced down at the letter in my hand and then at Alex, who was seated on the couch, watching me intently.
"I'm going to call them," I declared, trying to sound confident.
"Okay," Alex replied quietly, her eyes locked on mine.
I nodded to myself and sat down on the couch next to Alex.
I picked up the phone and stared at the keypad for a moment.
Then I slowly began rehearsing what I would say when someone answered. "Hello, Morrison & Associates. This is Kevin Kenmore Jr. calling. I received a letter from your firm stating that I've inherited—"
My voice cracked, and I cleared my throat before continuing.
"—a substantial fortune from William Kenmore Sr. I'd like to schedule an appointment to discuss further."
I took a deep breath, gripping the phone tightly in my hands as I paused for a moment.
Then, slowly, I typed in the phone number printed on the letterhead: 555-1234.
The beeps echoed through our quiet apartment, each one feeling like an eternity.
I held my breath as I waited for someone to answer.
Finally, after what felt like an endless pause, a crisp female voice came through the receiver.
"Morrison & Associates," she said efficiently.
"Receptionist speaking."
I swallowed hard, trying to steady my voice as I replied, "Hello. My name is Kevin Kenmore Jr. I just received a letter from your firm—"
"Mr. Kenmore," she interrupted smoothly, "please hold for Mr. Morrison."
There was a click, and then classical hold music flooded through the speaker.
The melody was pleasant but overly polished, echoing off the walls of my cramped apartment.
I gripped the letter tightly in my other hand as I waited, leaving creases in the expensive paper.
The music abruptly stopped, and a man's voice filled the receiver.
"Mr. Kenmore," he said in a crisp, precise tone.
"Thank you for holding. I'm Mr. Morrison, the attorney handling your grandfather's estate."
I gripped the phone more tightly, leaning forward on my worn couch as Alex tried to listen in from her seat beside me.
"Hello," I replied, trying to keep my voice steady.
"I just received your letter. I'd like to schedule a meeting to discuss the details of the inheritance."
There was a pause on the other end of the line, and I wondered if the connection had been lost.
But then Mr. Morrison spoke again, his words flowing smoothly.
"Of course, Mr. Kenmore. I've reviewed your file, and I'm prepared to walk you through all of your grandfather's assets. I recommend we meet in person to discuss further."
He paused for a moment before continuing.
"I have an opening tomorrow morning at 9:00 AM. Would that be convenient for you?"
I glanced over at Alex, who was watching me intently from her seat on the couch.
She gave me a small nod of encouragement.
"Yes, that works for me," I replied into the phone.
"Very well," Mr. Morrison said briskly.
"I'll have my assistant send you detailed directions to our downtown office. Please arrive promptly at 9:00 AM sharp."
He paused for a moment before adding one final instruction:
I nodded, even though he couldn't see me.
"Thank you," I said, my voice still shaking slightly.
"I'll be there."
There was a pause, and then Mr. Morrison spoke again.
"One more thing, Mr. Kenmore. Please bring a valid form of identification with you to the meeting. We'll need it to verify your identity."
I swallowed hard, nodding again.
"Yes, of course," I replied.
"I'll bring it with me."
There was another pause, and then Mr. Morrison spoke again.
"Very well, Mr. Kenmore. I look forward to meeting you tomorrow morning. Have a good evening."
With that, the line went dead.
I hung up the phone and stared at it for a moment, trying to process everything that had just happened.
Then I turned to Alex, who was watching me intently from her seat on the couch.
"I have to find my ID," I told her urgently.
"It's the only thing that can prove who I am."
Alex nodded quickly, jumping up from her seat.
"Let's search the apartment," she said, already moving toward the kitchen.
I followed her, rummaging through drawers and cupboards in search of my elusive ID.
We searched every inch of our small apartment, but it was nowhere to be found.
Finally, Alex suggested we check the coat pockets in case I had left it there.
I nodded and began searching through the pockets of my jacket and coat. After a few minutes of searching, Alex called out from the kitchen where she was checking the drawers.
"Kevin," she said excitedly, "come here!"
I hurried over to where she was standing and peered into the drawer she had opened.
It was filled with old receipts and crumpled papers.
I began digging through them, but there was no sign of my ID anywhere.
Just as I was about to give up hope, Alex let out a shout from behind me.
"Kevin," she exclaimed, "look!"
I turned around to see her pointing at something behind the mini fridge in the corner of the kitchen.
I walked over and peered around the fridge, seeing my wallet wedged tightly in the narrow space between it and the wall.
It was covered in dust and cobwebs from years of neglect.
I carefully pulled it out and brushed off the dirt before opening it up.
Inside, nestled between two worn credit cards, was my driver's license.
