Shackles Released: A CPA’s Journey From Prestige To Prison

By Jacqueline Neely

From prestige to a draconian prison sentence, this is an intriguing true-life saga of one woman's inspirational rise from the cotton fields in the back country region of Moro, Arkansas to executive boardrooms as a decorated CPA in Corporate America, and on to the heights of entrepreneurial success as the owner of an extremely large tax office. But as soon as she obtained the exceptional american dream, she is confronted with the brutal reality of the fragility of her freedom as a black woman in America daring to reach too high. Her story takes a sudden and dark turn when one IRS federal agent fixed his gaze on her success with a relentless determination to orchestrate her demise. Her story takes a real candid look at the painfully disturbing reality our broken criminal justice system and its mass-incarceration machine that feeds on its own citizens, with a particularly insatiable appetite for those of African American descent.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lulu.com
• Release date: Feb 14, 2022
• ISBN: 9781678024512

Book preview

Shackles Released

A CPA’s Journey From Prestige To Prison

By

Jacqueline Neely - Morrison

Shackles Released:  A CPA’s Journey From Prestige To Prison

Copyright © 2022 by Jacqueline Neely - Morrison

All rights reserved.  Written permission must be secured from the publisher to use or reproduce any part of this book, except for brief quotations in critical review or articles.

This book is a real-life story about the events that led to the indictment, conviction and imprisonment of Jacqueline Morrison.  Some names and identifying details have been changed.

All books printed in the United States of America.

Platinum Publishing LLC

ISBN: 978-1-6780-2451-2

Dedication

To our former employee, shareholder, and friend, Tracy Burton, may your bright light forever shine!

Table Of Contents

Acknowledgment

Chapter 1 - Life Interrupted

Chapter 2 - All In The Family

Chapter 3 - Early Ambition

Chapter 4 - A Different World

Chapter 5 - Jilted Bride

Chapter 6 - Vows Broken

Chapter 7 - Meant To Last

Chapter 8 - Entrepreneurship & Taxes

Chapter 9 - Sudden Intrusion

Chapter 10 - Life Goes On

Chapter 11 - A Different Direction

Chapter 12 - Relentless Pursuit

Chapter 13 - Preparing for Giants

Chapter 14 - Facing Giants

Chapter 15 - Unjust Sentence

Chapter 16 - Fed Up

Chapter 17 - Almost Home

Chapter 18 - Imagine Freedom

About the Author

Acknowledgments

        I want to Thank God most of all because, without Him, I would not have been able to do any of this. He is the author, orchestrator, and finisher. I will continue to put my trust in him and let him lead me.

        Writing this book was both rewarding and therapeutic for me but without the help of my village, this book would not have been possible.

        A huge thank you to my spiritual hero, my King, my amazing husband, and soulmate, Gladstone Morrison. You have not only been my rock for the last 18 years but helped me tremendously with the writing of this book, from chapter edits to endless revisions and enhancements, your brilliance is truly unmatched. You continue to inspire us with your mysterious ambience and inexplicable confidence that is void of pride and unshakeable faith. You are truly the most amazing and brilliant man that I have ever met. To me, no one compares and no one ever will. I will love you for life!

        To my beautiful daughters, Desiree and Tiffany, thank you so much for holding our castle together while we were away while continuing to improve upon your own lives. You both make me so proud to be called your Mom. Thank you both for your continuous input, support, and suggested revisions as you watched me agonize daily on the dialogue and content to include in this book.

        To my bonus daughter, Janay, for listening to my endless talks about the book and your persistence in fighting for our freedom, which is truly the best gift you could have ever given me. You have been nothing less than a true daughter and a sister to our girls. Forever grateful for your eagerness to always be Gladstone's lifeline to making sure that he continues to spoil me in his absence. You have always been there for us, through the best and worst of times.  I have never met anyone more loyal, faithful, and dependable. I don't know how we would have survived this journey without you. 

        For my Mom and Dad, John and Fannie Neely, thank you both for supporting every single one of my dreams and always encouraging me to follow them. To Mom, whom I aim to impress more than anyone, thank you so much for setting the bar high and being a daily example of class, sophistication, and goodness.

        To my siblings, Victoria, Kesha, Janett, Charlotte, and Jonathan, thank you for all your generosity and support.  From the many books to the magazines to your numerous deposits, you really showed up and showed out for me during my time away and continued to do so upon my release. Our Mother raised us to really look out for each other and without each of you, I would have lost my sanity and would not have been empowered to write this book. So it's not just my story but our story. To my sister, Charlotte, thanks for constantly reminding me to write my story and knowing that I had a book in me, and my sister, Victoria, for generously investing in my dream. Without the enthusiasm and encouragement from my sisters, Shackles Released, may have never been started and finished.

        To my life-saving neighbor and dear friend, Joann Searles, thank you for being there throughout my entire journey and encouraging me to just believe. It is through that belief that I found the courage to share my story.

        To my best friend for over 40 years, Jakki, thank you so much for starting the initial chapters for this book and giving me the framework to even start the dialogue for my story. Your unwavering support throughout my journey has been amazing and you have loved me through my mountaintops, my valleys, and back up again, for that, I am eternally grateful.

