The black sedan crashed into the pavement in front of the Kensington apartment complex and the tall woman who had been driving jumped out.
"Quickly, children," she urged the passengers of the car. Three children, a boy and a girl of around fifteen or sixteen, and a little boy of three or four got out hurriedly as the woman knocked on the door.
Jags peeked out.
"Is Mr Rana Mehta in? Or Dr. Thapar? Please, this is urgent," the woman gasped.
"They are, dear," Jags replied, and ushered the woman and the children in.
The woman ran up the stairs. The children followed her. Jags frowned. There was something rather familiar about the three children.
The woman into the living room of Sameer's London apartment. Then she spotted the Rana-Mehta scion seated on the couch.
"Firdaus," she whispered his name as if in prayer. "Oh, thank God, thank God." She waved a bloodstained hand at the children hovering awkwardly in the doorway and they stepped in.