Justice For None

Justice For None

Jessica James

Copyright Jessica James 2011

Published by The Educational Publisher Publishing at Smashwords

Contents

Preface

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

JUSTICE FOR NONE

By: Jessica James

© Pirates & Poets, Inc

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the prior written permission of the publisher. Printed in the United States of America.

ISBN 0-9717485-1-9

Printed and Distributed by

The Educational Publisher

www.EduPublisher.com

DEDICATIONS AND ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

This book is dedicated to the memory of my son, Michael.

I extend my gratitude to all those who knew the truth and believed in me against all odds. Special appreciation expressed as words pale against these giants of action and support:

Attorney Englehard, Attorney Gasaway, Chandra, Bob, Gus, Lori, Larry, Nancy, Rick, Scott, Morgan, Jerilyn, Jim, Pam, Christine, Maridell, and all who prayed on my behalf.

And for all the clients who stand for truth, unwavering in decisions to proceed, unafraid, I thank you for inspiration and motivation.

PREFACE

Injustice anywhere is a threat to justice everywhere.

Martin Luther King

Many believe the American justice system protects the law-abiders from law-breakers by convicting and incarcerating the wrong doers. The vehicle to accomplish this is the trial by way of judge and or jury. However, that vehicle has rusted exposing gapping holes while running on empty. Apparently, unintended consequences have created a cancer, the silent invisible killer.

The courts support and are maintained by convictions, not exonerations. Winning is paramount, not truth or justice, witnessed by organizations as the Innocence Project or the Justice Project continually quantifying and exposing shameful situations. Emphasizing convictions instead of truth has incarcerated over 2.5 million within America, more than any record-keeping nation on the face of the earth. The myth of increased convictions to decrease crime rates has been shoved down the throats of Americans every way possible while statistics bear otherwise

Prosecutors are paid and promoted for convictions, as are judges. And most judges paved the way to the royal robe as a prosecutor. A successful prosecutor, that is.

Most judges are substandard. Concentration is directed to orchestrating procedures that are unnecessarily complex administered by inefficient court employees instead of preserving individual freedoms against government aggression.

Law enforcement officials can and do arrest on, flawed, incomplete, fabricated and no evidence at all. Affidavits are sworn, under penalty of perjury, a meaningless unenforceable penalty. As such, these so-called truth statements are accepted without corroboration justified by an expectation of voluntarily rising to the standards of law and ethics of honesty.

The right to a speedy trial has become contra productive. Prosecutors routinely and purposefully delay exposing key discovery to the defense. Most omit relevant, exculpatory evidence or hide it in massive paper dumps, deciphered only by highly paid, highly qualified legal professionals. Direct evidence is often lacking, leading the prosecutors to theories and suppositions, now becoming the norm and not the exception. Defendants are restricted to actual facts while the prosecution has no such constraints.

Counsel plays a game of hide and seek, catch me if you can, ring around the rosy so all fall down. Tactics, documents, witnesses and obscure resources are the ringer, the players introduced by surprise in the hopes of overwhelming the opponent to initiate a settlement.

Misconduct, opinionated forensics, and self-proclaimed necessity to permit creativity, are acceptable. The routine declaration of flight or danger to society fosters a ‘held without bail’ decision or astronomically unaffordable bail incarcerating individuals for years. Yet this prosecutorial tool has no defense equivalent and thus no recourse. Imagine that!

The notion of innocent until proven guilty is a worthless dead dinosaur. Even a not guilty verdict is not a proclamation of innocence.

Defendants are laden with numerous serious crimes along with ridiculous charges to inspire a plea bargain. Intimidating threats and fear of the unknown favor the path to settle. The misunderstood deal waives the defendant’s right to trial while declaring the prosecution the winner, even if untrue, all without the full understanding of the lifelong repercussions.

No government shall ever be much better than its courts.

This is one story. A raid on an organization of like-minded individuals and related companies called the ‘largest crackdown in the history of the U.S. Internal Revenue Service.’ You decide if justice was served.

Chapter One

February 28th, 2001 6:00 am

Tacoma, Washington

A caravan of SUVs crunched the slightly packed snow even tighter upon the winding road. Tree limbs sparkled like diamonds as the sun rose on the horizon. The muted sound of bubble wrap popping was heard as vehicles stealthily crept up the driveway.

