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MidReal Story
The Billionaire's Secret Legacy
Scenario:Mace Kenmore 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. Mace inherited immense wealth from his grandfather, shocking everyone. He was the heir to the only multi-Quadrillonaire family 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, Mace will get revenge on those who treated him badly. Will he succeed?
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Mace Kenmore
He is a previously penniless orphan who suddenly inherits a Quadrillona from his grandfather. He is resilient, determined, and proud. Mace was raised in an orphanage and worked multiple jobs to survive. His girlfriend left him for someone wealthier. When he learns of his grandfather's massive wealth, he becomes one of the richest people in the world. Despite criticism for his past, Mace feels vindicated. He vows to use his new wealth to help others and seek revenge on those who wronged him.
Grandfather
He is Mace's wealthy grandfather who left him a massive inheritance. He is mysterious, protective, and benevolent. Grandfather hid his wealth from Mace during their occasional meetings and only revealed it after his death. His will leaves Mace with unprecedented financial power, changing his life's trajectory completely. Although Grandfather did not explain why he chose Mace as his heir, his actions speak louder than words, granting Mace a fresh start and vast opportunities.
Melissa
She is Mace's former girlfriend who left him for someone richer. She is selfish, materialistic, and shallow. Melissa valued Mace only for his potential financial future, discarding him as soon as she found someone wealthier. Her treatment of Mace shows her lack of genuine affection or understanding for his struggles. Though her departure was painful for Mace, it motivates his transformation as he realizes the true nature of their relationship.
I was a penniless orphan with no hope of a future.
My girlfriend left me for someone who could provide her with a better life.
I was heartbroken, but I didn't realize how lucky I was to get rid of her.
She only wanted me for my potential, not for who I really was.
Little did she know, I was about to become one of the richest people in the world.
My grandfather's wealth was hidden from me for years, and when I finally found out about it, my life changed forever.
I had to endure criticism from people who thought I didn't deserve it.
They believed I was too young, too inexperienced, and not worthy of such power.
But I didn't let their opinions bring me down.
Instead, I vowed to use my new wealth to help those in need and make sure that everyone who wronged me would bow at my feet.
I would make them all regret underestimating me.
I sat in my grandfather's study, surrounded by the familiar scent of old books and mahogany.
The walls were lined with shelves filled with leather-bound volumes, and the large wooden desk was covered in papers and documents.
Mrs. Reynolds, my grandfather's former secretary, sat across from me, her eyes scanning the financial reports spread out before us.
"So, Mr. Kenmore," she said, "as you can see, the orphanage is struggling to make ends meet. They're barely able to provide basic services for the children."
I nodded, my mind wandering back to the days when I was one of those children.
I remembered the cold nights spent huddled under thin blankets, the taste of watery soup that was supposed to be dinner, and the feeling of always being hungry.
I pushed those thoughts aside and focused on the task at hand.
"What do you recommend we do?" she asked, looking up from the papers.
"I think we should increase their funding," I replied.
"But how much?"
"Well," I said, "let's take a look at their budget and see where we can make some adjustments."
We spent the next few hours going over the financial reports, making notes and discussing possible solutions.
As we worked, I couldn't help but feel a sense of satisfaction knowing that I was finally in a position to help others. After we finished, Mrs. Reynolds gathered up the papers and left the room.
I remained seated at the desk, lost in thought.
My grandfather had always wanted to help that orphanage but never got around to it.
Now it was up to me to make sure that his wishes were fulfilled.
I opened my laptop and pulled up the contact information for the orphanage.
I began drafting an email to the director, explaining my intentions and asking for a meeting to discuss further details.
As I typed out the amount I planned to donate - fifty million dollars - my fingers hesitated over the keyboard for a moment before I clicked send.
Mrs. Reynolds walked back into the room just as I hit send.
Her eyes widened in shock when she saw what I had written.
"Mr. Kenmore," she said, "are you sure about this?"
"Yes," I replied confidently.
"It's time someone helped those kids."