        To my friend, Isaiah Thomas, thank you so much for your invaluable support throughout my journey. Your many visits to every facility that I was housed in kept me going and for that, I am eternally grateful. May our journey continue as we unite to do great things and impact lives for the greater good.

        To my cousins, Lynn and Nannete, my favorite cousins, thanks for never giving up on me and always cheering me on and encouraging me. Your continuous support and warmth is invaluable.

        To my family in Jamaica, thanks for really showing me what a great extended family looks like in the face of travesty and adversity.

        Finally, I would like to acknowledge with gratitude, the support and love of all my Broadway and Neely cousins, aunts and uncles, all my nieces and nephews (Britney, Brandon, Brionnica, Justin, Jasmine, Gandy, Germany, Ahlexxis, and Nicholas), my 1986 classmates and my Riders (Treniece, Gilda, Wanda, Rhonda, Trevon, DeeAnn, Ms. Beverly, Amber and Nikki Collins) for taking the trips to visit me. This book is richer because of your input and contributions to my life.

Chapter One

Life Interrupted

On Thursday, October 23, 2014, Desiree – a 15-year-old honor student, returned home from cheerleading practice where she had just recently earned the coveted title of ‘Team Co-Captain’. She was carelessly indifferent to the luxury and prestige of her beautiful 5,000 square-foot Tuscan style home inside the Timbers of Lakeridge - an exclusive gated community in the newly developed lakeside suburbs of Cedar Hill, Texas. In Desiree's world, the biggest crisis, then, was a nasty rumor at school that her boyfriend-prospect, and star of the football team, was just seen talking to another girl. But on this day, she arrived home to the news that would forever change her world. Her loving parents would not be coming home again - not for the next 15 years of her life! In that very instant, her entire world was shattered to pieces, with every sense of security and stability she knew ruthlessly snatched away from her. She suddenly became another tragic American statistic, one all too common among families of color. She became a prison orphan - a child of incarcerated parents and just another coldly disregarded casualty of our country's mass-incarceration machine.

        My name is Jacqueline Morrison, and Desiree is my daughter. She is the younger of my two beautiful and gifted girls, now orphaned by an unconscionable justice system. My husband and I were shining examples of an African American success story. We were both overachievers in zealous pursuit of the exceptional American Dream. We both grew up with severe economic disadvantages, but we overcame the many challenges of our upbringing to build for ourselves a very happy, successful life.  Together, we created two multi-million-dollar companies and a vibrant family and church life. But on that fate-defining Thursday evening, we were suddenly and violently snatched from our world and tossed onto the other side of the unforgiving razor wire fence that divides our United States into a two-caste system - a system of citizens and convicts! And as painful as it is to admit, it is a system more distinguishable by skin color than any other factor. 

        That evening, we stood quietly inside the colonial-style courthouse in Downtown Fort Worth, anxiously awaiting the next words to fall from the lips of Judge John McBryde. We were at the end of a very hasty three-day trial that left us dumbfounded at the outrageous mockery of justice that transpired over the last 72 hours. For that brief moment, a creepy reverent hush so subdued the courtroom that the sounds of shuffling papers could be heard echoing across the room. With his bifocals barely hanging on the tip of his nose, his eyes scanned the list of jury verdicts to the 34 counts of the offense charged against us. His familiar cold and callous expression finally yielded to a faint smirk of satisfaction. I had been through many challenges in my life, but nothing could have prepared me for the impactful blow that was to come next. The verdict was read aloud; GUILTY ON ALL CHARGES!

        His horrifying pronouncement was immediately echoed by a painfully shrilling scream that pierced through from amidst a loud chorus of gasps that erupted in the audience behind us. The judge was violently slamming his gavel and yelling to restore order to the chaos that took over his courtroom, as all my strength instantly evaporated and my legs melted beneath me. Before my head stopped spinning from the trauma, I found myself sitting in the Federal Marshall's transport van, bound in heavy shackles by my wrists, waist, and feet, with my husband handcuffed in the row behind me. We were in transit to Parker County Jail to experience our first night in hell. 

        In spite of being heavily shackled, my husband leaned his head over the back of my seat to try to comfort me. With his face pressed against my tear-drenched cheek, he delivered consoling kisses and whispers of encouragement in my ear in a desperate effort to try to ease my pain. The warmth of his cheeks against mine was my only bit of comfort. It began to restore feelings back to my numbed senses, as my sobbing gave way to reflective thought. How did I come to this point in my life? How could such a thing ever happen to someone like me?

        Under the dark of night, as the van carried us away to a dark place, scenes from my entire life began to replay in my head while I searched for answers to the questions that haunted me. Where did it all go wrong? How could a life, shining with such bright promise, end up on this dark road?  As we journeyed darker into the night, my thoughts carried me off to a totally different place, all the way back to my earliest childhood memories.

