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Tuesday, March 29, 2005 Volume VII Number 12
by Ken Kemp
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suppose it shouldn’t surprise me. I’ve hardly made an effort to conceal my identity, or my whereabouts. For seven years, it is quite true we lived in the back country - well off the proverbial beaten path. Upon arrival at our former place, some wondered out loud from what or whom I might be hiding.
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But truth be known, if you want to track me down, get me a message or give me a call or make a contact, you don’t need a private investigator or pay a premium for an Internet search. I’m pretty much out there.
So when the first call came from American Express, I just figured it was another sales call. Those guys are marketeers of the first rank. They’ve always got another way for me to accrue points or get a free night or enjoy a deep discount just by signing up for another credit card. But this call left on my office voice mail was different. So I returned it. Someone identified himself as me and applied on-line for a Gold Card. But it wasn’t me. I said flatly, “No, I did not apply for that card.” That’s the first time I heard the script for Identity Fraud. The good people at American Express told me I may well be a victim. They gave me clear instructions on how I ought to go about protecting myself.
It’s my nature to dismiss this sort of news. Through the years, denial has worked pretty well for me. Naw, couldn’t be. This must be some sort of mistake. I pondered the possibilities. They suggested that I place a Fraud Alert with the three major credit agencies, the sooner the better. Then they recommended that I sign up with one of them and take a thorough look at my credit report. I shrugged it off, knowing I had other plans for the afternoon.
But I couldn’t shake it. So I logged in. When they asked for my Social Security number and a credit card, I froze at the keyboard, wondering now if this site, too, was a fraud - a look-alike credit bureau created by some enterprising techie to fool gullible, vulnerable guys like me enticing me into their nefarious web of embezzlement and thievery. I dismissed my shaky instincts and entered my personal data and hit the SUBMIT button with a click and a sweaty palm on the mouse.
Credit reports are depressing anyway. But sure enough, there they were. Three inquiries popped up that were never ordered: the American Express Gold Card request (which was cancelled thanks to the phone call) and two car loan requests. The report included contact information. I picked up the phone and called the first.
The operator connected me to “financing” at the dealership in Portland, Oregon. A cheery voice answered, “This is René. How may I help you?”
“I’m a first timer,” I explained, awkwardly. “I’ve never been here before. I’m calling because I believe I’m the victim of identity theft.” I told her my name.
“I KNEW IT!” she proclaimed, like her instincts were validated. “I KNEW it. I just KNEW it,” she repeated. “I KNEW that guy was a phony.” She didn’t let me interrupt. The whole story poured out of her like water over a broken dam. She’d been talking to a guy with my name for a week. He ordered a brand new Cadillac Escalade, and wanted to finance the whole thing. He’d been sweet-talkin’ her for days. Said his name was Ken Kemp. The salesman thought he had a big one on the hook. He was pressuring her to OK the loan application. But she didn’t think it smelled right. Then I called.
There was one more. This time a BMW 24 Roadster. A dealer in Beaverton, Oregon. By the time I got through to him, he’d sold the car. He put me on hold to check further. The car was marked sold, prepped for delivery, but had not yet been picked up.
Whew.
So, I put out the fraud alert. I filed a police report. The officer yawned through my story, handed me a print-out labeled IDENTITY THEFT and told me, in assuring tones and with a smile that there was nothing he could do. “These complaints are filed regularly,” he said.
I spoke to René one more time. “Let’s set up a sting!” she said with a high degree of enthusiasm. Then she thought about it. “I’m afraid he already knows. I left him a message on his cell. I told him if he shows up with a valid driver’s license, the car would be his.” He never called back.
So I laid my head down on the pillow that night.
What else do they know out there?
* * * * * *
It’s Tuesday morning. You are a leader.
You have your identity. It’s your reputation. It’s taken years to establish your credibility. It’s your greatest asset – more than the balance sheet or the real estate or the brokerage account. It’s you.
What does someone steal when they rob you of your identity? It doesn’t get much more personal than that.
But this week, I take it a step further.
I’ve had to think it over. Where does my real identity come from? My job? My social security number? My credit report? My available credit? My pedigree? My résumé? My street address?
I understand at a whole new level this week, that my identity is rooted in the One who created me, redeemed me – the One who made me whole.
There is, really, no where else to go.
That’s where real security is.
Posted in Placentia, California
© Copyright Kenneth E. Kemp 2005
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