The Tragicomedy of Bettilyn Smyth and Her $75,000 Misadventure

It began, as all great dramas do, with two unfamiliar whispers in her bank account. Naturally, she called what she believed to be customer support. A voice, portentous as a thundercloud, informed her that her accounts were under siege by two spectral hackers: one from Ohio, the other from Dakota. “They’re very good,” the voice intoned, as if commending a particularly effective exterminator.



