Sharon did not know how long she wept. But once she was done, a sense of clarity returned to her mind. Now she was ready to deal with the problem.

As she reached for the scrub pad, her mobile phone pinged with a message from Yu Chin.

Drive down to Cantonment Police HQ ASAP. Elvis and I are on our way. The police will brief us.

On what? she texted back.

Riot in Little India. Escalating.

Sharon experienced a momentary confusion. What was Yu Chin talking about? If there was major rioting in India—the country—yes, that would explain Elvis Overee’s alarm. But why would she, or the police for that matter, be involved? But riot in Little India, in her constituency? How could that be possible?

Sharon dismissed her doubt as she speedily dried herself and threw on some clothes. The police briefing would clear the confusion. Little India was part of Jalan Besar constituency, which was under her care. The media would take notice of how she responded to the crisis. She was glad she had had her emotions sorted out in the bathtub earlier. She needed her mind to be sharp and clear.

There was a police sergeant stationed at the car park lobby of the police headquarters to usher her to the Special Operations Command Centre located at basement two. Sharon could immediately sense the tension in the air. Two dozen police officers were hunched over their terminals, their eyes trained on the screens and ears plugged into their headsets, awaiting orders. Yu Chin popped his head out from the control room in the rear and waved her over. Sharon could see through the glass panel that the police commissioner was deep in discussion with Elvis Overee and two other men she did not recognise.

“What is going on?” Sharon asked in a hushed tone. She reminded herself that she had been called to duty as the Jalan Besar constituency parliamentarian. Her matrimonial crisis would have to take a back seat for now.

“The cause is as yet unknown but apparently, the migrant worker crowd at Little India has gone wild. The workers were rioting along Serangoon Road, overturning vehicles and setting them on fire.” Yu Chin drew her into the control room and directed her attention to the large screen hanging overhead. “Look. The police have set up video live-streaming from atop a block of flats facing the main road. Can you believe what is happening?”

Sharon stared at the live-streaming in astonishment. That was unmistakably Little India. But the derangement on screen was an alien spectacle. The people of Singapore were known for their orderly behaviour; they queued for buses and trains, to consult the doctor at the clinic or to pay for their purchases at the supermarket. Her people respected order. Yu Chin was right. These troublemakers were migrant workers.

“What is the police commissioner doing about it?”