Chapter Two

All In The Family

My childhood years in Moro, Arkansas, were, by no means, without their fair share of challenges. Moro is a small farming community in Lee County, Arkansas – population 280, and, like most places in the rural south, during the ‘70s and ‘80s, the only thing that did not racially discriminate was the shared poverty and hard labor of the working class. It takes a 20-minute drive off the nearest interstate through narrow, single, and double lane roads and a few turns into dirt and gravel paths to make your way from the fast-paced hustle of I-40 traffic to the quiet country life of Moro. Every mile on the southbound journey through Lee County feels like a deeper descent into a bygone era of the American south – a deeper submersion into farmland communities that time and progress seemed to have forsaken. The view on either side of the road displays endless acres of soybean and cotton fields – interrupted only by the town’s rural southern architecture. There are the familiar weather-beaten clapboard houses and dilapidated barns separated by acres of open fields. You would also find a few clusters of cinder block houses – mostly suspended in a state of partial disrepair. But there are also the occasional ranch-style flats at the end of long driveways, with a well-kept truck or car parked in front to mark the properties belonging to the more opulent families in the community.

        My family’s first home wasn’t opulent but a modest, modern, red-brick, ranch-style house with hunter-green, wooden-shingled roof and sidings. My dad kept a well-manicured lawn with a pair of majestic oak trees standing guard on either side of the extended asphalt and gravel driveway that led to our multi-family porch. It was, by no means, a reflection of wealth, even by Moro standards. Still, it was the right amount of elegance to be expected of the Neely family.

        My father, John, was the middle child of nine siblings, all living near their mother’s house and on the gravel backroads away from town. My dad is a tall, handsome ladies-man who still wears his stylish playboy swag well into his 70s. He is sleek and sophisticated, carrying a slender 6'2" frame with broad shoulders and a confident walk. His half-black, half-Cherokee mix gives him his smooth walnut-brown skin and straight wavy hair, which he keeps just long enough to swoop back into a ponytail occasionally. His sharply chiseled facial features come with a trademark dimpled chin that would leave all the ladies swooning at every flash of his smile. However, with her exceptional beauty and charm from her parents (Minnie and Sam Broadway), my mother always remains the graceful and elegant Fannie Mae. With her honey-golden complexion, luscious jet-black hair, and mesmerizing smile, she effortlessly accomplished the indelible feat of capturing the wild heart of John Neely. At an early age, their magnetic attraction to each other became a force of nature that not even time itself could unravel, and marriage came just a few years after their union.

        John and Fannie Mae raised a houseful of girls. I was fourth in the line of five sisters, but we were, in no way, pampered princesses. Except for my baby sister, Kesha, none of us were sheltered from the dirty hands and sweat-drenched foreheads from laboring in Dad’s crop fields under the sweltering Arkansas sun. Jannette was the oldest, ‘the disciplinarian,’ followed by Charlotte, the ‘do-it-herself,’ and Victoria, the ‘go-getter.’ I was born only three years after Victoria and named after First Lady Jacqueline Kennedy – a ‘true lady’ who my mother loved and admired for her grace and charm. Kesha remained the baby of the family, and we dotted and swarmed over her every chance we got until our baby brother, Jonathan, came into the picture – finally a boy!

        But it was the girls who worked in the fields before my brother came along. Our summers were spent chopping, picking, and plucking in Dad’s cotton and okra fields to earn our allowances, along with some extra money for school clothes. The pay was minimal, but the lessons learned were invaluable. Without knowing it at the time, we were not just cultivating crops for our livelihood but character and work ethics that would take us well into adulthood. We worked hard and played hard, but without much conscious distinction between the two, as long as we were in it together.

        We looked forward to Fridays after school. It was payday for Mama from her job at the local Sanyo factory, which also meant payday for me and my sisters for our chores that week. We labored in sweat and soil in Dad’s fields but dared not bring a spec of dirt into Mama’s house. That was her domain, and it reflected her elegant character to the fullest. From bathrooms to bedrooms to our attached garage, every space in our four-bedroom flat was beautifully and meticulously adorned with the most decorative furnishings and fixtures. It was almost overdone, with hardly a blank space left on any wall to hang another picture or ornament. This house was my mother’s pride, but it represented more than that; it was a symbol of our family’s recovery and restoration from a past tragedy.

        I was only six years old when it happened. Though most of my memories of that age have long since faded out of existence, this one moment is burned into my consciousness as vividly as the day it happened. I was on my way home from school, still too young to navigate the journey without the company of my three older sisters. As we got off the bus, they took turns holding my hand and traveled alongside tall unkempt grass and weeds lining the dirt and gravel roads leading to our house. I do not recall anyone taking notice of smoke or any signs from a distance. But as we made the last turn that brought our house into view, we were rudely struck by the horrifying scene that left us frozen in our steps – totally speechless! Our beloved house, our home, was burned to the ground. All our memories, possessions, hopes, and plans, were reduced to black and gray ashes that blanketed smoldering debris and rubble amidst rising smoke. Nothing was left but a few charred remnants of partial structures that stood in defiance of the flames unto the end.

        My older sisters often tell me other details of the moment, but the only thing I can recall was the instant my oldest sister, Jannette, collapsed onto the dirt ground. She was

Reviews for Shackles Released

[frankie bush · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

As an aspiring accountant, I really enjoyed her story! 5 star read