“Finding Out When You Rented a Car, That’s Nothing.” I want you to sit with that sentence for a second. That’s nothing. Say it out loud.
That’s what Amanda Wilson said on July 10, in a video she posted herself, about my rental car.
Here’s what happened before that.
On June 12, Wilson put up a post addressing me by my online name, Nerdy. She wrote that people should stop thinking they’re so good at keeping their lives private, that she was still trying to figure out why I went somewhere on April 24 and came back on the 25th. Then she added the part that was supposed to sting. Oh wait I already found out. Damn stay tuned.
The dates weren’t a guess. That’s the part worth sitting with. I rented a car from Hertz on April 24th. The activity on that rental ended the following morning. I never posted the name of the company. Never posted the dates. The people closest to me, the ones who’d have reason to know, didn’t have the name of the rental agency either.
So where did she get it.
Here’s where it gets interesting. She says I returned on the 25th. I didn’t. I was home the evening of the 24th, in my own bed, done for the night. What ended on the 25th was the rental itself, the paperwork, the car going back to the lot in the morning like it does every time anyone rents a car and gives it back before noon. That’s not a timeline of my whereabouts. That’s a receipt.
She confused the two. And that confusion is the whole story, because it means she was never watching me. She was reading a record she wasn’t supposed to have, and reading it wrong, and building a theory out of the misread.
A woman guessing at my life through an unauthorized and private keyhole, and getting the furniture wrong.
Then came July 10, and the line that’s supposed to make me feel intimidated.
“Finding out when you rented a car, that’s nothing.“
It didn’t land the way she wanted. It landed like an admission. She’s telling me, in front of an audience, that she is accessing records of a private citizen, that she isn’t authorized to access. That there’s more where that came from. When someone tells you a piece of your private life was nothing to get, what they’re really telling you is what they think they still have left to use. It sounds intrusive, because it is.
Wilson also spent a good chunk of the video insisting that a site she’d set up was loaded with synthetic data, fake information built to bait whoever came looking. She described texting a woman she called Nikki at four in the morning, walking her through the plan step by step. No, don’t delete anything. It’s all synthetic data. He’s dumb. She predicted, in that same message, that I’d be cautious clicking a link but careless the second I thought I had her cornered. She told Nikki to post it. Then she sat back and watched, by her own account, to see if I’d take the bait.
Aetna doesn’t believe that story. Neither do the other agencies now looking at this. And I’d ask the same question they’re asking. If it was synthetic, fabricated, harmless by design, why has that data already been traced back to real patients and real agents, people who exist, whose information checks out against actual records. Synthetic data doesn’t do that. Synthetic data doesn’t have a real name attached to a real address and phone number. It’s also hard to believe it’s synthetic data, when court documents allege Wilson has exposed PHI data before.
She closed the video daring me to try to touch her, telling her audience nobody can fire her, nobody can affect her, to get over it and do better. That’s the tone throughout. Not “I didn’t do anything wrong.” Just “you can’t do anything about it if I did.”
And then, in trying to expose me, she exposed herself instead.
Somewhere in the middle of it, she inadvertently exposed a phone number, labeled in her own screenshot as Nikki X, aka Nicole Fitzpatrick. She quickly removed the original video with the number exposed before publishing a new video with the number redacted, but not before users screen recorded it and sent it over. Oops.
So we ran the number through public records, watching the same eight digits pull up a name that wasn’t Fitzpatrick at all. It came back to a man named Jason Petit.
Those same records tie Petit and Wilson to the same address. A Google check-in under Amanda’s own name confirms it, the kind of small digital breadcrumb people leave without thinking, gushing about maintenance fixing her AC fast, mentioning the Min Pin she keeps there.
Turns out Pettit has his own paper trail. In 2017, he was convicted in federal court in the Central District of California on a conspiracy to commit bank fraud charge, sentenced to twelve months in federal custody plus three years of supervised release, and ordered to pay over $21,000 in restitution.
One of the special conditions of that release is almost too on the nose to believe. He is barred from obtaining or possessing any credit card, ID, or any form of identification in any name other than his own true legal name, and barred from using any name other than his legal name without his probation officer’s approval.
So somewhere between a federal fraud conviction that legally prohibits him from operating under any name but his own, and a phone number showing up on Amanda Wilson’s screen labeled Nikki, aka Nicole Fitzpatrick, that ties back to Petit, there’s a gap somebody needs to explain.
So maybe there is no Jason. Maybe there is no Nicole. Maybe it’s just Amanda, alone in that apartment with the AC working fine now, texting herself back and forth under two names, playing both parts of a conversation nobody else was in. Maybe there’s just a woman running a script in her own head, and enough personalities to make sure whichever one gets caught, another one’s ready to take the call.
A woman careful enough to dig up someone else’s rental dates should be careful enough to know whose number she’s got saved under a nickname in her own phone. She wasn’t. She was so busy aiming at me that she left the door open behind her, and what fell out was a number that doesn’t match the name she gave it. Whose number is it really. Where did she get it. Why is it saved under Nikki if it traces back to a man who apparently lives at her own address.
This isn’t an old tweet resurfacing where I disclosed information about my rental. This isn’t someone stitching together a public photo and a location tag I forgot I left visible. This is private commercial data, the kind tied to a rental agreement and a credit card, ending up in the hands of a person who has already made a habit of aiming herself at me.
So, I called Hertz. I reported what looked like unauthorized access to my account, and their fraud division opened an investigation. They’ll be the ones to figure out whether that record was pulled through an employee login, a contractor account, a third party system, or something else entirely. That part isn’t mine to solve. I just have to make sure it gets looked at by people who can actually pull the logs.
I also filed a report with Phoenix Police. Everything is preserved. The posts, the video, the screenshots, the timestamps, the rental paperwork itself.
