Share
MidReal Story
The Secret Billionaire
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?
Create my version of this story
Shane Weber
He is a former orphan who was raised in foster care,discovering he was the secret heir to a multibillion dollar fortune. He is resilient,humble,and determined. Shane faced years of poverty and judgment,dating the daughter of a wealthy man. When his wealthy grandfather passes away,Shane inherits the fortune,shocking everyone. Overcoming past struggles,he vows to reclaim his life,embracing his new role as a wealthy heir while seeking revenge on those who mistreated him.
Grandfather
He was Shane's paternal grandfather,who secretly raised him in poverty due to financial struggles caused by his wife's spending habits. He was caring,vulnerable,and selfless. Grandfather took Shane in when he was abandoned by his parents and foster care system failed him. Despite struggling to provide for Shane,he maintained hope and love for the boy. His unexpected death leaves a vast fortune for Shane to inherit,changing the course of his life.
Julia
She is the daughter of a wealthy man and Shane's exgirlfriend. She is selfish,manipulative,and entitled. Julia left Shane for someone more affluent,despite his hard work and dedication to their relationship. When Shane discovers the fortune he is entitled to,she tries to take advantage of it but is instead rejected. Her past actions haunt her as Shane seeks to move on from their relationship while embracing his new life as a wealthy individual.
I was an orphan.
I was raised in foster care, and then my paternal grandfather took me in.
However, he was too poor to even provide me with basic necessities.
I had to work while going to school to survive.
Luckily, I graduated and got a job.
But my girlfriend left me for a richer guy.
I worked hard and earned enough money to buy a house, but my girlfriend came back for me once she found out that my grandfather left behind a huge fortune for me.
She wanted to marry me and get her hands on my inheritance.
But I wasn't born yesterday.
I kicked her out of my life and vowed that those who labeled me as a failure would eventually bow at my feet.
My name is Shane Weber, and I used to be poor.
But after my grandfather's death, I became the richest man in the world.
No one expected that I would be the one to inherit such a huge fortune.
Not even myself.
My life was hard ever since I was a child.
I was an orphan and had no idea who my parents were.
I sat in my grandfather's old study, surrounded by financial reports and childhood photos.
I was only a few years old when my grandfather took me in, but he died when I was still young.
He left behind a huge fortune for me, which I was only able to claim after I turned twenty-five.
The memories of my childhood flooded back as I sat at his desk.
I had shared a small bedroom with three other foster kids, and we had to fight for everything we needed.
But despite the hardships, I had always dreamed of making a better life for myself.
And now, with the inheritance, I finally had the chance to do so.
I opened my laptop and started researching statistics on foster care.
The numbers were staggering: over 50% of foster kids dropped out of high school, and more than 20% ended up homeless.
Unemployment rates were also much higher among former foster kids.
It was clear that something needed to be done to help these vulnerable children. As I read through the statistics, an idea began to form in my mind.
I would start a nationwide education foundation, dedicated to providing support and resources to foster kids.
First target: the rundown group home where I spent three years of my life.
I called my financial advisor and instructed him to allocate $50 billion for immediate renovations, tutoring programs, and college scholarships.
Then, I looked at the photo of my grandfather on the desk and smiled.
"Grandpa," I said, "this is just the beginning."
The next day, I received a call from my financial advisor with an update on the progress of the foundation.
"We've purchased the building where you used to live," he said.
"It's in pretty bad shape, but we can renovate it into something amazing."
"That's great news," I replied.
"Please send me the paperwork so I can sign it."
Standing in the dilapidated hallway of my old group home, I ran my hand along the cracked walls.
The musty smell and flickering fluorescent lights were just as I remembered them.
I could almost feel the cold nights spent huddled on my thin mattress, trying to stay warm.
But things were about to change.
My lawyer handed me the final paperwork, and the current administrator, Mrs. Peterson, stood nervously beside him.
She had been a kind but firm presence during my time here, and I was glad she would still be involved in the new foundation.
I scanned the purchase agreement one last time, envisioning the renovations that would transform this dreary building into a safe haven for foster kids.
