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It was then that she realized this was the first problem she had to confront. Trish had her passwords, and Trish’s screen name account was through Rett’s online membership.
    She changed her password and then sent Trish a terse e-mail to the effect that her screen name would be canceled in two days. She clicked for return receipt acknowledgment so she would have proof that Trish read it.
    Another thought occurred to her, even more chilling. Trish had all the passwords and privileges to Rett’s bank and investment accounts, electronic wallet passwords to order merchandise at dozens of eShopping sites, and ATM and credit cards that gave out cash. In a panic, Rett used her master setup privileges to limit Trish’s activity to sending and receiving mail. But that wouldn’t stop Trish from accessing the Web through the nearest Internet cafe or a 50-hours free access CD-ROM.
    She started clicking through Web pages to change access passwords. When she got to the checking account page, she saw that a thousand dollars, the daily maximum, had been withdrawn that day. She clicked to a credit card interim statement site — a cash advance had been made that day for another two thousand dollars. Shit.
    Frantically, she dug through the credit card file folders until she found the company they paid to keep track of all the cards and insure against theft. When Trish’s wallet had been stolen it had saved them a small fortune and a tremendous amount of time. One phone call and all the credit accounts were closed with new cards to be reissued in her name only.
    It was almost midnight before she finished faxing letters to all the various brokerage houses and mutual funds to rescind Trish’s access. Trish would certainly still be up at this hour, and Rett realized that at midnight she would be able to withdraw another thousand from the checking account using the ATM card. She didn’t know what kind of treatment she would get from the big bank — she had started out with a small local that had been bought up several times since. But someone answered the 800 help number.
    “I need to cancel ATM privileges for my account and remove an authorized person from the account records. It’s urgent.”
    “I can help you with that,” the soft-spoken man on the end of the line assured her. He asked her a few questions to prove her identity. She could hear tapping in the background as he made a note about removing Trish from the account. “Your ATM cards are now invalid. I’ll put a flag on your account right now for a supervisor’s review of all transactions processed later today — it’s just after midnight now so that an in-person cash withdrawal will be impossible unless it’s you. You need to go into a branch tomorrow, as early as possible, and sign a new account application and signature cards. That’s crucial.”
    She promised she would be there in the morning and hung up, feeling a little more secure. She would be able to turn things over to Naomi a little less messed up and with a promise to stay more involved. She shouldn’t be letting someone make so many decisions for her. It was lazy and irresponsible. It was the same as tattooing sucker on her forehead. Until she’d opened the file cabinet she hadn’t known they had accounts at so many different companies. She wasn’t even sure if that was good or bad.
    She fished a diet Coke from the back of the refrigerator and took it out onto the small balcony. The night air was refreshing and the never-ending hubbub from the Promenade reminded her she wasn’t alone. During infrequent lulls in both traffic on the Pacific Coast Highway and raucous pedestrians and roller-bladers on Ocean Avenue, she could just make out the quiet brush of surf against sand along Santa Monica Beach. She was okay. She would be okay tomorrow, too. Keep singing that tune, she told herself. You might begin to believe it.
    The bank was crowded but otherwise uneventful. She stopped at the market for fresh milk