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MidReal Story
The Wealthy Outcast's Triumph
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.
He is the son of a single mother who raised him in poverty after losing touch with her wealthy parents. He is resilient, determined, and proud. Abandoned by his grandparents and treated poorly by others due to his circumstances, Kevin vowed to succeed and make others pay for their mistreatment. After his mother's death, he inherited a massive fortune from unknown parents. Kevin's life transformed from poverty to wealth, allowing him to exact revenge on those who wronged him and support his former girlfriend.
Grandfather Kenmore
He is Kevin's paternal grandfather. He is wealthy, distant, and coldhearted. Initially treating Kevin with disdain due to his mother's poor background, the grandfather eventually acknowledged Kevin as part of the family after his successful inheritance. His wealth and influence significantly impacted Kevin's life, providing financial stability and opportunities that changed his destiny.
Lana
She is Kevin's exgirlfriend who left him for another person. She is materialistic, shallow, and critical. Lana chose to leave Kevin for someone with more wealth and status, disregarding the genuine bond they shared. Her criticism and lack of understanding during their relationship contributed to Kevin's selfdoubt and ultimately led to their breakup.
I was born to be a loser.
I was abandoned when I was a baby.
My parents, who were filthy rich, didn't want me.
They had a daughter with another woman and gave her everything they had.
I was left with my single mother who could barely scrape by.
She loved me, but she wasn't enough to make my life any better.
I grew up in poverty.
I went to school with holes in my shoes and hand-me-down clothes from my neighbors.
Kids made fun of me and called me names.
Teachers pitied me but didn't think I was smart enough to pass their classes.
They were wrong.
I passed every subject with flying colors.
But I didn't gloat.
Instead, I worked hard to make my grades better because I wanted to go to college.
It was my ticket out of poverty.
My girlfriend, Lana, stayed with me even though I couldn't take her out for fancy dinners or buy her expensive gifts.
She was the only person who didn't look down on me besides my mom.
But she left me for another guy who had more money and status.
I didn't blame her.
I knew I would never be able to give her the life she deserved.
But it still hurt.
A lot.
I sit in my new penthouse office and stare at the name flashing on the screen of my phone.
Lana.
My finger hovers over the answer button, but I can't bring myself to press it.
The last time we talked, she was crying.
I had no money in my wallet.
I had no job.
And she walked away from me.
The phone keeps ringing until it goes to voicemail.
I look out the floor-to-ceiling windows of my office and watch my newly acquired shipping fleet dock at the harbor below.
The same harbor where I used to work as a day laborer.
My phone rings again, and I answer it without saying anything.
"Kevin?" her shaky voice comes through the speaker of my phone.
"Where are you?"
"I'm here," I answer, my voice deep and rough after not speaking for days.
"I want to meet you."
"Where?"
"Carlo's."
I frown at the mention of the restaurant where she dumped me six months ago.
"Okay," I say before pressing the intercom on my desk.
"Why now, Lana?" I ask, my voice steady but curious.
"I made a mistake, Kevin," she admits, her voice trembling with regret.
"And what makes you think I haven't moved on?"
I park my Bentley in front of Carlo's.
It's the same spot where my rusty Honda used to sit.
I look through the window and see Lana sitting at our old table, fidgeting with her phone.
The maître d' who used to sneer at my worn jacket is now rushing out to open the door for me.
He bows deeply as I step out of my car.
I pause in the entrance, adjusting my suit.
The restaurant falls silent as other diners recognize me.
I walk past the bar where I once counted coins to pay for our anniversary dinner, and Lana's eyes widen in surprise when she sees me.
I slide into the leather booth across from her.
She's wearing a designer dress and her nails are perfectly manicured.
A far cry from the uniform she used to wear when she was waitressing here a year ago.
She sets her phone down on the table, and I notice her hands are shaking slightly.
The waiter hovers nearby, but I wave him off without looking at him.
I keep my eyes fixed on her face.
She opens her mouth to speak, then closes it again.
Her eyes flicker to the Patek Philippe watch on my wrist—the same one she said I would never be able to afford.
The silence stretches between us as other diners whisper and point at me.
Finally, I lean forward, my voice steady but cold.
"Why now, Lana?"
She fidgets with her napkin, avoiding my gaze.
I lean back against the leather booth and watch her.
The crystal chandelier above us catches the diamonds on her fingers.
Costume jewelry, I note.
Unlike the genuine Patek Philippe on my wrist.
She opens her mouth to speak, but I cut her off before she can say a word.
