I Was a Paraplegic Millionaire, Wasting Away in My Penthouse. Then a 7-Year-Old Girl Broke Past Security, Looked Me in the Eye and Said, “Dad, I’m Here to Make You Walk Again.” The first sound I heard was the argument. My private elevator, the one that opens directly into my 80th-floor penthouse office, requires a key fob. My head of security, a former Secret Service agent, was shouting. “Ma’am, you can’t be in here! I need you to come with me, right now!” Then, a child’s voice, high and clear: