In the grand, rotting tapestry of modern existence, we have long accepted that the only certainties are death and taxes. But leave it to the corporate behemoths of the energy sector to innovate. They have looked at the finality of the grave and seen not an end, but a lucrative billing opportunity. We find ourselves staring at the latest masterpiece of algorithmic cruelty: E.ON Next, a company that appears to view a customer’s terminal diagnosis as a mere logistical hurdle in the pursuit of a £13,000 windfall. It is a story so quintessentially British in its polite, bureaucratic horror that it almost makes one long for the honest thievery of a highwayman. At least a highwayman doesn't hide behind a 'Smart Meter' and a 'computer says no' shrug.

The facts of the case are as nauseating as a lukewarm lukewarm cup of office tea. A 26-year-old, already grappling with the loss of two family members to cancer—because the universe is nothing if not redundant in its cruelty—found herself the recipient of a £13,000 energy bill addressed to her late mother. For the uninitiated, £13,000 is not a utility bill; it is a down payment on a small island or perhaps the legal fees required to sue an energy giant into the sun. The sheer scale of the mathematical hallucination required to generate such a figure for a residential flat is breathtaking. It suggests that E.ON’s billing software isn’t running on logic, but on a fever dream of pure, unadulterated greed. They didn't just want the money for the heating; they wanted the inheritance, the furniture, and perhaps a pound of flesh for good measure.

Of course, the comedy of errors doesn't stop at the five-figure extortion attempt. This saga began with a £6,000 credit. Yes, the family had actually overpaid—giving the company a multi-thousand-pound interest-free loan—which E.ON then refused to return in cash. Instead, they forced the credit into a new account, where it apparently entered a black hole of corporate accounting. By the time the dust settled and the bereaved daughter tried to reclaim what was hers, the credit had shriveled to £3,360, and the company was simultaneously demanding £13,000. It is a masterclass in fiscal gaslighting. You don’t owe us; we owe you, but actually, you owe us a fortune, but let’s just call it even if we keep half of your money. It’s the kind of logic employed by three-card monte dealers in back alleys, yet we entrust these people with the heat in our homes.

The political response to this kind of systemic rot is, as always, a binary choice between two flavors of uselessness. On the Left, we get the performative outrage of the 'vulnerable persons' advocates, who will hold three committee meetings and write a strongly worded letter to a regulator that has the collective spine of a chocolate eclair. They want more 'oversight,' which in practice means more six-figure salaries for bureaucrats to watch companies like E.ON rob the public in real-time. On the Right, the defenders of the free market will mumble something about 'operational challenges' and the 'sanctity of contract,' ignoring the fact that a contract involving a dead person and a £13,000 imaginary bill is less of a legal document and more of a ransom note. Both sides are fundamentally okay with this, provided the billing cycles continue and the GDP reflects the churn of stolen wealth.

And then there is the 'Smart Meter'—that digital snitch we were all told would revolutionize our lives. In reality, it is a high-tech tool for corporate obfuscation. When the meter is 'smart,' the company can claim infallible data while simultaneously being unable to explain why the bill just jumped by 400%. It’s a convenient shield for incompetence. 'The computer generated the bill,' they say, as if the computer is a sentient, capricious god whose whims cannot be questioned. It allows human beings to divest themselves of any moral responsibility for demanding thirteen thousand pounds from an orphan. They aren't being cruel; they're just following the algorithm. It is the banality of evil, updated for the fiber-optic age.

Ultimately, E.ON eventually 'cancelled' the £13,000 bill—how magnanimous of them to stop demanding money that didn't exist—but they are still clutching the remaining £3,360 of credit like a dragon guarding a hoard of stolen gold. The lesson here is clear: the modern corporation is a necro-parasite. It doesn't care if you're alive, dead, or grieving. It only cares about the ledger. We are living in a society where the billing department is the only part of the infrastructure that never sleeps, never fails, and never feels. We are all just data points to be harvested, and even the silence of the cemetery isn't enough to drown out the sound of an automated invoice being generated. If you’re planning on dying anytime soon, do yourself a favor: cancel your direct debit first. The ferryman to the afterlife might take a coin, but E.ON will want the whole boat, the oars, and a three-year fixed-rate exit fee.