The Wrong Route
When the notification of a fine flashed on his phone screen, Edward didnt grasp the situation at first. He sat at the kitchen table, elbows resting on the laminate surface. Dusk had settled over the flat, and through the window, the last patches of snow melted into uneven wet stains on the pavement outside. His usual evening routinechecking messages, scrolling through the newswas interrupted by an email from the car-share service. The subject read: «Penalty for Speeding.»
At first, Edward assumed it was a mistake. The last time hed used a rented car was at the start of the montha trip to the supermarket on the outskirts of Londonand hed carefully ended the session in the app. Since then, he hadnt driven; his work had long been remote, and errands were managed on foot or by bus. His coat hung damp by the door from the evenings drizzle, but he hadnt so much as approached a car.
He opened the notification and read it three times. The fine was indeed addressed to him, with yesterdays date and time stamped clearly. The message listed the cars registration plate and a stretch of road near the train stationan area Edward hadnt visited in weeks.
Suspicion turned to irritation. He opened the car-share app at once. The screen flickered with the companys logo, loading sluggishlyhis home Wi-Fi was unreliable in the evenings. The trip history showed a rental the previous night: begun just after eight, ended forty minutes later on the other side of the city.
Edward studied the details. The start time matched precisely when hed been eating supper in front of the telly, recalling a news segment about an international tech exhibition. He tapped «View Details»the route unfolded over the city map, grey streets flickering beneath the traced line.
His thoughts raced. A system glitch? Had someone accessed his account? But his password was strong, and his phone never left his side, charging by the bed each night.
He returned to the services email and spotted the standard appeal linksupport promised to review disputes within two days if the user provided proof of innocence.
His fingers trembled faintly with frustration. Edward typed a brief message in the apps support chat:
«Good evening. Ive received a speeding fine for rental #, though I didnt use the car yesterday and was at home all evening. Please verify the charge.»
The automated reply confirmed receipt and asked him to await their investigation.
He frowned. If the mistake persistedor if no one resolved ithed have to pay himself. User accountability was baked into the services terms, a clause he vaguely remembered from last years update.
In the next room, a floorboard creaked. The heating had been off for a week due to milder days, but evenings still held a lingering chill despite closed windows. Edward listened absently to the flats sounds: the fridges hum, muffled voices from the stairwell through the thin door.
The wait stretched, uneasy. To distract himself, he scrolled back through the trip history and noticed another odditythe rental had ended almost automatically, without the usual interior photos required by the app to document the cars condition.
A helpless frustration grew. No human from support had responded directlyjust forms and automated replies.
Edward jotted the rentals details on a scrap of paper: the start time matched the evening news; the pickup location was a shopping centre three stops from his home.
He considered calling an old colleague, a solicitor whod once mentioned the difficulty of disputing such fines without clear proof of fraud or error. But instinct urged him to gather every detail first, to build a solid casewhether for the car-share company or, if necessary, the police.
The next morning, Edward woke earlyunease had dogged his sleep. He checked his email and the support chat first thing: no updates, the case still marked «Under Review.»
Determined to speed things along, he reopened the trip history, noting the exact rental time, then cross-checked his own records. His mobile bank showed a takeaway payment around seven, followed by work messages between half-eight and nineprecisely when the alleged drive had occurred.
He took screenshotsthe phantom route, the rentals activation time, his banking recordsand resent them to support via their upload form.
Waiting became easier, but Edward now felt like an investigator building a defence against himselfeach scrap of evidence proving his own innocence.
Outside, dusk gathered again. Streetlights cast yellow reflections on the wet pavement; someone hurried past the front steps, breath visible even in the evenings mild chill.
By eight, support replied: «Thank you for your query! Your case is under review For further verification, we advise reporting the matter to your local police and forwarding us a copy of the report to expedite the fines cancellation.»
Another layer of bureaucracy. Now hed need to prove his innocence to the authorities too.
That evening, Edward visited the police station near his home. The queue was short; the duty officer listened carefully and helped draft a formal statement about the unauthorised account access. They accepted a copy along with his screenshots.
Returning late, Edward uploaded the police report and support correspondence to the car-share portal.
The final hurdle loomed: uncovering whod used his account.
The next morning, the car-shares security team contacted him directlya manager offered footage of the rentals start.
The video played in the app. An external camera near the shopping centre showed a medium-built figure approaching the car, unlocking it with a phone, sliding into the drivers seat. The face was turned away, but one thing was clearit wasnt Edward.
Morning brought weary anticipation. Condensation dotted the kitchen window; the citys damp murmur seeped through as Edward wiped the sill. His phone showed no new alerts. He checked his inboxnothing from the police or support.
He reread the correspondence: the footage and report had been sent last night. Security had promised a reassessmentnow it was just waiting.
Near noon, a brief email arrived: «Your materials have been received. Expect a final decision by days end.» The phrasing felt impersonal. Edward rewatched the footagethe hooded figure darting into the car lingered in his mind.
Time crawled. He tried to workreplying to colleagues, reviewing reportsbut his thoughts circled back. The police copy lay by his keyboard; printed screenshots of the route and bank records sat stacked beside his phone.
At two, another notification: «Good afternoon! After reviewing your case, the fine has been cancelled due to confirmed unauthorised access. Thank you for your vigilance and evidence.» Attached was a guide on digital security.
Edward read it twice; relief uncoiled slowly, like recovery from illness. The phantom trip had vanished from his rental history, the case now marked «Resolved.»
Almost at once, support calleda calm, professional voice:
«Thank you again for your prompt action We recommend enabling two-factor authentication for your account; instructions will follow.»
Edward thanked them: «Ill set it up today. Hopefully, this wont happen again.»
After the call, he navigated to the apps security settings. Two-factor setup took minutesa longer password, a quick SMS code. The app confirmed the change with a separate alert.
Relief mingled with residual annoyance. The issue was resolved, yet any lapsehis or the systemsleft him vulnerable to strangers and algorithms alike.
That evening, he met two colleagues at a café near their old officea rare in-person gathering after months of video calls.
«Nearly had to pay a fine for someone elses joyride,» Edward summarised over the table. «Thank God for CCTV. Now its passwords and verification every time.»
One colleague frowned. «Didnt think that could happen. Id better check my settings too.»
A quiet unease threaded the conversation; no one took digital habits for granted anymore.
He walked home in drizzle, yellow streetlights pooling on wet tarmac. The stairwell was cool and quiet; inside, he checked his phone once moreno new alerts.
Late that night, Edward lingered by the kitchen window. His thoughts had shiftedless fear of glitches or malice, more wariness of his own complacency online.
The next day, he forwarded the security guide to a few contacts with a brief note:
«Better safe than sorry.»
Two replied promptlyone asked about disputing fines, the other thanked him for the two-factor tip.
The week ended quietly. Work resumed its rhythm; no more alarming alerts arrived. But each evening, Edward checked his security settings by reflex, the habit settling alongside the mundane routines of an English autumn.