Because this isn’t the first time her name has come up next to a rental company. I’ve held onto documentation connecting Wilson to a previous disclosure involving a different person’s Alamo rental. That doesn’t prove how she got into my Hertz account. It does raise the question of whether there’s a pattern here, whether “finding out” is a skill she’s built and reused before.
There’s also a paper trail that predates any of this.
In December 2023, Sarah Hope and Hope Capital LLC filed an Emergency Motion for Cease and Desist and Takedown Order against Wilson in Maricopa County Superior Court, case CV2023 054527, tied to a separate harassment injunction case, 2023 018490. The motion alleged Wilson built a website containing false and defamatory statements and disclosed personally identifiable information along with protected health information. They asked for an emergency hearing, a restriction on further publication, and the site’s removal. I want to be straight about what that filing is and isn’t. It’s an allegation. A motion isn’t a verdict, and I’m not going to stand here and tell you a court adopted every word of it.
But there’s a second paper trail too, and this is the part I didn’t expect to find sitting in a courthouse file. This one isn’t an allegation. It’s a conviction. Per Wilson’s own recollection on X, it happened 20 years ago, but court documents show that potatoes, aren’t really all that great at math. She claims it’s a theft charge too, leaving out a keyword in all of that, information theft.
On December 21, 2016, Amanda June Wilson, also known as Amanda Amber Lacour, was charged in Los Angeles County Superior Court, case number VA143603, with identifying information theft with a prior, under Penal Code section 530.5(c)(2). Not a first offense. A prior conviction for the exact same statute, from 2013, is written directly into the complaint. Along with the identity theft charge came second degree commercial burglary at a Nordstrom, grand theft involving an altered and forged access card, and forgery of a driver’s license. The complaint states plainly that she did willfully and unlawfully with the intent to defraud acquire and retain possession of personal identifying information of another person.
The point is what she pled to.
On June 13, 2017, Wilson pled no contest to count one, the identifying information theft charge. The court sentenced her to two years in county jail under Penal Code 1170(h). The abstract of judgment lists her convicted by plea, her conduct credits, her booking number, the whole administrative skeleton of a woman who was found, by a court, to have acquired someone else’s identity with the intent to defraud them.
I want to be careful here the same way I was careful with the Sarah Hope filing. A conviction is a conviction, not a prophecy. People serve time and come out the other side. I’m not writing this to say a woman can never change in eight years. I’m writing this because when the same woman is now standing in front of a camera in 2026, telling me my private rental dates were easy to get, telling me to stay tuned, and then fumbling someone else’s phone number onto the screen while trying to embarrass me, the fact that she has already been convicted, by a court, of the specific crime of unlawfully acquiring someone’s personal identifying information stops being a coincidence I can politely ignore. It becomes the single most relevant fact in the entire story.
This isn’t a character attack pulled from thin air. It’s a certified abstract of judgment with her name, her date of birth, her booking photo number, and a judge’s signature under it.
Here’s what actually matters, stripped of everything else. Not whether Wilson thinks a rental date is a big deal. Whether it was private. Whether it was accessed the right way. Who handed it to her, if anyone did. And whether somebody with legitimate access to customer records decided my life was theirs to hand out, to a woman who has already been convicted once for doing exactly that to someone else, information theft.
She’s the one who turned this from petty online noise into something that has to be investigated. Nobody made her say any of it. She told her audience that people can’t keep their lives private. She posted dates that matched my rental down to the day. She said she already knew where I went. She told people to stay tuned like this was a show. Then she called finding it “nothing,” and in the process of trying to embarrass me further, put another woman’s phone number on screen under the wrong name, a number that public records tie to a man who apparently lives at her own address.
Everything is documented. The posts. The rental paperwork. The report with Phoenix Police. The court filings from 2023 that raise the same questions this raises now. And now, the 2016 felony complaint and 2017 conviction that answer a question I didn’t even know I needed to ask until this week: has she done this before.
Amanda Wilson thinks discovering and broadcasting someone’s private rental activity is nothing.
A Los Angeles County judge already ruled, in 2017, that impersonating others alongside forgery, was a felony. Hertz’s fraud division and the police get to decide if she’s learned anything since.
And let’s talk about the porn sites, since she keeps circling back to it like it’s the card she’s saving for last.
She said it herself, on video. That I’d be using a VPN so it wouldn’t match the IP from the porn sites I’ve visited. What she doesn’t know is I got sober, had a spiritual awakening, and porn went the way of a lot of things that no longer had a place in my life. These days the only tiddies I’m looking at belong to my girlfriend.
But even setting that aside, adult sites don’t hand out visitor logs. They don’t give IP addresses to randoms who text an imaginary woman named Nikki at four in the morning. If she has something, it didn’t come from the sites. It came from somewhere else, which is a much bigger problem than the one she’s pretending to have.
So let me be clear. I don’t give a fuck.
Legal browsing from years ago, before I got sober, isn’t blackmail. It’s not the gotcha she’s been promising for a week while telling everyone to wait for it. She can post whatever she thinks she has.
Let’s talk numbers for a second, since Wilson seems to think she’s holding a smoking gun, even though we know her potato math isn’t that great. Roughly 58% of Americans report having watched pornography at some point in their lives, including more than one in four in the past month. Broken down by gender, 69% of men and 40% of women in this country say they view it every year.
That’s not a scandal. That’s a majority of the adult population. She’s not threatening to expose some rare, damning secret. She’s threatening to reveal that I was, statistically speaking, a normal American adult, as she sits there acting like she’s uncovered state secrets instead of the most common thing in the room.
So again, louder, I don’t give an actual fuck. Threaten a man with a past he already made peace with, and all you’ve done is prove you never had a present.
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