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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
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
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 prosperity, without expecting anything in return.
Penelope
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 boy raised in foster care.
My girlfriend left me for another guy who had more money.
I was heartbroken, but my life was about to change forever.
I just inherited a multibillion dollar fortune from my grandfather.
Now, I would get my revenge on those who treated me poorly and make them bow at my feet.
"You’re crazy, Shane. We can’t afford this."
"Come on, Penelope. Don’t be such a party pooper," I said, trying to sweet-talk her.
"Shane, we are way over budget. If we keep spending like this, we won’t have enough money to pay our bills next month."
"Penelope, don’t worry so much. Something is going to happen soon. I can feel it. My luck is about to change," I said confidently.
"Change? What do you mean?"
"What I mean is… I think we are going to be rich soon."
"Rich? Are you crazy? How are we going to be rich?"
"We’ll be rich because I’ll be working hard and earning lots of money," I said with a smile.
But what I didn’t tell her was that I had already applied for several jobs and hadn’t gotten any responses yet.
I was poor and had been an orphan for as long as I could remember.
I was raised in foster care until I was eighteen years old.
When I turned eighteen, my adoptive parents kicked me out of their house because they couldn’t afford to keep me anymore.
I drove my beat-up Honda to the downtown law office.
I held the letter in my hand that I had received yesterday.
The letter stated that I had inherited a large sum of money from a man named Robert Langley.
I had no idea who he was or how he knew me, but I was about to find out.
When I arrived at the law office, I was greeted by a receptionist who looked me up and down with disgust.
She obviously didn’t like my worn-out jeans and t-shirt.
"Can I help you?"
"Yes, I have an appointment with Mr. Harrison," I said politely.
"Okay, let me check the schedule."
She checked her computer and then looked up at me.
"Mr. Harrison is expecting you. Please take a seat and he will be with you shortly."
I sat down in the waiting room and waited for Mr. Harrison to call me into his office.
After a few minutes, a middle-aged man with a bald head and thick glasses came out of his office and called my name.
"Shane Langley?"
"Yes, that’s me," I replied as I stood up and followed him into his office.
He closed the door behind us and sat down at his desk.
"So, Mr. Langley, I assume you received the letter about your inheritance?"
"Yes, I did. But I don’t understand who this Robert Langley is or how he knows me."
"Well, let me explain. Robert Langley was your grandfather." "My grandfather? But I don’t have any grandparents. I’m an orphan."
"I know that, Mr. Langley. But Robert Langley was your biological grandfather. He recently passed away and left you his entire fortune."
"I see. Well, thank you for letting me know. But can you please tell me more about my grandfather?"
"Of course. Robert Langley was a wealthy businessman who made his fortune in real estate. He was a kind and generous man who loved his family very much."
"That sounds great. But why didn’t he ever contact me before?"
"Well, that’s a long story, Mr. Langley. But basically, your parents got divorced when you were very young and your father took custody of you. Your mother didn’t want to give up custody of you, so she ran away with you and disappeared. Your father searched for you everywhere, but he couldn’t find you anywhere."
"That’s crazy. So my mother kidnapped me?"
"Yes, that’s correct. And your father didn’t know where you were until you were eighteen years old and he received a letter from your mother stating that she had died and that you were in foster care."
"That’s terrible. But why didn’t my grandfather ever contact me?"
"Well, your grandfather wanted to contact you very badly, but he was afraid that your father would try to take you away from him. So, he decided to wait until you were old enough to make your own decisions before he contacted you."
"I see. Well, thank you for telling me all of this, Mr. Harrison. It’s nice to finally know where I come from."
"You’re welcome, Mr. Langley. Now, let’s talk about your inheritance."
"Okay, let’s do it."
"Well, as I stated in the letter, your grandfather left you his entire fortune. He also left you a letter explaining everything in more detail."
"A letter? Where is it?"
"Here it is."
Mr. Harrison pulled out an envelope from his desk drawer and slid it across the desk to me.
I picked up the envelope and examined it.
It was a plain white envelope with my name written on it in elegant handwriting.
I opened the envelope and pulled out the letter.
As soon as I unfolded the crisp paper, I noticed a faint smell of tobacco wafting up from it.
It was the same smell as the gifts I’d received all those years ago in foster care.
I looked at the first page of the letter, and my eyes widened in shock.
The handwriting was elegant but firm.
The words danced across the page with a fluidity that spoke of years of practice.
