I’m a disabled activist, felon and certified menace. I use a power wheelchair, I’ve got a neuromuscular disability, and I’m allegedly responsible for the most outrageous heist of the century. (No comment.)

Off the record: I run on coffee and soup, I answer to one orange cat, and I will finish that murder mystery before you finish your sentence. Disabled women aren’t side characters in history — we’re plotting the revolution. Possibly from home. On an ankle monitor.