Already dressed, Timothy was waiting for his little sister to watch for the bus together. His mother already scolded him twice for yelling at Lori to hurry. Suddenly, the front door reverberated with a loud bang. Open up. Special Agents. Search Warrant.

Boredom broken with excitement, he ran to the door. Reaching high, the doorknob was turned with both hands. With the force of a cold winter’s gust of wind, it flung open. Three giants dressed in black and gray jumped inside swaying back and forth, arms outstretched. He screamed while looking into the barrel of a gun.

February 28th, 2001 6:21 am

San Diego, California

George pulled into the parking lot with thoughts of tax returns on his mind. He hoped to get a few signed before the telephone started ringing. Shocked at encountering a traffic jam of SUVs parked haphazardly at the front door of the office building, he cautiously maneuvered around the shiny clean bumpers. Irritated, his vision of a convenient parking space disappeared. Wondering if he should first call maintenance and complain about the mass of sloppily parked vehicles, he exited the elevator. Noise of conversation in the hallway sounded like the exodus of lunchtime. Sweat began to form upon his brow realizing his office door was open. The clamor originated from inside. Before deciding to advance with curiosity or run fueled by fear he was pushed against the wall and handcuffed.

February 28th, 2001

Montrose, Colorado 7:00 am

Jim brought Patricia another cup of coffee as she sat at her desk waiting for the computer to boot up. Looking out the window another beautiful day was forming. Luckily dealing with traffic and cold weather was eliminated with a home office. A deafening wild pounding sound proliferated from the door. Once, twice and three times followed by unintelligible screams. Jim dropped the cup to raise his hands in the air as the soldier pointed his weapon. Patricia found herself at full attention shrieking not to shoot.

February 28th, 2001

St. Louis, Missouri 7:07am

All monkeys in the car, all dogs stay home, Sydnie voiced sternly but lovingly.

AH mom, Kara said. Let Charlie come, he will be good.

Not today, he smells like old doggy and the car is dirty enough.

AH mah mah, Kristie mimicked her older sister bound for school. Let Charlie come, he is good.

Well, tonight we will give him a bath and he can ride with us tomorrow, Sydnie said reluctantly as her mind ventured to the thought of another committed chore. The girls would not let her forget that one.

Everyone, belted in? she asked starting the car. She pushed the garage door opener and scanned the vehicle simultaneously.

Yep.

Yap.

Backing out from the garage, eyes on the back wall so as to perfectly time the descent of the door, the automatic opener was engaged. Hearing the constant screaming beep of a horn shocked her into a brake slam. Suddenly blinding red and blue lights reflected from all mirrors. The girls cried with fear as doors opened and hands grabbed at them.

Stop, Stop! shrieked Sydnie pressing the gas pedal reactively.

NO, YOU STOP! NOW! the holder of the rifle yelled.

February 28th, 2001 7:25 am

Houston, Texas

Already hot and sweaty from the walk through the underground parking lot, Collin pushed the elevator button. Looking for a hanky to wipe his chubby red face, he stepped into the hallway to waddle down the worn carpet path. Unlocking the office he stepped inside. Men dressed in black were rummaging through all the files.

February 28th, 2001 8.00 am

Pittsburg, Pennsylvania

Sirens blaring and lights rotating the nurse calmly exhaled a puff of Marlboro smoke into the chilled air. Realizing it was not an ambulance she snuffed the cigarette and wheeled a gurney to the now opened SUV door. Two soldiers wearing the letters CID upon their shirts struggled while attempting to pull a bloody woman from the vehicle for placement upon the cot.

What happened? the nurse demanded trying to control of the moving bed. Who are you?

They pushed her away only to be commandeered by a doctor shoving them aside. What happened here? he asked immediately followed by OH MY GOD gazing into his wife’s bloody face. WHAT HAVE YOU DONE?

February 28th, 2001 9:00 am.

Naples, Florida

Well what else has changed from last year? Jessica asked her tax client as he sipped coffee. Noticing two well-dressed men walk past her home office window she thought the next appointment was not due for at least 40 minutes. Next the Sheriff marched by. Curiosity started her mind wondering.

Now what the hell has my son done, she muttered excusing herself to answer the door.

Ms. James?

Yes

Could we step inside? We have a few questions about your son.

She announced, Well, I am currently with a client and would prefer to come to your station when I am finished.

Ms. James, we have a search warrant and we are coming in, pushing his way inside. Behind him stood a man pointing a gun.