Modern dorms with comfortable beds, a computer lab filled with new laptops, counseling offices where they could receive support, and a cafeteria that served fresh, nutritious meals.
It was going to be a place where they could thrive and chase their dreams.
Taking out my pen, I signed my name on the dotted line.
Mrs. Peterson's hands trembled as she accepted the documents from me, her eyes welling up with tears.
I watched as she carefully tucked the papers into her worn leather portfolio – the same one she'd carried during my years here.
Through the grimy window behind her, I saw two kids playing with a deflated basketball in the concrete yard.
The boy missed a shot, and the ball bounced weakly against the rusty hoop.
I pulled out my phone, opened my banking app, and transferred an additional $5 million for immediate repairs and supplies.
When I showed Mrs. Peterson the confirmation screen, her eyes widened in disbelief.
"Shane, this is more than I ever imagined," she said, her voice choked with emotion.
"I want these kids to have what I never did," I replied, determination in my eyes.
"You've already changed their lives just by showing them that someone cares," she whispered, wiping away a tear.
I sat at the head of the conference table in my temporary office at the group home, spreading out the building blueprints on the surface.
Construction managers and architects filed in, their faces filled with a mix of curiosity and skepticism.
The peeling wallpaper and water-stained ceiling above us were a stark reminder of the work ahead.
"Alright," I began, pointing to various areas on the plans.
"The first priority is replacing the outdated heating system. I remember winters spent huddled under thin blankets, trying to stay warm."
I paused, my gaze drifting to the window where two kids played with a deflated basketball in the concrete yard.
"The boy missed a shot, and the ball bounced weakly against the rusty hoop," I continued, my voice filled with determination.
"We need a new HVAC system installed ASAP. Next, we'll reinforce the walls and expand the bedrooms to fit proper beds with real mattresses. No more bunk beds or cramped spaces."
The room fell silent as I outlined my vision for a place where these kids could truly thrive.
The lead architect cleared his throat, his voice hesitant as he spoke.
"Mr. Weber, this is quite an ambitious project. I estimate it will take at least six months to complete."
I cut him off mid-sentence, my eyes locked on his.
"Six months? That's unacceptable. I want this done in three, max."
The room fell silent once more, the tension palpable.
I could feel the weight of their skepticism, but I remained resolute.
Suddenly, a knock echoed through the door, breaking the silence.
It was my assistant, her expression apologetic as she whispered something in my ear.
I nodded curtly and dismissed the room.
As the contractors filed out, I couldn't help but wonder if they would rise to the challenge.
The door creaked open again, and a familiar face walked in – James Chen.
He looked a bit older now, his hair graying at the temples, but his eyes still held that same quiet confidence I remembered from our days at the group home.
He carried a large stack of architectural plans and blueprints under his arm.
"Shane Weber," he said with a small smile, extending his hand.
"It's been a while."
I took his hand firmly, surprised by the strength of his grip.
"James Chen. I didn't know you were an engineer."
He chuckled softly, setting down the stack of papers on the table.
"I wasn't always. But after leaving here, I worked odd jobs to put myself through engineering school."
His eyes met mine with a hint of pride.
"I started my own firm a few years ago. We specialize in renovating old buildings like this one." "Really?"
I asked, intrigued as I flipped through the plans he had brought with him.
"These look impressive."
James nodded humbly.
"We've worked on several projects like this before. Our team has experience with institutional buildings, and we understand the importance of meeting deadlines."
I studied him for a moment, searching for any signs of deception or false promises.
But all I saw was genuine determination and a hint of nostalgia in his eyes.
"So," he continued, pointing to various sections of the blueprints, "as you can see, we've already started working on some ideas for modernizing the building systems. New plumbing and electrical wiring will be installed throughout. The heating system will be replaced with something more efficient."
I listened intently as he explained each detail of his proposal.
It was clear that he had put a lot of thought into it – perhaps even more than any other contractor who had walked through that door today.
When he finished speaking, I leaned back in my chair and considered everything he had said.
"James, I have to admit, this is exactly what I've been looking for," I said, feeling a sense of relief wash over me.
