My brother and I had just finished a successful show exhibiting our company's outlet covers and keypads at Integrated Systems Europe 2023 in Barcelona. Attendee numbers were at record levels, and we had many conversations with potential clients. We'd also won a Stand Design Award for a booth that we designed and built on our own. My brother and I were thrilled with Luhkee's success.

Throughout the four-day show, we used scanners to capture most of the leads. However, due to concerns about personal data digitization, many individuals preferred exchanging business cards. So in addition to the digital leads, we had collected more than 50 physical business cards.

After dismantling the booth and loading it into our van, I was set for the 15-hour drive back to Antwerp, which I was making with a driver while my brother flew home. My road-trip buddy and I hopped in the van and headed down the street to gas up and grab a couple of snacks. Both of us went into the station, made our purchases, and hit the road.

A few minutes into the drive, I realized my backpack was missing. Then the driver noticed his was gone too. We must have been robbed when we went inside the station. My bag contained my computer and an iPad. That was bad enough. More importantly, it had the business cards from the show. Those cards represented hundreds of thousands of euros of prospective work. I wasn't particularly concerned about the electronics, but I desperately needed to recover those business cards!

We whipped the van around and raced back toward the station, keeping our eyes peeled for our black and grey backpacks. Using my phone, I tracked the location of my computer and received a ping indicating it was on a road running parallel to the convention center. We sped off in pursuit but were several blocks behind the bandit. A few minutes later, another ping revealed the stolen goods were near a subway station just a few blocks away.

We arrived at the station, and I jumped out of the van and sprinted down four escalators, squeezed through the turnstile without paying, and darted onto the platform just as a train departed. A quick scan of the surroundings confirmed that I'd narrowly missed recovering those business cards. Frustrated, I went back to the van, and we took off in the direction the subway was headed.

After about 15 agonizing minutes, the computer reappeared on my tracking app. This time the ping indicated that our stolen items were inside a building in a nearby suburb. I just hoped they stayed there long enough for us to get there. We pulled up in front of an apartment building about half an hour later, and I had no idea which floor or room our stolen goods were in. While my companion searched for a parking spot, I entered the lobby. Spotting a tenant, I calmly explained the situation and asked if he had any information regarding the potential culprit.

Oh, he knew alright. He informed me the likely thief resided on the second floor in a room near the end of the hall. I contacted the police who promptly dispatched a couple of officers to assist us. While we waited for the officers to arrive, the helpful tenant nudged me and nodded toward a young woman entering the front door. "That's one of them," he whispered. "She's the one who took your bag."

I followed the suspect up the stairs, and as she opened the door to her apartment, I introduced myself and inquired about our backpacks. She let out a scream, hastily retreated into the apartment, and attempted to slam the door shut. Acting instinctively, I wedged my foot inside to keep it from closing, knowing that the police could enter the apartment if the door was open. If closed, however, they could be denied entry.

The woman continued yelling while I tried to explain that I only wanted the business cards – she could keep the computers for all I cared. Within moments, three other individuals – presumably family members – came barreling down the hall and aggressively pulled on my shirt, demanding that I leave. I tried to deescalate the situation but maintained that I would not depart until the police arrived. A few seconds later, my companion hurried down the hall, joining the growing crowd.

Meanwhile the girl in the doorway alternated between screaming and feigning fainting spells, and I could hear another person within the apartment yelling and running about. Chaos reigned. Finally, the girl ceased her theatrics and swung the door wide open. She claimed to have nothing and granted me permission to take a look around. I insisted that I would not enter and would wait for the police, who arrived shortly thereafter. I provided an explanation of the situation and why I suspected my bags were inside the apartment. The residents allowed the police to enter. However, because they lacked a warrant, they performed only a cursory inspection. Unsurprisingly, they found nothing. I suspect the woman's roommate found a place to stash the bags while she held the door.

The police conceded they could do nothing more and asked me to file a report at the station. I made one final plea for the business cards, but she denied having them, so I left empty-handed and filed the police report with little faith it would yield fruitful results. After doing what I could, the driver and I resumed our journey.

Once home, we posted about the situation on our social media and urged those who left a business card to reach out so we could reconnect. Fortunately, several people have responded, and we hope these prospects continue to trickle in. One thing is certain: In the future, I will always lock my doors when I stop for gas.