Part 2A Second Chance at Survival

My dad looked at me for a few seconds.

The sheer, soul-deep terror etched into my face helped him make a swift decision.

"Take it out."

"Sir, I promise you, it's already deactivated."

"Even better if it is."

My dad's tone remained polite, but firm.

"We'll go up to the room and test it on the door."

"If it doesn't open, I'll personally apologize to you for my daughter's unreasonable behavior."

The receptionist remained glued to the spot.

The guests behind us were getting impatient, and another staff member walked over.

"What's going on here?"

The receptionist rushed to explain, "Nothing, the little girl saw I grabbed an extra card by mistake and insisted on looking at it."

I immediately fired back.

"You didn't grab it by mistake. When you were encoding the cards, the machine beeped three times."

Her face completely stiffened.

My dad turned to her. "You made three cards?"

"I..."

The hotel manager happened to step out of his office. After getting the gist of the situation, he quickly put on a smooth smile to play peacemaker.

"It was likely just an employee error, sir. Sometimes guests in family suites request three cards, so she might have made an extra one out of habit."

The receptionist nodded eagerly. "Yes, I just encoded an extra one out of habit."

The story had changed.

A minute ago, it was a "dud card the system misprinted." Now, it was "encoded out of habit."

In my past life, they used these exact same slippery tactics to sweep everything under the rug.

My dad's expression slowly darkened.

"Take it out."

The manager shot the receptionist a look, and she reluctantly fished the card out of the recycle bin.

My dad took all three cards and clenched them in his fist. "Please show us to our room."

The manager's smile faded a bit. "Sir, if you're really that worried, we can simply encode new cards for you right now. There's no need to..."

"Test it."

My dad cut him off with two words.

Three minutes later, we were standing on the 17th floor.

My dad pulled out the first keycard and tapped it against the electronic lock.

Beep.

The green light flashed, and the door clicked open.

He did the same with the second card.

Finally, my dad pulled the door shut and held up the third card.

The receptionist's lips were completely devoid of color.

My dad pressed the card against the lock.

Beep.

A crisp, electronic chime echoed in the hallway, the green light flashed, and the heavy door swung open.

Dead silence fell over the corridor.

The receptionist stared at the floor. Cold sweat beaded on the manager's forehead, his practiced smile entirely gone.

I stared unblinking at that open door.

In my previous life, it was exactly this sound that signaled the beginning of our family's nightmare.

Late that night, around 11:00 PM, my dad went out to buy the barbecue skewers my mom had suddenly craved. I was on the bed watching cartoons, and my mom was in the shower.

Then, the door let out that soft chime.

Beep.

I thought my dad had forgotten something, but when I looked up, I saw a completely strange man.

In this life, I had finally caught the card that was never supposed to exist, right before that door could be swiped open by a predator for the first time.

My dad didn't yell or lose his temper. He simply pulled out his phone, snapped a photo of the three keycards in his hand, and calmly asked:

"Now, would anyone like to explain this?"

The receptionist looked ghastly pale, her voice cracking with a sob. "I... I really just made an extra one by accident, and I forgot to wipe it..."

"Then why did you tell me it was a dud?"

"I was afraid you'd misunderstand."

"Why didn't you just hand it over to me?"

"Hotel policy says we can't casually give out..."

"Then when I explicitly asked you to destroy it, why did you fake it?"

The receptionist had absolutely nothing left to say.

The manager quickly stepped in. "Sir, this is undeniably a grave error on our employee's part. Tell you what—we will immediately move you to a different room, offer a complimentary upgrade to our executive suite, and waive your room charges for tonight entirely."

My head snapped up.

It was happening again.

Just like in my previous life.

First, they claim it's a system error. Then they offer free rooms, free breakfasts, and eventually, a $50,000 settlement.

They always tried to throw money at the problem, but no one ever answered the most important question: How did that card end up in a stranger's hands?