As my wife just pointed out, you'd never want to be a taxi driver again after this. The poor bloke's mental health and trust issues will likely affect him for the rest of his life. I can't even imagine. Next up: a holiday.
I’ve no wish to detract from the more serious aspect of all this, but your post triggered a memory from the 80s/90s.
I picked up a young Irish guy at Euston, with a small carry-on type suitcase.
He asked for Harrods, so off we went.
As I was weaving through Mayfair toward Hyde Park Corner, he said to go to the Brompton Rd. entrance, as he actually wanted the bank at the corner of Hans Rd.
Just before we got there he said, “I only have to get a signature for something, want to wait and take me back to Euston?”
With £ signs in my eyes I agreed enthusiastically, and pulled on to the rear of the taxi rank at the beginning of Hans Rd. to wait for him.
He got out and said, “I’ve left my suitcase so you don’t have worry about me not coming back.”
After 4 or 5 minutes I began to think, “Irish guy, suitcase, IRA bomb, I’m right outside Harrods’ gulp.
I glanced at the meter, slowly ticking around and greed took over, I waited for him, then returned to Euston.