And there, at the top of the page, was an address I’d never seen before: 1234 Oakwood Drive, Beverly Hills.
My throat tightened as I realized that these were my grandfather’s final words to me.
The words of a man who had stayed hidden all these years but had never forgotten about me. "My dear grandson," the letter began.
"I hope this letter finds you well and happy.
I am writing this letter to you today because I want you to know how much I love you and how proud I am of the man you have become.
I know that we have never met before, but I have always known about you and loved you very much.
I want to tell you how sorry I am for not being there for you when you needed me most.
"Shane, there's something else you need to know," Mr. Harrison interjected, his voice tinged with urgency.
"What is it?" I asked, feeling a knot of anxiety tighten in my stomach.
"Your grandfather's fortune comes with a condition—one that could change everything."
I stared at the address written at the bottom of the letter: 1879 Maple Grove Estate.
Mr. Harrison explained that it was my grandfather's mansion, where I needed to go within 48 hours to officially claim the inheritance.
My hands shook as I folded the letter and placed it back in the envelope.
All those times I walked past fancy houses, dreaming of a better life, and now I had one waiting for me.
But could I really do this?
I checked my nearly empty wallet, calculating if I had enough gas money to make the two-hour drive.
Mr. Harrison must have noticed my hesitation because he slid me an envelope containing cash for travel expenses.
"Shane, there's something else you need to know," Mr. Harrison said, his voice lowering as if he were about to reveal a secret.
"What is it?" I asked, feeling a mix of excitement and dread.
"The mansion isn't just a home; it's the key to unlocking your grandfather's entire legacy, but only if you uncover its hidden secrets."
Sitting in my car outside Mr. Harrison's office, I pulled out my phone with shaking hands.
I needed someone to talk to, someone who could help me process this insanity.
Jake answered on the second ring, his voice familiar and comforting.
"Hey, man, what's up?"
I took a deep breath and told him everything—from the inheritance letter to the mysterious mansion.
He listened attentively, asking questions here and there.
In the background, I could hear the twins Landon and Lance arguing over something at Jake's place.
I put the call on speaker and filled them in on everything.
The twins immediately started planning a road trip, while Jake remained quiet, asking careful questions about Mr. Harrison and the conditions of the inheritance.
"Jake, do you think this is legit?" I asked, hoping for some reassurance.
"Honestly, Shane, it sounds like something out of a movie, but if it's real, you can't pass it up," Jake replied thoughtfully.
Landon chimed in, "Yeah, and if there are secrets to uncover, you know we're in—this could be the adventure of a lifetime!"
I pull into Jake's driveway, my old Honda Civic rattling from the drive across town.
Through the windshield, I watch the twins burst out their front door, backpacks bouncing against their shoulders as they race to my car.
Jake follows behind them, carrying a duffel bag and wearing his signature worried expression.
The twins pile into the backseat, already arguing over who gets the middle spot.
Jake slides into the passenger seat next to me, hands me a folded map and a Red Bull, and gives me a nod—their way of showing support without saying it.
Before I pull away, I check the address on the mansion one more time: 1879 Maple Grove Estate.
I grip the steering wheel tightly as I pull out of their driveway and merge onto the highway, watching the city fade into the distance in my rearview mirror.
The twins' excited chatter fills the backseat while Jake silently studies the map, occasionally pointing out a turn.
The familiar rattling of my Civic's engine fills the car, reminding me that this could be my last drive in this beat-up old thing.
I glance down at the fuel gauge—half a tank should be enough to get us there.
My phone buzzes with an incoming text from Penelope, but I ignore it and focus on the road signs.
The twins continue to argue over which mansion secret we'll uncover first while Jake points to an upcoming exit.
I slow the car as we turn onto a winding country road, the late afternoon sun filtering through the dense oak trees lining the road.
Jake double-checks the address against his phone's GPS while Landon and Lance press their faces against the windows, taking in the scenery.
The road narrows, and my old Honda's suspension creaks over each bump.
A weathered stone wall appears through the trees, stretching endlessly alongside us.
When we round the final bend, an ornate iron gate blocks our path, the words "Maple Grove Estate" wrought in elegant script above.
I pull the Honda to a stop in front of the gate, gravel crunching under the tires.
The twins immediately jump out, rushing to examine the intricate metalwork while Jake stays in the passenger seat, studying the property map.
I step out into the humid afternoon air and walk toward a small security panel mounted on a stone pillar.