She turned to the Collier County officer. What is this all about?

Ms, James, they have a search warrant and you have to talk to them now, he casually said.

Confused, a churning stomach erupted a sensation between nausea and fainting. Jessica replied, Let me excuse my client. Remaining calm, she advanced the four or five steps into the office knowing quite well the client heard every single word.

I’m sorry, but we need to reschedule our appointment. I must tend to another matter that just came up, she stated quickly.

I understand. Thanks, he said walking by the two fully suited and armed men. The Sheriff opened the door and escorted him past the office window never to be seen again.

February 28th, 2001 8:38 am

Santa Anna, Costa Rica

The caravan of black vans bounced over the dirt road throwing dust everywhere. The peaceful tranquility of a gated four-condominium villa was disrupted with a roar of engines busting through metal gates. Vehicles quickly parked in the circled driveway getting into position, guns drawn and aimed. The guardsman stepped out of the gatehouse only to be sucker punched with the butt of a rifle. He fell to his knees in a daze. Blinded with pain, he is too frightened to stand. A heavily armed SWAT team accompanied by CID personnel quickly surrounded the perimeter. Two men wearing helmets erected a tripod. The blast of a cannon blew apart the unlocked door of one of the homes. Swarming inside, waving guns and rifles from side to side, they systematically yelled CLEAR. Finding no one at home the guardsman was handcuffed and all swiftly disappear.

Chapter Two

February 28th, 2001 4:38am

Fort Myers, Florida

Special Agent Ned Mealy glanced at the clock radio only to discover he was wide-awake hours before his meeting with the Fort Myers IRS criminal investigation team. His mind drifted to the days of his first few investigations, the thrill of the hunt and the successful feeling of a capture. He wondered where that self-fulfilling excitement had gone. Perhaps it has been replaced by thoughts of retirement and the pursuit of dreams unaccomplished. But wait. This is the biggest tax fraud case in the history of the IRS. Where is the thrill of participation? This should be the long awaited much prayed for chance that brings legendary recognition and grandeur of success. Yet it feels simply routine, so small, and so unimportant in the scheme of events for this special agent.

BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP

A long reach turns off the alarm and the morning routine begins. Meanwhile, the Fort Myers team is bustling around the office, getting coffee, signing in, checking out weapons, bulletproof vests and SUVs.

Mealy enters the office, calls everyone to attention and reviews the route to Naples, Florida. Once we get onto the island where Ms. James lives and operates her home-based business, we will all stop at this restaurant to suit and load up, pointing to a map on the bulletin board. You six will retrieve all the evidence, box it, label it, record it and secure it for transport. Mr. Jenson, you will download all the computer data as usual. You eight shall surround the house and maintain a secure perimeter at all times. Everyone approaching from the front or back will be questioned and turned away. Mr. Backard, Ms. Maudra and myself will handle the suspect personally. Any questions? It is an hour’s drive so stay together. Let’s roll.

February 28th, 2001 8:42am

Naples Florida

Five black SUVs meet in a graveled lot on a small island bordering the azure blue Gulf of Mexico in southwest Florida. On one side of the lot is a row of pickup trucks. Early morning activity has begun within the thatched hut facing a few boat docks. The sound of doors opening and trunks popping seemingly in unison attracts the attention of a few islanders tending to chores. In complete silence the agents partially disrobe to don their vests. One agent hands each a weapon varying in size and caliber. Unhesitant, the weapons are loaded. A puzzled charter captain emerges from the palm-thatched hut, coffee in hand, to inquire of the activity. We are here for the CPA, he replies breaking the silence. This does not concern you so I suggest you go about your business, pointing in the direction of the chickee hut. A Collier County Sheriff’s vehicle joins the parked caravan. Special Agent Mealy waves in acknowledgement. He holsters his gun and walks about the heavily armed team inspecting their appearance. Any questions? he asks one more time. Show time he sings out in the daybreak hours of an already warm Florida day.

Doors open once again seemingly in unison. A procession down the street ends in the driveway of Jessica James, CPA. As the agents assume their assigned positions, Mealy, Backard and the Sheriff walk past the office window and knock on the door.

Ms. James?

Yes.

Could we step inside? We have a few questions about your son.

Well I am currently with a client. I would prefer to come to your station when finished here.

Ms. James, we have a search warrant and we are coming in, Mealy declares pushing his way past her, exposing the gun in the outstretched arms of the man behind him.

