Page 20 of My Mystery Billionaire

Craig shook himself, almost like a wet dog, then “Hank Enders would never have let this slide through I'm telling you!” he insisted. I noticed he said therealname of the foundermuchmore quietly this time. He didn't seem to notice my discomfort.

His own nervousness is too real for him to notice me. Thank goodness.

Craig just concluded by saying, “Who are the two coders that did this? Let's go check it out with them and set ‘em straight, shall we, Wills?”

I was in a tailspin.

Hank Enders? Is my Hendrik actually Hank Enders AKA Hendrik Endersson?

Endersson. Enders.MyHendrik Endersson?! I mean, how many men could there be in the world of tech with such a last name?

And … Hendrik ? Sure, there’ve gotta be a few ways to spell that name, but Jeepers!

Relax, Craig only said “Hendrik” not any last name. They could be two different men. He never said “Endersson” or even Anderson, right?

I’m imagining things.

And if he is—if my Hendrik is … Hank Enders?

Jumping Jehoshaphat! Hank Enders is a multibillionaire?!

I’m going to faint.

Thunderation?! Hendrik? A multibillionaire!

Hendrik is … really the hermit Hank Enders? The media-absent Hank Enders?!!

Like most of the staff, I had not only never met founding genius Hank Enders since I was hired after his time, but had also never seen a photo of him. Not a single one. He was that camera-shy by all reports. I’ve never even met anyone till now (had I?) who’d even met him or had any “sightings” of him.

How can I know if it’s the same man?

My head is spinning but I try to reel it in and chase after Craig as he goes down to the other workstations.

It is all I can do not to faint. And to rein in my growing anger.

Hendrik Endersson. A man I know intimately. Very intimately.

Or perhaps not …

Chapter 25

Hendrik

IwonderwhyIcan't get hold of Beatrice?

Even if she's very busy she usually texts back an emoji to acknowledge my message. Nothing. Not for three days since her third (and I thought last) all-nighter.

We haven't gone three days without speaking to each other. Now it’s been nearly a week without being together.

She should’ve been done days ago with her night shifts.

I head over to her apartment building. She's not there, but with her evenings tied up at work, what did I expect? I find a scrap of paper and pen to leave her a note that I slide above the lock of her apartment door.

Maybe her night shifts got extended. But why hasn't she told me?

Jared’s man is there, across the street from Beatrice’s building. I look at him. He shrugs as if to say, “Sorry, Prof. No news.”

Jumpin’ Jehosaphat! Where is the woman?

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