My shoes scatter loose stones as I approach.
The panel looks ancient, its metal housing weathered green, with a keypad and what appears to be a card reader.
I run my fingers over the cold surface, wondering if Mr. Harrison forgot to give me the access code.
I pull out my phone and scroll through my contacts, finding the number Mr. Harrison texted me from earlier.
The twins hover behind me, suggesting random number combinations while Jake watches from the car.
My fingers feel sweaty as I press the call button.
One ring.
Two rings.
Three rings.
It feels like an eternity before Mr. Harrison's voice comes through, but it's breaking up due to poor reception.
I grip the phone tighter, my ear straining to pick up his words.
But just as suddenly as the static started, his voice comes through crystal clear.
"The code is 1879 - the house number. Your grandfather always kept things simple."
The line goes dead, and I'm left staring at my phone.
My hands shake slightly as I punch in the numbers on the keypad.
There's a mechanical whirring sound, followed by a loud click.
The massive iron gate creaks open slowly, revealing a winding driveway lined with maple trees.
The twins whoop and rush back to the car while Jake leans forward, studying the property beyond.
I walk back to the driver's side, pausing for a moment to watch the gate's steady movement.
I guide the wheezing Honda up the driveway, gravel crunching under the tires.
The mansion looms ahead - three stories of weathered stone and tall windows.
I park in the circular drive near the front steps, my hands trembling slightly on the wheel.
Jake exits first, stretching and surveying the property with his usual caution.
The twins tumble out next, shoving each other as they gawk at the building's imposing facade.
I remain seated, staring at the brass door knocker gleaming in the afternoon sun.
"Do you think the stories about this place are true?" Jake asks, his voice low and wary.
The twins exchange a glance, their excitement momentarily dimmed.
"Only one way to find out," I reply, finally stepping out of the car and heading toward the front door.
I insert the old brass key into the front door lock, my hand trembling slightly.
The key turns with a satisfying click, and the heavy wooden door creaks open into a vast marble foyer.
Crystal chandeliers hang from the high ceiling, casting intricate patterns across the floor.
Ornate mirrors adorn the walls, reflecting our images in dizzying repetition.
Jake steps in behind me, his eyes scanning the room for any signs of danger.
The twins rush past, their footsteps echoing off the walls as they explore further into the house.
Dust particles dance in the sunbeams streaming through tall windows, casting an ethereal glow over everything.
We move deeper into the house, finding rooms filled with furniture draped in white sheets like silent ghosts.
The air is musty and stale, carrying a faint scent of tobacco that reminds me of my grandfather's letter.
"Do you smell that?" Jake asks, wrinkling his nose as he peers into the dimly lit parlor.
"It's like he's still here," I murmur, feeling a chill run down my spine.
The twins return from their exploration, one of them holding a dusty old journal. "Guys, I think we just found something important."
I sit in a leather armchair, the twins hovering over my shoulders while Jake inspects the bookshelves lining the study walls.
The journal's leather binding creaks as I open it, releasing a cloud of dust into the air.
My grandfather's slanted handwriting fills the yellowed pages, accompanied by black-and-white photos of faces I don't recognize.
One photo shows a young woman holding a baby - could it be my mother?
The twins point excitedly at sketches of the mansion's layout in the margins, but Jake notices something odd about the study's dimensions compared to these drawings.
"There's a room missing," Jake says, his finger tracing the outline of the study on the sketch.
The twins lean in closer, their eyes wide with curiosity. "You mean like a secret room?" one of them asks, barely containing his excitement.
Jake nods, his expression serious. "And if your grandfather went to such lengths to hide it, there must be something important inside."
I close the journal and scan the wood-paneled walls while Jake measures the room dimensions with his phone.
The twins tap different sections, listening for hollow spots.
Moving to a corner bookshelf, I notice tobacco stains on the carpet leading to it.
When I pull a leather-bound book titled "Family Legacy," the shelf shifts slightly.
Jake helps me push, revealing a narrow passage behind the bookcase.
Cool air rushes out as we shine our phone lights into the darkness.
I lead the way, my phone's flashlight beam illuminating cobwebs and dusty stone walls.
The twins crowd close behind, their excited whispers echoing off the walls, while Jake brings up the rear with his own light.
The passage slopes downward, each step releasing musty puffs of dust from the floor.
My grandfather's tobacco scent grows stronger as we descend.
The beam catches something metallic ahead - a steel door with a complex electronic keypad, far more modern than anything else we've seen in the mansion.