I held it up triumphantly, relief flooding through me.
"Found it!" I exclaimed, showing Alex the ID.
She grinned, wiping her hands on her jeans. "Great! Now you're all set for tomorrow."
I nodded, feeling the tension finally release from my shoulders.
I walked back to the couch and collapsed down onto it, my eyes drifting closed as Alex settled in beside me.
For a moment, we sat in silence, the only sound the ticking of the clock on the wall.
But then Alex spoke up, her voice filled with a newfound sense of excitement.
"Hey, let's order some takeout," she said, nudging me gently with her elbow.
"We should celebrate."
I opened my eyes and glanced over at her, surprised by her suggestion.
We hadn't had the luxury of ordering takeout in years, not since Lily had left and taken most of our money with her.
But now, with my grandfather's inheritance waiting for me, we could finally afford it.
"Yeah," I agreed finally.
"That sounds great."
I reached for my wallet, pulling it out and opening it up to check how much cash I had inside.
It was almost empty, but there was enough for two cheap pizzas from Tony's down the street.
I dialed the familiar number and placed the order, asking for two large pepperoni pies to be delivered within the hour. As I hung up the phone, Alex stood up from the couch and walked over to me.
She leaned down and wrapped her arms around me in a tight hug, surprising me with her sudden display of affection.
"You deserve this," she whispered in my ear, her voice filled with emotion.
I felt a lump form in my throat as I hugged her back, trying to hold back tears of gratitude.
We held each other for a moment longer before Alex pulled away and sat back down on the couch beside me.
I watched her quietly as she stared off into space, her eyes shining with a mixture of happiness and relief.
We sat there together for a few minutes longer, enjoying each other's company as we waited for our pizzas to arrive.
Finally, after what felt like an eternity, I heard footsteps outside our apartment door followed by a loud knock.
Alex jumped up to answer it while I remained seated on the couch.
She opened the door to reveal a delivery boy from Tony's Pizza holding a large bag containing our two pizzas. "Here you go," he said as Alex took the bag from him and handed over the cash I had given her earlier.
"Enjoy your meal!"
Alex thanked him and closed the door behind him before walking over to the kitchen counter to set down the pizzas.
As she opened the boxes, the warm aroma of pepperoni filled the room, and I couldn't help but smile.
"Kevin," Alex said softly, glancing over her shoulder at me, "do you think this is really happening? I mean, two hundred googol dollars... it's unimaginable."
I nodded slowly, still trying to wrap my mind around it. "I know. It's like a dream, but tomorrow we'll know for sure."
The next day, I sat across from Mr. Morrison in his office, surrounded by towering bookshelves and gleaming mahogany furniture.
The room was polished and refined, a testament to the wealth and power of my grandfather's empire.
As Mr. Morrison began to present me with document after document, I realized just how vast and unimaginable my inheritance truly was.
Private islands in the Caribbean.
A fleet of mega yachts docked in Monaco.
Penthouses in every major city.
My hands shook as I initialed each section, the sheer scale of my grandfather's assets leaving me breathless.
But nothing could have prepared me for the final piece of paper that Mr. Morrison slid across the polished wooden desk.
It showed the staggering figure of 200 quadrillion dollars in all its glory, the number that would change my life forever. And then, with a flourish, Mr. Morrison reached into his desk drawer and pulled out a sleek black case.
Inside lay a black and gold Citibank card adorned with a platinum W emblem that seemed to shimmer in the morning light.
He flipped it open, revealing the shimmering black and gold Citibank card that would grant me access to my newfound wealth.
I took the card, sliding it into the worn leather wallet that had once held my driver's license.
The contrast between the pristine card and the frayed edges of the wallet was jarring, a reminder of the vast distance I had traveled in just a single day.
Mr. Morrison handed me a thick folder filled with documents, which I carefully placed in my secondhand backpack.
I stood up from the plush leather chair, towering over Mr. Morrison as we shook hands.
His grip was firm, his demeanor respectful - a far cry from his dismissive phone manner just yesterday.
Before leaving his office, I paused at the door and turned back to ask one final question.
"Mr. Morrison, how soon can I access these funds?"
He smiled reassuringly, his eyes gleaming with a hint of pride.
"Mr. Kenmore, you can access them now. The funds have been transferred to your account, and the card is ready for use."
I nodded my head in gratitude before exiting the office and making my way back to my humble studio apartment.
As I sat on the couch, staring at the black and gold Citibank card in my hands, Alex watched me intently.
The card seemed to glow in the dim light of our small apartment, a beacon of hope and possibility.
I turned it over, studying the intricate design etched into its surface.
It was a symbol of my grandfather's legacy, a reminder of the wealth and power that now rested in my hands.