She nodded slowly and sat down beside me.
"I agree with you," she said softly.
"They deserve so much more than they've been given."
We both sat there in silence for a few moments before Mrs. Reynolds spoke again. "Your grandfather would be proud of you," she said quietly.
I opened the thick manila envelope Mrs. Reynolds had brought with her.
Inside, there were stacks of legal documents detailing my inheritance.
My hands shook slightly as I pulled out the first page and began scanning it.
The total sum was listed at the top: 300 Quadrillion dollars.
I blinked twice, thinking I must have read it wrong.
But no, it was definitely a three followed by twelve zeros.
I flipped through the pages, my eyes widening as I took in the extent of my grandfather's empire.
There were private islands dotting the Pacific, a fleet of mega yachts anchored in ports around the world, and penthouses in every major city.
The list went on and on, detailing investments in real estate, stocks, and bonds.
It was overwhelming to say the least.
As I reached the bottom of the pile, something metallic glinted in the corner of my eye.
I lifted up the last page and found a small velvet sleeve tucked inside.
Curious, I pulled it out and examined it closely.
It was a credit card - a sleek black and gold Citibank card with a platinum K emblazoned across its surface. I ran my finger over the raised lettering, marveling at how smooth it felt beneath my fingertips.
This was no ordinary credit card; this was something truly special.
Mrs. Reynolds cleared her throat behind me, breaking me out of my trance-like state.
"Mr. Kenmore," she said softly, "do you have any questions?"
I turned to face her, still clutching the card tightly in my hand.
"How much can I spend on this?" she asked with a knowing smile.
"As long as you don't exceed your monthly limit," she replied, "you can buy anything you want."
I nodded slowly, trying to wrap my mind around what she had just said.
Anything I wanted?
That was hard to comprehend considering how little I had grown up with.
My grandfather rarely visited me at the orphanage, but when he did, he always came bearing gifts - small trinkets and treats that meant more to me than any amount of money ever could have.
I set the card down, realizing that my true wealth lay not in material possessions, but in the power to change lives.
I walk through the empty halls of my grandfather's mansion, trailing my fingers along the smooth mahogany walls.
Each step echoes against the marble floors that once seemed impossible to own.
In my pocket, the weight of the black and gold card reminds me of how far I've come.
I pause at a window overlooking the city lights below, the same view I used to see from the orphanage rooftop where I'd escape to dream.
Mrs. Reynolds approaches with evening tea in hand, her eyes filled with a mix of curiosity and concern.
I share stories of those nights - the hunger, the cold, the loneliness.
She listens intently, her expression softening when I speak of my grandfather's occasional visits, the only glimpse of family I ever knew.
"Did you ever ask him why he didn't take you in?" she inquired gently, setting the tea tray down.
I shook my head, the question lingering like an unspoken shadow.
"He always said there were things I needed to learn on my own," I replied, my voice barely above a whisper.
While organizing papers in the study, I stumbled upon a worn leather journal wedged behind my grandfather's desk.
As I opened it, a sealed envelope slipped out, addressed to me in his familiar handwriting.
Mrs. Reynolds brought fresh tea, finding me staring at the letter, hesitant to break the seal.
"He often wrote here late at night," she said softly, her eyes filled with memories.
I ran my fingers over his handwriting on the envelope, remembering how he'd pat my head during his brief visits.
The weight of unanswered questions hung heavy in the room.
"Do you think this letter might explain why he kept his distance?" Mrs. Reynolds asked, her voice gentle but probing.
"I hope so," I replied, feeling the envelope's edge with my thumb.
"Then perhaps it's time to find out," she suggested, nodding towards the letter with quiet encouragement.
My hands shake as I break the wax seal, the red fragments scattering across my grandfather's mahogany desk.
The aged paper crackles as I unfold it, revealing his distinctive slanted handwriting.
Mrs. Reynolds stands quietly by the door, her presence a comforting familiarity.
I stare at the first line, the study shrinking to a small, intimate space as afternoon light pours through the windows.