I hold the journal with trembling hands, flipping through the pages until I find a series of numbers scrawled in the margins beside a sketch of the study.
The twins crowd around me, pointing at different combinations while Jake keeps watch at the passage entrance.
My phone light illuminates the keypad as I carefully enter the first sequence - 2-8-4-7-9.
Nothing happens.
Frustrated, I try the second set of numbers.
Then my eyes fall on a date written below the study sketch - a date that matches my birth year.
What if it's not just a date?
I punch in those digits, and the steel door's mechanism whirs to life.
I push open the heavy steel door, and we step into a climate-controlled room.
The air is crisp, and fluorescent lights hum overhead, illuminating a space that's both modern and eerily preserved.
A massive mahogany table dominates the center, its surface covered in neatly arranged manila folders and leather document holders.
The twins rush to examine the brass fixtures while Jake photographs everything with his phone.
I approach the table, my eyes drawn to a folder marked "Shane Weber - Inheritance."
My hands shake as I open it, revealing stacks of documents detailing offshore accounts, property deeds, and a handwritten letter from my grandfather explaining why he chose this elaborate path for me to discover the truth.
I sit at the table, my fingers tracing the edges of the letter.
The twins fall silent, peering over my shoulders while Jake continues to photograph the room's contents.
My grandfather's elegant script fills page after page, detailing how he watched me grow up from afar, sending anonymous gifts to the foster homes I lived in.
He explains how he created this inheritance path to test my character and ensure that I wouldn't fall prey to those who would exploit my wealth.
As I read on, my throat tightens.
Jake notices my tension and quietly suggests that we gather all the documents before continuing.
I gather the papers, and Jake holds open the briefcase.
His hands are steady, despite the magnitude of what we've discovered.
The twins hover nearby, uncharacteristically silent as I sort through decades of my grandfather's careful planning.
Each document feels heavy with purpose - property deeds, bank statements, and handwritten notes detailing my mother's betrayal.
As I reach for the final folder, a small key slips out onto the table.
Jake's eyes widen as he recognizes it instantly - a vintage Rolls Royce key matching the one we passed in the mansion's garage earlier tonight. I pocket the key without a word.
My grandfather left nothing to chance.
I hold the key up to the light while Jake and the twins gather the important documents into the briefcase.
The Rolls Royce's polished silver hood ornament gleams through the garage's dusty windows, catching the afternoon sunlight.
My hand trembles slightly as I slide the key into the driver's door - it turns smoothly, the mechanism still well-oiled after years of sitting.
The leather interior releases that distinct old car smell when I open the door.
I slide into the driver's seat, the leather soft and cool against my legs.
Jake takes shotgun, while the twins squeeze into the back.
The dashboard is a beautiful combination of polished wood and brass gauges.
My hands wrap around the thin steering wheel, feeling the difference between this and my Honda's plastic one.
When I insert the key into the ignition, my fingers tremble slightly.
I turn it slowly, and the engine awakens with a deep, smooth rumble that vibrates through the car.
The twins lean forward eagerly as the garage fills with the sound of precision engineering.
"Do you think he wanted us to find this now?" Jake asks, his voice barely audible over the engine's purr.
"I don't know," I reply, glancing at the twins in the rearview mirror. "But it feels like he left us a map, and this car is just the beginning."
I grip the steering wheel, feeling its weight in my hands as I ease off the brake.
The car glides forward with a gentle purr, so different from the rattling of my Honda.
Jake checks the mirrors while the twins whisper about the car's features from the back seat.
Sunlight catches the hood ornament as we emerge from the dim garage.
The gravel crunches beneath the tires, and I pause at the end of the driveway, adjusting to the car's wider turning radius.
"Where do we go from here?" Jake asks, his eyes scanning the horizon.
"The letter mentioned a safe house in the mountains," I reply, feeling the weight of our mission settle in.
"Grandfather always said the truth was hidden where the air is thin," one of the twins adds, their voice tinged with excitement.
I grip the steering wheel tighter as we turn onto the winding mountain road.
The car handles the curves with surprising grace, unlike my Honda's rattling protests.
Jake studies the property documents, searching for any hint of the safe house's address.
Meanwhile, Landon and Lance argue over which peaks look most promising.
Through the windshield, I watch clouds gather around the distant mountaintops.
The elevation marker ticks upward - 2000 feet, then 3000.