She turns to the Collier County officer, What is this all about?

Ms, James, they have a search warrant and you have to talk to them now, the officer answers.

After apologizing for the unforeseen situation, the Sheriff escorts her client out the door. Much better composed and over the reaction of physical sickness, Jessica sternly requests, Where’s the search warrant?

I’m Ned Mealy and this is Lee Backards. We are special agents of the Criminal Investigation Division of the Internal Revenue Service. We are exercising a search warrant for your office. Are there any weapons here, Ms. James?

Let me see the search warrant, she demands with thoughts of her son in trouble.

We will get to that but first we must secure the premises, he repeats as two, three then four individuals enter and surround the accountant. Tell me, are there any guns in the office?

No, automatically responding to the order. What is this all about? What has happened to my son? Is he okay? What is the search warrant for? Why are you here? Frantically asking, her mind races out of control with more questions, visions and frights.

Mealy points at two men encircling Jessica and orders a search. They disappear in the office and up into the house.

Where is your search warrant? What is this about? she anxiously starts again.

Ms. James we are with the Criminal Investigation Division of the IRS and want to ask you a few questions about Ander Associates.

What? Where is Michael? Is he okay? she asks drawing inferences about her son.

Mr. Mealy I found this upstairs in the bedroom and it is loaded, beams the agent as if finding a prize.

Now, Ms. James, you told me there were no weapons here, he scolds.

You asked about the office, she answers.

Well we will have to hang onto this one for now. What other weapons are you harboring Ms. James? the suit asks with a smirk.

NONE, she yells desperately trying to keep her composure.

Let’s sit over here, Mr. Mealy suggests grabbing her arm and directing her into the house.

Selecting a portion of the sectional sofa, he motions a request for her to join him. Instead, she sits cattycorner on a separated section. His eyes follow around and past Ms. James as a heavily armed woman claims a seat beside her.

This is Agent Mautra. She will be with you until we are finished here since you lied about the weapons, the special agent states.

Jessica brazenly interrupts, I did not lie to you.

Mealy continues as if not hearing the comment, and I must ensure my team’s safety.

Jessica huffs shaking her head in disbelief. Their safety? I’m the one feeling unsafe here.

Mealy extracts a piece of paper from the jacket’s inside pocket and reads out loud. Watching him intently she hears the words but can’t quite understand what is being said. Abruptly her mind jumps into warp speed, formulating a multitude of questions while contemplating all the answers. Unrepentantly, three pieces of papers are shoved at the CPA with directions to read them over. All the while Mr. Mealy continues talking. Scanning an extensive list of names with two headings - ENTITY and INDIVIDUAL -only a few are recognized.

Ms. James, startling her back to his attention. Tell me how you became involved with Ander Associates. Staring, attempts to halt a questioning and confused mind are unsuccessful.

Detecting an inability to speak, he persists. Ms. James we know you are involved in illegal activity and we will find all the evidence, today, in your office. So, I highly suggest you help yourself and answer my questions, he orders loudly.

What is he talking about, her mind speaks without words.

The intimidation continues. As we speak there is a nationwide search in all Ander Associates offices and your cohorts are being arrested, right now. You can help yourself by cooperating with me.

I don’t understand.

Ms. James, I have evidence right here, shoving a hand held tape recorder into her face, that confirms your involvement in illegal activity against the federal government, he boasts. Her mind swirls in confusion. Holding the recorder in front of her eyes, it is activated.

Yes, that sounds like me. Illegal activity? I don’t think so.

Ms James, retrieving the recorder with her eyes following. Help yourself now and we will put in a good word to the prosecution about how you cooperated. Her mind is overwhelmed with numerous questions. How can this be happening? Who are these people? What are they doing here? Cooperate about what? So, Ms. James, when did you first get involved with Ander Associates? he repeats.

Realizing this has nothing to do with her son after all, Jessica finally replies as calmly as possible, I have nothing to say to you.

Mealy leans forward as close to her face as possible without getting off the sectional sofa and whispers, Then you shall die in prison.

Chapter Three

Jessica leans back into the multicolored easy chair feeling the dampness of sweat upon her back. There was a constant hum of movement, back and forth and around her like a swarm of bees undecided as to what to do. The phone rang unceasingly in the background. Hesitance dictated a no response since obviously an eavesdropping audience could possibly take notes. Realizing the answering machine certainly was inadequate for the quantity of calls,