But then one day, the daily emails started to get weird. "I don't like it when you wear your hair up," it said. Carla looked around quickly, as though to catch the writer of the emails in the act, but of course all she saw was her fellow day traders going about their business. Slowly, hesitantly, she began to take her hair down. It was a weird message to receive, and really over the line, but she had come to depend on these inexplicable, anonymous emails that told her which stocks to buy and which stocks to sell, emails that had been responsible for her spectacular success over the past three months, making her clients (and therefore her) insane returns. She had paid off her mortgage. She had bought a new car. She was better-dressed, well-rested, practically glowing. And so she took her hair down.

In retrospect, she saw that that had been a turning point. Now emails still contained stock tips -- just enough to keep her hooked -- but now they said other things, like "Don't wear those shoes again" or "Skip lunch." She obeyed. "Don't go to happy hour. Go straight home." She obeyed. They started to accelerate in frequency: instead of only once a day, now she got them almost every hour, dictating her entire life. She broke up with her boyfriend. She stopped calling her mom. It got so that she didn't do anything without consulting her email first. Could she go out to lunch? Maybe -- she had to check. No, sorry, not today. The whole situation made her feel terrified at first, and then resentful, and then relieved. Wasn't it better to just give it all up like this? Is this what people meant when they said to put their trust in God?