By Paulette Field

"I’m sure you’re going to find out that this is all a mistake," the Overland Park policeman said as I filed an identity theft report. In June 1999, a department store sent me a bill for $888.27. The horror was I had no account with that company. The officer took the report, but his attitude told me that he had bigger crimes to deal with than what he thought to be clerical errors.

The charge account was opened in October 1998 by a woman named Ann Pryor. She even made minimal payments and that’s why the company refused to close the account. "We want our money back," said the store representative.

Shock was my first reaction. The source was not only a result of Pryor’s actions, although every crime victim wonders why me? My real outrage came from the company’s reaction. The department store’s security guard even identified Pryor as she shopped but allowed her to leave since it was near closing time.

When I received my credit reports, not only did I find fraudulent mortgages, credit cards and loans but unknown names and Illinois addresses. The local police were no help since the crime occurred outside their jurisdiction, so I contacted the Chicago police department. A disinterested detective actually began talking to another officer about his nephew while I was explaining the situation to him. Why would a Kansas citizen be of importance to him? When I found out Pryor had taken a life insurance policy out on me, I convinced the FBI to listen. My emotions shifted from anger to fear.

No one could help me with the many hours of phone calls, letter writing and documentation. After reviewing each credit report, I wrote the agencies identifying fraudulent accounts and personal information. I had to track down phone numbers for each company claiming to have an account with me. Most of my lunch hours were spent dealing with automated phone menus, waiting on hold, and finally getting to a customer service agent who was not empowered to research and resolve the matter nor wanted to transfer me to anyone who could. The number of fraudulent accounts kept mounting; the monetary toll kept rising ($875,000+ according to my records). To my astonishment and frustration, no one seemed to really care. With each call I got similar results: lackadaisical follow-up and a staid disinterest in pursuing the perpetrator. Each night I documented all contacts. There were too many details, too many accounts to keep straight in my head.

Eradicating fraudulent personal information from my credit reports was the most difficult task of all. I wrote dispute letters listing the names and addresses to remove only to see them return a few months later. CRAs have no suppression mechanism for personal data, so any company pulling my report would see erroneous information. I felt my identity further compromised and disintegrating.

Collection agencies contacted me at home and at work. Coworkers could easily hear my end of the conversation from my cube. The aggressive attitude of the collectors put me on the defensive. I had pristine credit – that’s why I was the perfect victim. The collectors didn’t believe me, and I wondered what my coworkers thought. After those calls, I couldn’t stop my hands from shaking and concentrating on my job responsibilities was next to impossible. I was humiliated and embarrassed.

I was given foreclosure papers – twice within two days on two different mortgages from two different companies – both served by the same man. He rang my doorbell at the same time on both occasions and to this day if my doorbell rings around 6:30 p.m. my heart jumps. Pavlov couldn’t have done a better job conditioning my response. I remember running across my lawn after him saying this was a misunderstanding. "I don’t care, lady," he replied and sped off in his car.

I wondered why collectors could track me down, and the companies who had extended the credit wouldn’t verify the information they received. Businesses claim they too are victims of identity theft. After dealing with the representatives of these companies and watching their haphazard practices, they share culpability in my opinion. I feel victimized not only by the criminal but by careless companies. Even after a business agreed that an account was not mine, I could never get anyone to put it in writing for my records. I can only guess what’s still in their databases and how that might cause problems for me in the future.

Although Pryor was arrested, I never heard the result. I’ve been unable to find anything on the Web, and the FBI agent that I gave my documentation to use as evidence has never returned my calls. I offered to testify and received no response. I’ll never know how Pryor got my personal information, and I’m left wondering if she has the freedom to abuse it again.

When I pursued legal recourse against certain businesses, their attorneys pressed me for proof of damage. They wanted to see a dollar amount I had lost as a result. Why would I pay a debt I did not incur I asked. Lawyers demanded proof of emotional anguish. Not sleepless, tear-filled nights nor so many lost hours nor my feelings of confusion, humiliation and anger could impress them.

Identity theft changed me, and I wish I could put this nightmare behind me. I am exhausted from dealing with shoddy business practices and never being able to get enough information to feel closure. Yet I remain determined to do everything in my power to regain my reputation. Seven demoralizing years later, I continue to discover problems in my credit reports, and I wonder if this will ever end.