I was still holding Dan’s phone when the knock came again. His eyes were wide, while mine were narrowed. I was trying to make sense of what he’d shown me when he got up to answer the door.

On his phone was a message from a Twitter follower: @dan57103: having fun with friends? y not me? It was accompanied by a photo of he and I. In his house. Taken thirteen minutes ago.

As the gravity of things was dawning on me, there was a commotion. A giant, stone-faced man pushed into the living room, dragging Dan by his collar. Dan’s feet nearly lifted off the ground. Behind them strolled a young girl, about eleven with pink highlights in her hair.

“Gentlemen,” the man said, tossing Dan onto the couch. “Twitter can be a dangerous game.”

He coughed. “But not,” he said, “with Morris Security.” From his coat pocket, he pulled two “Morris Security, Inc.” brochures and set them in our frozen hands. “Packages start at $49.99 a month and preventing Twitter stalkers is our specialty.”

Beaming, the girl said, “Good job, dad!”