"I'm glad to hear that, Shane. I owe a lot to this place, and I'm committed to making it the best it can be," he replied earnestly.
"Then let's get started right away. We don't have a moment to lose," I declared, feeling the weight of our shared past and future in every word.
I walked through the construction site with James, observing how his team was already at work.
Some were measuring the walls to determine where they could be knocked down to create larger dormitory spaces, while others tested the electrical systems to see what needed to be updated.
We stopped at a makeshift table set up in one of the empty rooms, where Sarah, James's head architect, was spreading out detailed floor plans.
She pointed out specific areas that they would need to focus on first, such as reinforcing the foundation and replacing the outdated plumbing system.
Nearby, Mike, the structural engineer, was examining the load-bearing walls to determine which ones they could safely remove.
Two electricians were discussing how they would rewire the entire building to accommodate modern appliances and lighting fixtures.
Meanwhile, in the basement, a plumber was inspecting the corroded pipes and assessing how much new material would be needed.
As we made our way back upstairs, James explained that his team could work double shifts if necessary, allowing them to complete the project in half the time originally estimated.
I nodded thoughtfully, impressed by their efficiency and dedication.
"I like what I see," I said finally.
"Do whatever it takes to get this done on time."
James smiled, extending his hand once more. "Consider it done," he replied confidently.
"And if there's anything else you need from me or my team, just let me know."
I shook his hand firmly before turning back to survey the bustling activity around us.
I lean over the makeshift desk with Sarah, both of us studying the dormitory floor plans spread across the dusty surface.
Construction noise echoes through the building as workers tear out old drywall nearby, revealing the skeletal framework beneath.
Sarah points to various areas on the blueprints, her finger tracing along the lines as she explains potential locations for additional windows to let in more natural light.
I nod intently, my eyes following her gestures as I consider the possibilities.
When she reaches to adjust the corner of the blueprint, our hands accidentally brush against each other.
The unexpected touch sends a jolt of warmth through me, and I pause for a moment, my gaze meeting hers.
For a brief second, we just stare at each other, the sounds of construction fading into the background.
Then Mike calls out from across the room, asking for Sarah's opinion on a structural issue he's encountered.
Sarah pulls her hand back, a slight flush coloring her cheeks.
"I'll be right there, Mike," she calls out, her voice steady despite the momentary distraction.
Turning back to me, she adds softly, "We can discuss the window placements later if you'd like."
I follow Mike to the east wing, where he's examining a section of wall that appears to be crumbling.
As he shines his flashlight against the surface, I notice the paint is peeling in several places, revealing water damage underneath.
The wooden beams behind the drywall are rotted and weakened, causing concern for the structural integrity of the entire section.
I remember huddling against this very wall during storms when I was a child, never realizing just how dangerous it was.
Mike points out where the support structure has given way, explaining that we'll need to completely rebuild this section before we can even think about adding any windows.
I grab his notepad and quickly sketch out the layout of the old rooms, hoping to identify any other potential trouble spots before they become major issues.
As I draw, Mike nods thoughtfully, his eyes scanning my rough illustration.
"Good thinking," he says, taking the notepad from me.
I lean against the damaged wall, watching as Mike studies the sketches I've made.
The rotting beams and crumbling plaster make me question whether renovating this place is the best course of action.
I pull out my phone and start calculating some rough numbers in my head—land costs, new construction, modern facilities.
A fresh start would mean no compromises, no working around old problems.
I could design it exactly how these kids need it.
Mike notices I've gone quiet and glances over at me.
"What are you thinking?"
I hold up my phone, showing him the preliminary figures I've come up with for building new versus renovating.
"Maybe it's time to consider starting from scratch," I suggest, feeling the weight of the decision settle in.
I watch as Mike dials a number on his phone, my mind still racing with the possibilities and potential pitfalls of either path.
The roof sags in several places, the foundation is cracked, and the electrical system is so outdated that it could never support the needs of modern living.
The smell of mold clings to everything, reminding me of countless sleepless nights spent in these rooms as a child.
Through a broken window, I hear the distant voices of kids playing outside, their laughter echoing off these failing walls that have sheltered generations of foster children.
