**Wrong Turn**
When the notification about the fine flashed on his phone screen, Oliver didnt understand it at first. He sat at the kitchen table, elbows resting on the laminate, the flat dimming into dusk. Outside, the last of the snow was melting, leaving uneven wet patches on the pavement. Just another eveningchecking messages, scrolling through news. Then came the email from the car-sharing service: *Speeding Penalty Notice.*
At first, he thought it was a mistake. Hed last used a rental car at the beginning of the montha quick trip to the supermarket on the outskirtsand had closed the session properly. Since then, no drives, no plans: work was remote, errands done on foot or by bus. His coat hung by the door, damp from the drizzle, but he hadnt gone near a car.
He opened the email and read it three times. The fine was issued to him, dated the previous evening. The registration plate and location were listeda stretch near the train station, a part of town Oliver hadnt visited in weeks.
Irritation replaced confusion. He opened the car-sharing app. The logo flashed, slow to loadhis Wi-Fi always lagged in the evenings. The trip history showed a rental the night before: started just past eight, ended forty minutes later across town.
Oliver studied the details. The rental began while hed been eating dinner in front of the telly, half-watching a segment about a tech expo. He tapped *View Route*grey streets flickered under the traced path.
His mind jumped between explanations. A system error? A hacked account? But his password was strong, his phone never left his side.
The email included a standard appeals linksupport promised a response within two days if he could prove his innocence.
Fingers tense, he typed into the apps chat:
*Evening. Received a speeding fine for rental # but didnt use the car yesterdaywas home all evening. Please check this.*
An automated reply confirmed his ticket was logged.
He frowned. If no one fixed this, hed pay for it himselfthe terms tied fines to the account holder. He remembered that from last years update.
A floorboard creaked in the next room. The heating had been off for a weekwarmer days, but nights still carried a chill. The fridge hummed; voices drifted through the thin front door.
Waiting gnawed at him. He scrolled through the rental history again and spotted another oddity: the session had ended without the usual interior photos. The app always required them.
Helplessness prickledno direct contact with support, just forms and bots.
Oliver jotted details on a scrap of paper: the rentals start time matched the news segment; the pickup spot was a shopping centre three stops from his flat.
He considered calling a lawyer friend whod once mentioned how hard it was to contest fines without proof of fraud. But first, he wanted all the factssomething solid for support, maybe even the police.
The next morning, he woke early, anxiety having kept him restless. No replies yetjust the same *under review* status.
To speed things up, he cross-referenced the rental time with his own records: mobile banking showed a takeaway order around seven, work messages between half-eight and nineright when the car was supposedly in use.
He screenshot the route, rental times, and bank transactions, then resent them to support.
Waiting felt easier now, but Oliver couldnt shake the absurdityinvestigating himself, gathering evidence of his own innocence.
Dusk settled again outside. Streetlights reflected in puddles; someone hurried past the building, breath misting in the damp air.
By eight, support replied: *Thank you for your patience. For further action, we advise filing a police report and sending us a copy.*
More red tape. Now hed have to prove his innocence to the law, too.
That evening, Oliver went to the local station. The queue was short; the officer took his statement about the unauthorised account use, accepted copies of his screenshots.
Back home, he uploaded the police report to the app. One final step: finding out whod used his account.
The next morning, car-sharing security reached outthey had CCTV footage of the rentals start.
The video loaded in the app. A figuremedium height, hood upapproached the car near the shopping centre, unlocked it with a phone, slid inside. The face was turned away, but one thing was clear: it wasnt Oliver.
Morning brought exhaustion, not panic. Condensation blurred the kitchen window; outside, tyres hissed through puddles. Still no updates. He reread his sent filessecurity had promised a review.
By noon, a brief email: *Your case is being processed.* The phrasing felt cold. He rewatched the footagethat quick, shadowed movement by the car door.
Time crawled. He tried workingemails, reportsbut his mind kept circling back. The police copy lay by his keyboard, screenshots stacked beside his phone.
At two, another notification: *After review, your fine has been cancelled due to confirmed unauthorised access. Thank you for your vigilance.* Attached was a security guide.
Relief came slowly, like recovery. The rental had vanished from his history; the ticket now read *resolved.*
Support called minutes latera calm, professional voice:
*We appreciate your prompt action. Enable two-factor authenticationwell send instructions.*
Oliver thanked them. *Hope this doesnt happen again. Ill sort it today.*
He found the security settings, set up 2FAnew password, SMS code. The app confirmed the change.
The relief was tempered by frustration. Solved, yesbut any slip could leave him vulnerable again.
That evening, he met colleagues at a café near the officea rare in-person catch-up.
*Nearly paid a fine for someone elses joyride,* he summarised. *Glad they had CCTV. Now its passwords and verification for everything.*
One frowned. *Didnt think that could happen. Should check my settings.*
A quiet unease lingered. No one took digital habits for granted now.
Rain misted the walk home. Streetlights wavered in wet pavement. The stairwell was cool and quiet; inside, he checked his phone once moreno new alerts.
Late at night, he lingered by the kitchen window. The incident felt different nowless about fear of errors or malice, more about his own carelessness.
The next day, he forwarded the security guide to a few contacts, adding: *Better safe than sorry.*
Two replied fastone asked about appeals, the other thanked him for the 2FA tip.
The week settled back into routine. No more alarming emails, no strange activity. But every evening, Oliver checked his security settings automatically, folding it into the rhythm of late autumn.
