There was a prolonged moment of uncomfortable silence as Elvis glared at her without uttering a word. Sharon bit her lip. She was almost certain that was not what Elvis was hoping to hear.

“Why are you doing the job of the police commissioner, Sharon?” Elvis finally spoke. “Our civil service mechanism is in place. Let them do their jobs. When a shophouse catches fire, do you run towards the burning building and douse the flame with a water hose? No! The SCDF will do it. That is not your job. So I will ask you again. People are frightened, confused and angry. They want answers. What should your priority and focus be now?”

Sharon nodded, believing she had finally caught his drift. “My focus should be on the public—to understand how they feel, to address their concerns and fears, to placate and reassure them.”

“You can choose to do that,” Elvis shrugged. “But the demands from the public will exhaust all your time and your energy. They will suck you dry.”

“Alright, I need help here, Elvis,” Sharon conceded. “What would you do were you in my shoes?”

“I would lead from the front,” Elvis declared solemnly. “I will persuade my people as to how they should feel, make it clear whom they should fear, and indicate in which direction they ought to throw the blame. The public is confused right now. They need to be told what to believe and what to do. If you don’t step in quickly and take control, your opponents will. The opposition parties want the public to believe that our government is incapable of securing peace and stability. The social activists want the public to believe that the migrant workers have been bullied and pushed to the edge of tolerance. The keyboard warriors want to keep the riot alive on social media. These will be the challenges facing you, Sharon. To survive, you have to own the riot.”

Sharon took in a deep breath. Elvis’ words had unclogged the muddle in her mind. She could feel the adrenaline pumping through her veins now. It was not unlike the excitement she used to enjoy every time she took her seat on stage and eyed the opponents of her debate team with a cold, mortiferous gaze. There they were, armed, belligerent and ready for battle—the opposition political party, the social activists, the keyboard warriors.

“The first thing you ought to do is arrange to be seen paying the girl a visit at the hospital.” Elvis could tell Sharon had finally caught on. “Get her to be on your side. If she were indeed sexually assaulted, work it to your advantage. She could be the critical switch you need to redirect the public’s fear.”