Badass in Disguise Chapter 126

Jade's POV:

My fingers flew across the keyboard with precision that came from years of practice. Three large monitors surrounded me, each displaying different information as I monitored Danny's phone conversations through a remote hack. The rapid clicking of keys was the only sound in my otherwise silent apartment as I sorted through audio files and tracked his digital footprint.

When my phone rang, I answered without looking, activating the speaker while continuing to type.

"Jade Morgan," I said, keeping my voice neutral.

"He's awake," Ethan's voice carried an unusual amount of emotion. "My father just woke up."

My fingers paused for a millisecond before resuming their dance across the keyboard. I had expected this outcome.

"That's good news. The treatment worked as expected," I replied, eyes still scanning the monitors as a conversation between Danny and Warren Mitchell came into view on my screen.

"The doctors are calling it a miracle. They've never seen anything like it." There was a pause. "Will you come see him? He asked about you when he heard what you did."

"That won't be necessary," I replied, adjusting my headphones as I increased the volume on Danny's conversation. "Your father doesn't need me now. He needs his family."

"You are the reason he's alive, Jade."

"I'm aware," I said, watching Warren Mitchell settle into a leather chair in what appeared to be an opulent office. "I need to go. Something important just came up."

"Jade—"

"I'll call you later."

I disconnected and turned up the volume as Danny poured two glasses of scotch and handed one to Mitchell.

"Are you sure about this?" Danny asked, his voice tinny through my speakers.

Mitchell swirled the amber liquid. "It doesn't matter. William Haxton's recovery won't change anything. The toxin has already done irreversible damage to his system. My sources say he has two months, at most."

I felt my expression remain neutral, but something cold settled in my stomach.

"What about his son? Ethan seems to have stepped up quite effectively," Danny observed.

Mitchell's laugh was cold. "Ethan Haxton is exhausted. He's been running himself ragged for a year, dealing with his father's illness while managing the company. When William dies, Ethan will be at his weakest. That's when we'll strike."

"And the Haxton assets?"

"Will be ours," Mitchell smiled, raising his glass. "Piece by piece, we'll dismantle everything they've built."

Danny shifted uncomfortably. "I heard William was in bad shape two days ago. They did some procedure and rushed him home. Do you think he's... you know, on his way out?"

"Could be," Mitchell nodded. "The Arctic Blue toxin is impossible to trace and even harder to treat. No one alive can neutralize it. The only person who could have created an antidote died in that Caribbean facility explosion."

I couldn't help the cold smile that spread across my face. If only they knew.

"What about our meeting with the Shadow branch in Princeton?" Danny asked.

"In two days, on the yacht," Mitchell confirmed. "Everything is set. Once we get their support, we can break away from SPECTER completely. They've become too cautious, too slow. We need to be bold."

My phone rang again. Ethan's name flashed on the screen.

"Yes?" I answered, still watching the monitors.

"You laughed before you hung up," Ethan said. "What was funny?"

I raised an eyebrow, impressed by his perception. "Nothing important. Just something I remembered."

"Jade, if there's anything—"

"I have to go, Ethan. Enjoy your father's recovery. It's a big day for your family."

I ended the call and leaned back in my chair, considering Mitchell's words.

"Big plans for an old man," I murmured to myself, turning back to my monitors.

"The meeting's set for Thursday night," Danny's voice came through clearly. "The yacht will be docked at the Hudson River Marina, slip forty-two."

I made a note of the location and time, then switched to another screen showing Mitchell Foundation's financial records. Money flowed through various shell companies like water through a sieve.

"Laundering millions through a charity," I muttered. "How original."

I closed my laptop and reached for my phone, quickly typing out an email to my Princeton professors requesting a two-day absence due to a family emergency. They wouldn't question it—I had built up enough goodwill with perfect attendance and top marks.

Standing up, I walked to my closet and pulled out a black duffel bag. From it, I removed several small devices that looked like ordinary power banks but were actually sophisticated explosives of my own design.

"Time to prepare for a little boat trip," I said to myself, laying the devices out on my bed with methodical precision.

---

Two nights later, I stood at the edge of the Hudson River, watching Mitchell's massive five-deck yacht with its distinctive blue and white coloring. Men in dark suits boarded discreetly, their movements efficient and purposeful. Anyone else might have seen businessmen or yacht staff, but I recognized the subtle signs of training—the way they scanned their surroundings, how they kept their dominant hands free.

Getting aboard was almost disappointingly easy.

I moved through the vessel's corridors with practiced ease, my black backpack containing everything I needed. Security cameras captured nothing but empty hallways as I bypassed their feeds with a small device clipped to my belt.

I placed small explosive devices at strategic points throughout the lower decks. Each device was no larger than a deck of cards, yet contained enough power to blow through a steel door.

After planting the last device near the engine room, I made my way to the top deck. The night air was cool against my skin as I emerged from below. I had exchanged my black infiltration clothes for an elegant navy cocktail dress I'd stashed in my bag. A stolen glass of champagne completed my disguise.

I positioned myself by the railing, gazing out at the Manhattan skyline as if admiring the view. The timing was perfect—within seconds, I heard footsteps approaching.

Danny stopped short when he saw me, his security rounds interrupted by my unexpected presence.

"Excuse me," he said, his voice professional but confused. "This area is off-limits to guests."

I turned, my movements deliberately unsteady, eyes widened in feigned surprise. "Oh! I'm so sorry." I giggled, injecting just the right amount of intoxication into my voice. "I think I got turned around. These boats are so big, you know?"

"Miss Morgan?" Danny said, stepping closer. "Why would you been here?"

"I was here yesterday too," I said with a conspiratorial smile. "For the... preview thing. The drinks were much better then." I leaned closer, lowering my voice. "Between us, I think someone messed with the alcohol tonight. Tastes... off."

Danny's expression shifted from confusion to alarm. "What do you mean?"

"Just a feeling," I shrugged, watching realization dawn on his face.

"I need to tell Mr. Mitchell," he said urgently, turning to leave.

I moved with the speed that had once made me the most feared assassin in the world. My first strike targeted the nerve cluster at the base of his neck, causing his legs to buckle. The second blow, delivered as he began to fall, rendered his arms temporarily useless. The third hit—a precise jab to a pressure point near his temple—silenced any cry for help and sent him into unconsciousness.

The entire takedown had taken less than two seconds.

I caught Danny before he hit the deck, dragging his limp form to the equipment room housed within the upper deck's structure. I bound his hands and feet with zip ties from my purse and secured a gag in his mouth.

"Sleep tight. Permanently," I said, patting his cheek lightly as I closed and locked the door.

Smoothing my dress and checking my appearance in a compact mirror, I headed for the stairs that would take me to the fourth deck. Warren Mitchell was waiting, though he didn't know it yet.