Under the weight of Gideon's icy stare, the director's color drained from his face. He looked visibly unsettled. Swallowing, he replied, "We are looking into it. That's what we were discussing just now. We are still trying to determine the cause."
He motioned toward the chair across from him. "Please, have a seat first."
Gideon unbuttoned his jacket and sat down.
The middle-aged director turned to the doctor beside him. "Ask Dr. Smith to come to my office."
The man in the white coat gave a brief nod and left, pulling the door shut behind him.
Forcing a strained smile, the director shifted his attention back to Gideon. "Would you like something? Coffee? Perhaps some refreshments?"
Gideon's expression darkened instantly, turning lethal. "Do you really think I'm in the mood to eat or drink?" he snapped. "A child is dead. She was only seven." His jaw tightened. "And I don't even know how Summer is holding herself together."
