The Wrong Route
When the fine notification popped up on his phone screen, Edward didnt immediately understand what it meant. He sat at the kitchen table, elbows resting on the laminate surface. The flat was already dimming with dusk, and outside, the last of the snow melted unevenly, leaving wet patches on the pavement. His usual evening routinechecking messages, scrolling through newswas interrupted by an email from the car-sharing service. The subject line read: «Speeding fine.»
At first, Edward thought it must be a mistake. He hadnt used a rental car since the start of the month, when hed driven to a supermarket on the outskirts and carefully ended the session in the app. Since then, no trips, no plans to drivehed been working remotely, getting around on foot or by bus. His coat hung by the door, damp from the drizzle, but he hadnt even been near a car.
He opened the email and read it three times. The fine was addressed to him, with the date and time from the previous evening. The cars registration number and the locationa stretch of road near the train station, a part of town Edward hadnt visited in weekswere clearly listed.
Annoyance replaced confusion. He opened the car-sharing app. The screen flickered with the logo, loading slowlyhis home Wi-Fi was spotty in the evenings. The trip history showed a rental from the night before: started just after eight, ended forty minutes later on the other side of the city.
Edward scanned the details. The start time matched when hed been eating dinner in front of the telly, watching coverage of an international tech expo. He tapped «Details»the route unfolded over the city map, grey streets flickering beneath the traced line.
His mind raced. A system glitch? Or had someone hacked his account? But his password was strong, and his phone never left his side, charging by his bed at night.
The email included a standard appeals linksupport promised to review claims within 48 hours if evidence proved the users innocence.
Fingers trembling slightly with frustration, Edward typed a brief message in the support chat:
«Evening. Received a speeding fine for rental #, but I didnt use the car yesterdaywas at home all evening. Please check this charge.»
The auto-reply confirmed his complaint was logged and asked him to wait while they reviewed the trip data.
He frowned. If the error wasnt fixed, hed have to paythe account holder was liable under the services terms, a clause he vaguely remembered from last years update.
A floorboard creaked in the next room. The heating had been off for a week due to warmer days, but evenings still carried a chill. Edward absently registered the hum of the fridge and distant voices through the thin front door.
The wait dragged on. To distract himself, he scrolled through the trip history again and noticed something odd: the rental had ended automatically, without the usual photos of the cars interiornormally, the app required snapshots to confirm the vehicles condition.
A sense of helplessness grew. No direct contact with a human from support, just automated replies and forms.
Edward jotted down the rentals suspicious details on a scrap of paper: the start time matched the news broadcast, the pickup location was a shopping centre three stops from his flat.
He considered calling a lawyer friend from his old jobsomeone whod once mentioned how hard it was to dispute fines without clear proof of a technical error or fraud. But instinct told him to gather every detail first, to have a solid case before dealing with supportor, if needed, the police.
The next morning, Edward woke early, anxiety having kept him up half the night. First thing, he checked his email and the support chatno updates, just the same automated status: «under review.»
To speed things up, he reopened the trip history, noted the exact start time, and cross-referenced it with his own records. His banking app showed a takeaway payment around seven, followed by messages in his work chat between half eight and nineexactly when the phantom rental had supposedly happened.
He took screenshotsthe route, the rental time, his bank transactionsand resent them to support via the upload form.
Waiting became easier, but now Edward felt like he was gathering evidence to prove his own innocence.
Outside, dusk settled again. Yellow streetlights shimmered in puddles; someone hurried past the building, breath visible even in the mild evening air.
By eight, support replied formally: «Thank for your query For further investigation, we recommend filing a police report and sending us a copy to expedite the fines cancellation.»
More bureaucracynow hed have to prove his innocence to the authorities, too.
That evening, Edward went to the local police station. The queue was short. The duty officer listened carefully and helped draft a statement about unauthorised account access. He handed over a copy along with the screenshots.
Back home late, Edward uploaded the support correspondence and the police report.
The final step loomed hardest: finding out whod used his account.
The next morning, car-sharing security contacted him directly for the first timea manager offered footage of the rentals start.
The video loaded in the app. CCTV near the shopping centre showed a medium-built figure approaching the car, unlocking it with a phone, sliding into the drivers seat, adjusting his hood. The face was turned away, but one thing was clearit wasnt Edward.
Morning brought weary anticipation. Condensation dotted the kitchen window; outside, tyres hissed through puddles. No new notifications.
He skimmed the correspondence againthe footage and report had been sent last night. Security had promised to reassess the case. Now, he waited.
Around noon, a brief email arrived: «Materials received. Final decision by end of day.» Edward noted how impersonal each phrase felt. The hooded figure flickered in his memory.
Time crawled. He tried to workanswered emails, checked reportsbut his thoughts kept circling back. The police report lay near his keyboard, printed screenshots beside his phone.
At two, another notification: «Good afternoon. After review, the fine has been cancelled due to confirmed unauthorised account access. Thank you for your vigilance.» A security guide was attached.
Edward read it twice; tension ebbed like after a long illness. The rental had vanished from his active trips, the case marked «resolved.»
Almost immediately, support calleda calm, professional voice:
«Thanks again for your quick action We recommend enabling two-factor authentication for your account. Instructions will follow.»
Edward thanked them:
«Hope this doesnt happen again Ill sort it today.»
After hanging up, he opened the apps settings and found the security tab. Setting up two-step verification took minutesa new, longer password, a quick SMS code. The app confirmed the change with a notification.
Relief mingled with lingering irritationofficially resolved, but any slip could leave him vulnerable again.
That evening, he met two colleagues at a café near the officea rare in-person catch-up.
«Nearly had to pay a fine for someone elses joyride,» Edward summarised. «Thank God for CCTV. Now its passwords and verification codes only.»
One colleague frowned:
«Didnt think that could happen Better check my own settings.»
A quiet unease lingered; no one took digital habits for granted anymore.
He walked home in drizzle, yellow streetlights reflecting on wet tarmac. The stairwell was cool and quiet. Inside, he checked his phone once moreno new alerts.
Late that night, he lingered by the kitchen window. The incident no longer felt like blind bad luck, but a lesson in complacency.
The next day, he forwarded the security guide to a few contacts with a note:
«Better safe than sorry.»
Two replied straight awayone asking about dispute procedures, the other thanking him for the two-factor tip.
The week ended quietly. Work resumed its usual rhythm; no more alarming emails arrived. But every evening, Edward automatically checked his security settingsanother small habit in the quiet routine of late autumn.