As I sat there, lost in thought, Alex gently reached out and touched my arm.
"Kevin," she said softly, "are you okay?"
I nodded slowly, still mesmerized by the card's shimmering surface.
"Yes," I replied, my voice barely above a whisper.
"I'm fine. I just can't believe this is happening."
Alex smiled sympathetically, her eyes filled with understanding.
"I know," she said gently.
"It's like a dream come true."
I nodded again, feeling a sense of gratitude wash over me.
"You're right," I replied, turning to face her.
"This is more than we ever could have imagined."
Alex smiled softly, her eyes shining with happiness.
"I'm so glad we're in this together," she said, reaching out to squeeze my hand. As we sat there together on the couch, surrounded by the familiar walls of our small apartment, I felt a sense of peace wash over me.
This newfound wealth was not just about me; it was about us - Alex and me - and the future we would build together.
And as I looked into her eyes, I knew that no matter what challenges lay ahead, we would face them side by side.
The next day, as I sat in our small studio apartment surrounded by stacks of bills and financial documents, I couldn't help but feel overwhelmed by the sheer magnitude of our financial situation.
But then I noticed something peculiar - a small sticky note tucked away in one of the folders from Mr. Morrison's office.
It read: "Password: Your Birthday."
A sudden surge of excitement coursed through me as I realized what this might mean.
I quickly pulled out my phone and opened the Citibank app, typing in the password "07/15/2001" - my birthday - into the login screen.
The app loaded instantly, revealing an account balance that made my heart skip a beat.
Alex leaned over, peering at the screen with wide eyes.
"Kevin," she whispered, her voice trembling with disbelief, "is that... is that really our balance?"
I nodded slowly, my mind reeling with the endless possibilities this wealth presented.
Without a word, I pulled out a worn notebook and began jotting down ideas - a proper apartment, a reliable car, a professional wardrobe.
As I continued to write, Alex slid closer to me on the worn couch, her hand resting gently on my knee.
The weight of our financial burdens was finally lifting, and a new era of possibility stretched out before us.
With my grandfather's vast fortune at my fingertips, the world was ours for the taking.
Over the next few weeks, I immersed myself in the intricacies of wealth management and investment strategies, pouring over books and consulting with financial experts.
My days were filled with meetings with real estate agents, venture capitalists, and business moguls, as I worked tirelessly to build a diversified portfolio that would yield long-term returns.
Meanwhile, Alex delved into her passion for interior design, scouring high-end showrooms for the finest materials and furnishings to adorn our soon-to-be-purchased penthouse. It wasn't long before the fruits of our labor began to manifest.
A sprawling penthouse overlooking Central Park became our new home, its sleek marble floors and floor-to-ceiling windows offering breathtaking views of Manhattan's vibrant cityscape.
A sleek black Mercedes S550 replaced my trusty old Honda Civic, effortlessly gliding through rush-hour traffic as we navigated the city streets.
And with each passing day, I found myself growing more confident in my newfound wealth - not just financially secure, but also emotionally fortified.
The constant criticism and judgment from those around me had taken its toll on my self-esteem over the years.
But now, armed with unimaginable riches and an unshakeable sense of purpose, I was determined to prove them all wrong.
One fateful evening, as we sat in our plush living room sipping champagne and watching the sunset over the city skyline, Alex pointed towards the distant horizon.
"Kevin," she said softly, her voice tinged with excitement, "look."
I followed her gaze and noticed a familiar sight - the diner where I had once worked for meager wages.
The neon sign creaked in the gentle breeze as I felt a sudden surge of nostalgia wash over me.
It was there that I had endured countless demeaning remarks from customers; where I had begged for extra shifts just to make ends meet. And yet, as I gazed upon that humble diner now - bathed in the warm golden light of dusk - an idea struck me like a bolt of lightning.
I sat at my new mahogany desk, surrounded by stacks of papers and financial documents.
My lawyer, Mr. Johnson, sat across from me, his eyes scanning the purchase agreement for the diner.
As he read through the contract, memories of my time there flooded back - the grease-stained walls, the flickering neon sign, the cracked vinyl booths.
But now, as I prepared to become its owner, everything felt different.
Mr. Johnson looked up from the contract, a hint of a smile on his face.
"Kevin," he said, "the owner is asking for $500,000. It's a steal."
I nodded in agreement.
The diner had been struggling financially for years, and the owner was eager to sell.
It was a chance for me to not only invest in a valuable piece of real estate but also to reclaim a place that held so much significance in my past.
I signed the preliminary paperwork, remembering how I used to count quarters for bus fare home after a long day of work.
I was ready to transform it into something extraordinary.