My ears pop as we ascend, and the air grows noticeably thinner.
The engine's steady hum becomes our only companion as we climb higher, leaving everything familiar behind.
I slow the Rolls Royce as Jake points through the dense pine trees to our right.
A wooden cabin emerges from the mountain fog, its dark windows barely visible behind overgrown branches.
The twins lean forward between the seats, their excited chatter filling the car.
I pull onto a narrow dirt path, the luxury car's suspension cushioning us over exposed roots and rocks.
The cabin's weathered exterior comes fully into view - two stories of rough-hewn logs with a steep metal roof.
"Do you think this is the place?" Jake asks, squinting at the cabin through the mist.
"It matches the description in Grandfather's notes," I reply, cutting the engine and listening to the silence that follows.
"But why would he hide something so important here?" Landon wonders aloud, his curiosity piqued.
I exit the Rolls Royce, feeling the mountain air's chill through my thin jacket.
The twins scramble out behind me while Jake hangs back, scanning the treeline.
Dead leaves crunch under my feet as I walk toward the cabin's weathered steps.
The wooden porch groans with each careful step, boards sagging slightly under my weight.
I notice fresh scratches around the door's lock, suggesting someone else has been here recently.
My hand freezes on the railing as I spot movement through the cabin's grimy front window.
I stand frozen on the porch, my voice echoing through the mountain air.
Jake moves closer, positioning himself between me and the door while the twins hang back near the Rolls Royce.
Through the grimy window, a shadow shifts again.
My fingers grip the cold brass doorknob as I debate whether to enter.
The floorboards creak beneath my feet with each careful step toward the door.
I hear rustling inside, then footsteps approaching from the other side.
My heart pounds as I prepare to face whoever has beaten us to my grandfather's safe house.
I freeze at the sound of a voice behind us, my hand still on the doorknob.
Turning around, I see Sam standing there with his signature grin, his hands tucked casually in the pockets of his jacket.
The twins exclaim in surprise while Jake remains tense beside me.
Sam walks up the creaky porch steps, explaining he received a letter from my grandfather months ago, instructing him to meet us here.
I remember Sam's unexplained absence last month - he'd been preparing for this moment.
He pulls out a small brass key, identical to the one in my grandfather's journal sketch.
"Why didn't you tell us sooner, Sam?" I ask, trying to mask my frustration.
"I wanted to be sure it was real before getting your hopes up," Sam replies, his voice steady and sincere.
Jake relaxes slightly, nodding in understanding, "So, what exactly are we supposed to find here?"
I push the cabin door with trembling fingers, letting stale mountain air rush past us.
Sam and Jake flank me as we enter, while the twins hover anxiously behind.
Weak sunlight filters through grimy windows, illuminating dust particles dancing in the air.
The main room contains a stone fireplace, worn leather furniture, and cobweb-covered bookshelves.
A thick layer of dust coats everything except recent footprints crossing the wooden floor.
My nose catches that familiar tobacco scent mixed with musty dampness.
When I spot fresh cigarette butts in a brass ashtray, my stomach tightens - someone else has definitely been here recently.
I move cautiously down the dim hallway, following the trail of footprints in the dust while Sam and Jake flank me with their phone lights.
The twins hang back near the entrance, unusually quiet.
The footprints weave between closed doors, heading toward the back of the cabin.
A floorboard creaks beneath my foot, and we all freeze.
The tobacco smell grows stronger, mixing with a newer cigarette scent.
At the hall's end, light spills from beneath the last door.
I glance at Sam, whispering, "Do you think it's him?"
Sam nods slowly, his eyes fixed on the light, "Only one way to find out."
Jake steps forward, his voice low and determined, "Let's see what secrets he's been hiding from us."
I grip the brass doorknob with trembling fingers while Sam and Jake flank me.
The hinges creak as I slowly push the heavy wooden door inward.
Warm candlelight spills into the hallway, casting long shadows.
Through the widening gap, I make out a high-backed leather chair facing away from us, positioned beside an antique desk.
A thin trail of cigarette smoke curls up from an ashtray.
The seated figure remains motionless as we enter, but I catch the distinct scent of my grandfather's preferred tobacco brand.
"Grandfather?" I call out, my voice barely above a whisper.
The chair swivels slowly, revealing a man with familiar eyes but an unfamiliar face, "I knew you'd come, but not alone."
Sam steps forward, his voice steady yet questioning, "Who are you, and why do you have his eyes?"