Everything they had — the suite, the shopping, the sunset dinners, the whole glittering weekend they had flown out to celebrate their conquest of my life — every dollar of it had been mine, flowing out through a card I controlled, and I had turned the tap off, all at once, from two thousand miles away.

They had mistaken access to my resources for possession of them.

It is a very common mistake, and a very expensive one, and they made it in front of a restaurant full of people.

I keep coming back to that phrase — access mistaken for possession — because it turns out to be the master key to the entire affair, the single misunderstanding that all three of them built their lives on.

For years, Wendy and Stephanie and Luca had enjoyed unlimited access to everything I had: my house, my cars, my accounts, my cards, my standing in the world.