I pull out my phone and slide it across the table to her.
She hesitates for a moment before picking it up and looking at the screen.
Her eyes widen as she reads the headline from Forbes: "Unknown Heir Claims Kenmore Fortune."
She scrolls through the photos of my new holdings—the shipping fleet, the Manhattan penthouse, the private jet.
Each swipe of her finger makes her sink lower in her seat.
Finally, she reaches the last image—the newly-built memorial hospital in my mother's name.
Her voice is barely a whisper as she asks, "Is this all true?"
I nod, watching her reaction closely.
"And you did it all without me," she says, her voice laced with a mix of awe and regret.
I lean back in the leather booth, deliberately letting the silence stretch.
Her eyes meet mine, and I see the tears welling up in them.
The soft lighting of the restaurant catches the moisture, making her eyes sparkle like diamonds.
But I feel nothing—no satisfaction, no anger, just emptiness.
She reaches across the table to touch my hand, but I pull back smoothly.
I adjust my cufflinks, a subtle gesture that speaks volumes.
The waiter hovers nearby, sensing the tension between us.
He's waiting for my signal to approach, but I wave him off once more.
Lana clears her throat, her voice trembling as she begins to speak.
"I thought I was making a mistake," she says, her words spilling out in a rush.
"I thought I was settling for someone who couldn't give me the life I deserved. But now...now I realize that I made a terrible mistake."
She pauses, her voice cracking on the last word.
"I miss us."
I take a slow sip of water from my glass, savoring the taste before setting it down with deliberate precision.
I watch as she dabs at her eyes with a napkin, her mascara smearing slightly.
She takes a deep breath before continuing.
"Do you remember our old apartment? The one we shared above the Chinese restaurant? Remember how we'd stay up late watching movies together? I'd cook dinner while you studied for your exams."
Her words are like a distant echo, a memory from someone else's life.
I feel disconnected, as if I'm watching a movie of my past through a foggy lens.
The waiter approaches our table once more, this time holding the leather check holder in his hand.
He sets it down on the table with practiced ease, his eyes never meeting mine.
I reach for my wallet, remembering the countless nights I spent washing dishes in this very restaurant just to cover the cost of a dinner I couldn't afford.
I pull out my black card and place it inside the leather holder without even glancing at the total. Lana begins to say something else, but I'm already standing up, smoothing out my jacket.
"Goodbye, Lana," I say, turning away without looking back.
I stop at Carlo's entrance, my hand on the polished brass handle.
The maître d' hovers nearby, ready to open the door for me, but I wave him off.
Through the reflection in the window, I see Lana still sitting at our table, her shoulders shaking as she sobs silently.
Six months ago, I'd dreamed of this moment—of making her regret leaving me.
Now, standing in my tailored suit and Italian leather shoes, I realize that it's not about revenge.
It's about closure.
I remember the nights she brought me soup when I was sick with the flu.
The times she worked double shifts so we could afford textbooks for my classes.
Those memories are real, even if everything else has changed.
I turn back toward our table, but it's not to reconcile or rekindle what we had.
I walk back to our table, where she still sits with tears streaming down her face.
The other diners pretend not to watch as I slide back into the booth, this time next to her instead of across.
My expensive cologne mingles with her familiar perfume—the same brand she always wore.
I take a deep breath, inhaling the scent of our past.
"I wasn't perfect either," I admit, my voice barely above a whisper.
"After you left, I was angry. I blamed you for everything. I told myself that if only you had stayed, things would have been different."
I pause, my hand resting on the table between us.
"But the truth is, I was scared," I confess, my voice steadying.
"Scared of failing, scared of not being enough for you or for myself."
Lana looks at me, her eyes searching mine, and whispers, "I was scared too."
I take my black card from the leather folder, barely glancing at the four-figure total that would have once left me in debt for months.
Lana's mascara-stained face watches my every move as I sign the receipt with practiced indifference.
The same waiter who once sneered at my cash payment now hovers anxiously, his eyes darting between us.
"Anything else, sir?" he asks, his voice strained.
I shake my head, handing him the receipt.
He takes it with a slight bow and disappears into the kitchen.
Rising from the booth, I adjust my tailored jacket and straighten my tie.
Lana reaches for my sleeve, but I step back smoothly, my shoes silent on the plush carpet.
"Lana, there's something I need to tell you," I say, my voice firm yet gentle.
She looks up, her eyes wide with anticipation and fear.
"I got the job offer in London," I continue, "and I'm leaving next week."