I smooth the letter against the desk's leather surface, touching the indentations where his pen pressed into the paper.
The familiar scent of his cologne lingers on the pages, transporting me back to his brief visits.
"Read it aloud, if you wish," Mrs. Reynolds suggested softly, her eyes encouraging yet respectful of my hesitation.
I took a deep breath, my voice trembling slightly as I began, "My dearest Mace, if you're reading this, it means I've finally found the courage to share the truth."
Mrs. Reynolds leaned in closer, her expression shifting from curiosity to concern as she asked, "What truth could he have kept hidden all these years?"
I read through tear-blurred eyes as his words poured out, revealing his deepest regret.
He'd stayed away to protect me from those who'd killed my parents, enemies he couldn't vanquish alone.
His absences weren't abandonment but sacrifice.
Mrs. Reynolds places a steadying hand on my shoulder as the second envelope drops to the floor.
I open it, revealing glossy photos of a sprawling Mediterranean villa with white columns and crystal-clear waters.
The deed lists an address in Greece, dated back to my birth.
My fingers trace the property lines as Mrs. Reynolds explains it was my mother's dream home, a place she'd always wanted to escape to.
I clutch both letters to my chest, finally understanding why he watched from afar.
My security team enters quietly, their presence a reminder of the world beyond this room.
"Are you ready to see it for yourself?" Mrs. Reynolds asked, her voice filled with a gentle urgency.
I nodded, my resolve strengthening as I replied, "Yes, it's time I finally stepped into the life they dreamed for me."
"Then let's make the arrangements," she said with a reassuring smile, already reaching for the phone.
I stand in my bedroom, surrounded by open suitcases and neatly folded clothes.
Mrs. Reynolds is busy packing my belongings for the trip to Greece.
My hands tremble slightly as I dial Justin's number, remembering the countless nights we spent working at minimum wage jobs just a few months ago.
"Hey, man, what's up?" he answers on the first ring.
I hesitate for a moment before speaking, unsure how he'll react to the sudden change in my life.
"Justin, I need to tell you something."
"Is everything okay?"
"Yeah, everything's fine. It's just... I've recently inherited a lot of money."
There's a pause on the other end of the line, and I can almost hear his mind racing.
"That's... that's amazing news," he finally says, his voice filled with genuine excitement.
"But there's more," I continue, my voice wavering slightly.
"I've decided to go to Greece for a while."
"Greece? That sounds incredible. Are you inviting me to join you?"
I take a deep breath before answering, "Yeah, I am. But if you don't want to come, I completely understand."
There's another pause, and my stomach tightens with anticipation.
Then Justin speaks again, his voice filled with excitement and a hint of disbelief.
"Are you kidding me? Of course, I'm coming! When do we leave?"
I let out a sigh of relief as Mrs. Reynolds pauses her meticulous packing to watch me with a knowing smile.
"Great," I say into the phone.
"I'll text you the details later. But first, I need to get off the phone and take care of a few things."
"Sure thing, man," Justin replies, his voice filled with excitement.
"See you soon!"
I hang up the phone and sit down at my desk, examining the first-class ticket Mrs. Reynolds just delivered.
Running my fingers over the embossed lettering, I read the destination: "Athens International Airport," with tomorrow's date printed neatly below.
My old flip phone buzzes on the desk, a text from Justin asking for travel details.
I remember our late-night conversations about vacations we could never afford, eating dollar-store snacks during lunch breaks.
A smile tugs at my lips as I imagine his face lighting up when he sees the ticket.
Mrs. Reynolds enters with a stack of travel documents and a knowing smile.
"The private jet is ready," she says, placing the papers on my desk.
"It's going to be a comfortable flight."
"Private jet?"
I ask, feeling a mix of excitement and disbelief.
"Yes," she replies, her voice filled with warmth.
"And don't worry about food. The jet offers champagne service and gourmet meals."
I picture Justin's face lighting up at the mention of champagne and gourmet meals, and a wave of gratitude washes over me. "Thank you, Mrs. Reynolds," I say sincerely, gathering my thoughts as I place Justin's ticket in an overnight envelope addressed to his cramped studio apartment.
"You've always taken care of me."
She smiles softly, her eyes filled with affection as she says, "You're like family to me."
The sound of laughter echoes through the halls as I walk towards the living room where Justin is waiting for me.
I can't help but smile at his infectious energy as he talks about our upcoming trip to Greece.
But amidst the excitement, a part of me feels like an imposter, hiding my true identity behind this new life.
Justin looks up as I enter, his eyes sparkling with anticipation as he asks, "So, when do we leave?"
I hesitate for a moment before answering, unsure how he'll react to my sudden change in circumstances.
"Tomorrow," I finally say, trying to gauge his reaction.
His eyes widen in surprise before breaking into a wide grin as he exclaims, "Tomorrow? That's amazing!"
I nod in agreement as he continues to talk excitedly about our upcoming adventure.
In my grandfather's study, I sit across from Justin, who stares wide-eyed at the leather chairs and crystal decanters.
My throat tightens as I slide the inheritance documents across the mahogany desk.
Justin's hands tremble as he reads the figures - 300 Quadrillion dollars, private islands, yachts.
His face pales when he sees the black and gold card.
I explain my grandfather's secret wealth and recent revelations about my parents.
Mrs. Reynolds brings tea, giving me an encouraging nod.
Justin slumps back, processing the news.
I lead Justin through the mansion, past the grand staircase and into the wine cellar.
Rows of dusty bottles line the stone walls, casting a warm glow under the soft lighting.
Mrs. Reynolds follows with a silver tray of crystal glasses, her footsteps echoing off the walls.
She stops in front of a specific section, her eyes shining with a hint of nostalgia as she points to a bottle with a faded label.
"That one," she says softly, her voice carrying a hint of reverence.
"It was your grandfather's favorite. He saved it for special occasions."
I carefully retrieve the bottle, feeling the weight of its age and significance in my hands.
The label reads "1982 Bordeaux," and I can't help but wonder about the stories it could tell.
As I work the corkscrew, memories flood my mind - nights spent sharing cheap beer with Justin after our shifts at the diner.
The cork comes free with a soft pop, releasing a rich aroma that fills the cool cellar air.
I pour three measures into the delicate glasses, watching as the liquid swirls and settles.
Mrs. Reynolds smiles, her eyes twinkling with warmth as she lifts her glass in a silent toast.
I raise my glass, feeling the weight of the past and the promise of the future intertwine in this moment.
Standing in the dimly lit wine cellar, I raise my crystal glass of 1982 Bordeaux and clear my throat.
The wine's deep ruby color catches the light as I search for the right words.
Justin fidgets with his glass, still processing everything I've revealed, while Mrs. Reynolds waits patiently beside the vintage wine racks.
My voice cracks slightly as I begin speaking about friendship, loyalty, and the strange twists of fate that brought us here.
The cellar's cool air carries the wine's rich aroma as our glasses meet with a delicate ring, the sound echoing off the stone walls.
In that moment, I knew our lives would never be the same.
Justin's hand trembles slightly as he raises his glass, the burgundy liquid catching the cellar's dim light.
"To new adventures," he says, his voice growing stronger.
"Let's see the world together, like we always talked about during those late shifts."
Mrs. Reynolds nods her approval as Justin continues, describing dreams of exploring ancient ruins and sailing distant seas.
I pull out my phone, opening a map of potential destinations.
Justin leans in, his finger tracing paths across the screen as he points to Greece, then Egypt, then Japan.
His enthusiasm is infectious, and I find myself marking each location as Mrs. Reynolds takes notes.
The future stretched before us, vast and uncharted, as we clinked our glasses once more, sealing our pact with the taste of aged wine and newfound freedom.
I lean against the wine rack, scrolling through travel photos on my phone, when Mrs. Reynolds suddenly clears her throat.