Mike speaks quietly into his phone, explaining our situation to someone named David.
After a moment, he writes something down on his notepad and ends the call.
Turning to me, he says, "David's the best structural engineer I know. He'll give us honest answers."
I nod, knowing that whatever decision we make, it must be one that ensures these walls will echo with laughter for generations to come.
I sit at my desk, staring at the stack of photos I took during the initial inspection of the building.
The morning light streams through my office window, casting a warm glow on the worn wooden surface.
Above me, the ceiling tiles bear decades of water stains, their yellowed surfaces a testament to years of neglect.
A knock at the door pulls me from my thoughts.
"Come in," I call out, glancing up as Mike enters with a man I've never met before.
"Hey, this is David," Mike says, gesturing to the man beside him.
David steps forward, extending his hand.
"Nice to meet you," he says, his voice firm and confident.
I shake his hand, nodding in greeting.
"Thanks for coming out so quickly," I say, gesturing for them to take seats across from me.
David sits down and immediately pulls out a stack of papers and photographs from his bag.
He begins spreading them across my desk, pointing out various sections of the building that he's examined. "As you can see here," he explains, pointing to a series of cracks in the foundation, "the structural integrity of the building is severely compromised."
He moves on to another set of photos showing asbestos in the walls and compromised load-bearing beams.
His expression turns grave as he points out several areas where the building is on the verge of collapse.
Mike stands beside him, nodding silently in agreement with each point David makes.
I lean forward, studying the photographs and reports spread out before me.
I lean back in my chair as David pulls out a detailed timeline from his folder.
He spreads it across my desk, pointing to various phases of the construction process.
"The demolition would take two weeks," he explains, tracing a line along the timeline with his finger.
"Then we'd have about a month for foundation work, and finally, the main construction would take around six to eight months total."
I tap my pen against the timeline, thinking of the kids who need a safe home now.
"And what if we ran multiple crews around the clock?" I ask, my mind racing with possibilities.
David furrows his brow, considering my question.
He pulls out a red pen and begins marking up the timeline with new estimates.
"If we had two crews working in shifts, we could potentially cut the construction time in half," he says, looking up at me with a hint of excitement in his eyes.
"But it would increase costs significantly."
I nod, knowing that the cost of inaction is far greater.
I sit in my office, studying the timeline that David left with me.
The numbers and deadlines blur together as I try to make sense of it all.
Mike clears his throat, pulling my attention away from the papers.
"Hey, I wanted to talk to you about something," he says, leaning against the doorframe.
I nod for him to continue.
"I used to work with a guy named Tom Martinez," he explains.
"He was a genius when it came to construction. He revolutionized emergency relief projects by finding ways to build faster and more efficiently."
I raise an eyebrow, intrigued.
"Really? How?"
Mike pulls out his phone and scrolls through some photos before handing it to me.
"These are pictures of a school he rebuilt after a hurricane," he explains.
"They had three months to get the kids back in class, and Tom's team made it happen."
I take his phone and begin flipping through the photos.
They show a building that's almost identical to ours, with the same structural issues and damage.
But as I scroll through, I see progress shots of the renovation, ending with pictures of happy children sitting in their new classrooms. "Wow," I say, handing the phone back to Mike.
"That's incredible. How did he do it?"
"He developed specialized prefabrication techniques that allowed him to build entire sections of the school off-site while the foundation work was being done," Mike explains.
"It saved them months of time and labor."
I lean forward, my mind racing with possibilities.
"Can you get us in touch with this guy?"
Mike nods and begins dialing a number on his phone.
As he waits for someone to answer, he pulls up more photos on his phone and hands it back to me.
"These are some of his other projects," he says quietly.
I take the phone and begin flipping through the images.
The phone connects, and Mike speaks into it, "Tom? It's Mike. I've got a project that needs your magic touch."
There's a pause as Tom responds, and then Mike continues, "Yeah, it's urgent. We're talking about a home for foster kids—time is of the essence."
I watch Mike's expression shift to one of determination as he listens, then he nods and says, "Great, let's meet tomorrow. I'll send you the details."