The Apartment My Father Bought
The apartment my father bought while I studied computer science is for sale because of one missing check in my code. It is 2026 in Germany. I built a SaaS on my laptop, registered my trade, and began working as a sole proprietor. The regulator's letters carry my name.
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My idea was simple: a place for families to keep care schedules for their aging parents. An address, a medication list, a phone number for whoever had the keys. I could build it myself. I had no investors and no cash for the capital required to form a standard limited-liability company. I did not want to spend my launch money on a notary and company registration. I began charging subscriptions in my own name.
By spring, families I had never met were using it. One evening a customer sent me a link to another family's care plan. In the export function, I had checked that a user was signed in. I had not checked that the record belonged to that user. Someone had changed the number in the request and downloaded hundreds of plans before I closed the gap.
I reported the breach and wrote to the families. One woman called to say that her mother's diagnosis and home address were in the downloaded files. I tried to explain the fix. She asked me who had read them. I could not tell her.
The state data-protection authority investigated my safeguards and fined me. Then came the claims from people whose information had been exposed. Some sued. The letters were addressed to me, not to a company. I paid a lawyer, then settled what I could. My savings and the subscription income were nowhere near enough.
Father had put the apartment in my name when I started my computer science degree. It was the only thing I owned that could cover the rest. At the notary's office, I signed the sale papers with the same hand that had written the export function.
On moving day, Father found the key ring he had given me for my first semester. He held it out, then remembered it no longer opened a home of mine.