"Ah, there's one more thing," she says, her voice tinged with a hint of importance.
She reaches into the pocket of her blazer and pulls out a small envelope.
"Your grandfather wanted you to have this. It's a separate fund, dedicated solely to your travels."
My hands tremble slightly as I take the envelope from her.
I open it, revealing a sleek black card and a stack of documents.
The card bears no name, only a series of numbers and a silver logo.
As I flip through the documents, my eyes widen in disbelief.
There's a 500-billion-dollar annual allowance, specifically for exploring the world.
Justin's eyes go wide as he reads over my shoulder.
Mrs. Reynolds explains that my grandfather wanted me to experience everything he couldn't show me in person.
He wanted me to see the wonders of the world and live life to the fullest.
I slide the black card across the cellar's wooden table to Justin.
"Let's start planning our first adventure."
I sit at my grandfather's mahogany desk, Justin by my side.
She places them on the desk, revealing pictures of whitewashed villas and crystal-clear waters.
Justin points to a private resort in Santorini, his eyes wide with wonder.
The brochure shows infinity pools overlooking the Aegean Sea and sunsets that paint the sky in hues of gold and crimson.
I remember flipping through travel magazines during lunch breaks, dreaming of places we'd never afford.
Now, those dreams are within reach.
Mrs. Reynolds suggests chartering the family's private jet for our journey.
I nod in agreement and pull out the black card from my pocket.
Justin watches in awe as I book the presidential suite of the resort online.
I click through the website, selecting the finest wines for our arrival and requesting fresh flowers for the room.
The resort's concierge answers on the first ring, her voice smooth and welcoming.
I put her on speakerphone, and she confirms our reservation.
She recommends their exclusive cliffside terrace for dinner, overlooking the sea.
Justin leans over my shoulder as I tap the keyboard, finalizing our arrangements.
The afternoon sun streams through the study windows, casting a warm glow over us.
Justin's cologne mixes with the scent of old books and leather chairs.
His hand accidentally brushes against mine on the mouse pad, sending a shiver down my spine.
He whispers something about dreams coming true, his breath warm against my ear.
I lean back in my leather chair, watching his eyes light up as I suggest we leave tomorrow.
Mrs. Reynolds returns with two leather travel cases, setting them beside the desk.
Justin runs his fingers over the expensive luggage, remembering the broken duffel bag we shared during our diner days.
I pull out my black card to order matching designer suitcases for him.
He protests, but I ignore him, tapping on the laptop screen.
When the confirmation email arrives, showing overnight delivery to his apartment, his voice cracks with emotion.
Mrs. Reynolds discreetly exits the room, closing the door behind her.
I stand up and guide Justin toward the door.
"Rest well," I say softly.
"Tomorrow, we'll embark on a new adventure together."
I stand in my suite's marble bathroom, adjusting the collar of my new linen shirt.
The ocean breeze carries Justin's humming through the open doors as he waits on the balcony.
I take a deep breath, gathering my courage to join him.
My heart races as I step out into the sunlight.
Justin leans against the railing, his white shirt catching the golden light.
He turns, his smile radiant, and suggests we walk down to the beach.
I lead him through the resort's private path, our shoulders brushing.
At the bottom of the stone steps, Justin hesitates.
"Do you think we'll ever go back to how things were?" he asks, his voice tinged with uncertainty.
I pause, considering the weight of his question.
"Maybe," I reply softly, "but I think we're meant to create something new from here."
I lead him down the winding stone steps, our new leather sandals dangling from our fingers.
The Mediterranean breeze carries the scent of salt and jasmine as we reach the private beach.
The sand is pristine, untouched by crowds.
We walk side by side, the gentle waves rolling in, their foam brushing against our bare feet.
Justin stops to pick up a smooth piece of sea glass, holding it up to catch the morning light.
Our footprints trail behind us in the wet sand as we continue along the water's edge.
When Justin's hand brushes mine, I feel my heart skip a beat.
We share a quiet smile, knowing this is just the beginning.