My FBI wife called me at midnight and told me to hide in the attic.
She didn't explain. She didn't say goodbye. She only said:
"Whatever happens, do not come downstairs."
Then the line went dead.
I stared at my phone. For a few seconds, I couldn't move. My wife had worked in the FBI for eight years, and I had learned one thing during our marriage: she never panicked. Not when she investigated dangerous people. Not when she dealt with threats. Not when she came home exhausted after impossible cases. So hearing fear in her voice scared me more than anything.