At 2:47 a.m., I woke up in my childhood bedroom to smoke, gasoline, and fire crawling under the door. My leg was trapped in a cast, my wheelchair was useless, and both windows had been sealed shut with fresh plywood from the outside. That was when I understood the truth: my family hadn’t failed to rescue me—they had planned my death for a $2 million insurance payout.
The smoke slipped under my bedroom door at 2:47 in the morning. At first, I thought the medicine was…