Identity Theft Is No Laughing Matter: Who´s Using Your Name?

It's a crisp November night, the Friday after Thanksgiving, and you're waiting for your car to warm-up before you start that long drive back home from your father's house in Philly, to North Jersey. There's a tap at your driver's side window, you look up into a beam of blinding light. It's the police. The officer motions for you to roll down your window; he wants to know why you're sitting in the car with the engine running.

You explain that you're sitting in front of your father's house waiting for your car to warm-up and you'll be on your way in a minute or two. "License, registration, and insurance," the officer barks, as though he gave no thought to what you just said. You're no criminal, you own a business, you've served in the Air Force, you haven't been drinking, and you've got a wife and two beautiful little girls to get home to, so you comply without an argument. "Big deal," you think, "I still have to wait for the car to warm-up anyway," as the officer retreats to his