Chapter 1 - The Collusion Continues, Chapter 2 - Inaccurate and Incomplete, Chapter 3 - The Sixth Damning Letter, Chapter 4 - The Seventh Damning Letter and Chapter 5 - The Eighth Damning Letter
 

OPEN LETTER dated 25/09/2025

While the five chapters mentioned above confirm that the arbitration officials deliberated on my claim, these officials remain unaccountable for the injustice that occurred leading up to my arbitration, during its 13-month duration, and in the years following its conclusion on 11 May 1995.

A Sinister and Calculated Smear

A false and deeply defamatory allegation was circulated in a calculated and treacherous manoeuvre to derail scrutiny of my arbitration appeal. The claim—that I had verbally harassed the wife of Dr Gordon Hughes AO, the arbitrator appointed to oversee my case—was not spontaneous; it was manufactured. It originated from John Pinnock, then the Telecommunications Industry Ombudsman, and was delivered directly to Laurie James, President of the Institute of Arbitrators Australia.

This was not a misunderstanding or an error, but a deliberate act.

I categorically deny the allegation in Pinnock's letter of February 27, 1996—a letter crafted to mislead, smear, and poison the well as my appeal threatened to expose the truth. Pinnock falsely informed Mr James that I had telephoned the arbitrator's wife at 2 a.m., implying harassment, instability, and misconduct. However, my telephone account—the indisputable record—shows only one call ever made to the arbitrator's residence between April 21, 1994, the day I signed the arbitration agreement, and the date of Pinnock's letter.

That call occurred at 8:02 p.m. on November 28, 1995—not at 2 a.m., not in the dead of night, and certainly not in the manner described by Pinnock.

The truth is far more straightforward—and far more inconvenient for those who sought to bury it.

That evening, I phoned Dr Hughes because explosive new evidence had arrived, proving that Telstra had fraudulently fabricated its TF200 arbitration report. This evidence, sourced from Telstra's own laboratory, showed that the test results provided to the arbitrator were false. I called to alert him that I had couriered this material to his office via Golden Couriers Messenger Services of North Melbourne. My intention was simply to ensure he was aware of the evidence and to arrange a meeting after my five-hour train journey from Melbourne.

When Mrs Hughes answered and told me that Dr Hughes was overseas, she asked who was calling. Fearing that my real name might alarm her—particularly after Senator Ron Boswell had publicly condemned Dr Hughes on 20 September 1995 for allowing himself to be forced into using Telstra's arbitration rules instead of the government-endorsed agreement—I gave the name of someone she would recognise: John Rundell, the Arbitration Project Manager.

I later wrote to Pinnock, explaining why I had used Rundell's name and made the call. The evidence I was trying to deliver was dynamite—and they knew it.

Yet Pinnock's statement to Laurie James was more than merely misleading; it was a fabrication designed to discredit me and shield the arbitration process from the truth.
His claim reads:

• "Mr Smith has admitted to me in writing that last year he rang Dr Hughes' home phone number (apparently in the middle of the night, at approximately 2.00 am) and spoke to Dr Hughes' wife, impersonating a member of the Resource Unit."(File 209-AS-CAV Exhibit 181 to 233)

If I wrote to the TIO, as he claims in his letter to Laurie James, why hasn't he produced my letter?

Clearly, this letter was designed to smear my reputation and distract from the serious flaws in the arbitration process. Dr Hughes, fully aware of the falsehood, chose silence over integrity, allowing the lie to fester and undermine the legitimacy of the proceedings.

The emotional toll of being wrongfully accused—and then betrayed by those sworn to uphold justice—is a burden few can comprehend. Yet through it all, my voice remains unwavering: clear, unyielding, and fiercely committed to uncovering the truth.

Amid the complexities of my pending appeal, my attorneys at Law Partners in Melbourne urged me to contact John Pinnock, the second appointed administrator for my arbitration. They advised me to request all documents related to the arbitration that underpinned my agreement, having uncovered unsettling ambiguities within it that could serve as grounds to challenge Dr Hughes' unjust award. I complied, unaware of the treachery that lay ahead.

As detailed in Chapter 5 - The Eighth Damning Letter, the other three claimants—Ann Garms, Maureen Gillan, and Graham Schorer—were provided with an additional 13 months to prepare their claims and respond to Telstra's defence. I, however, was not granted the same 13-month extension.

Dr. Gordon Hughes's decision to deny me the same thirteen-month extension not only hindered my case but also represented a significant act of discrimination. This decision was a deliberate and unjustifiable departure from the principles of fairness, fundamentally undermining the integrity of the arbitration process and the equitable treatment that all claimants deserved.

By denying me the opportunity to fully present my case, Dr Hughes effectively discriminated against me. He should have postponed his decision until Telstra could definitively verify that no further systemic phone issues were impacting my business. This oversight not only undermined my claims but also left my business vulnerable to ongoing, unaddressed problems.

Dr. Gordon Hughes

To be clear: had Dr Gordon Hughes granted his own arbitration consultants the additional weeks they explicitly requested in their evaluation report dated April 30, 1995, the outcome of my arbitration would have been entirely different. The consultants—DMR & Lanes—recognised the complexities of the case and understood that the evidence required diligent, in-depth examination. They were fully aware that the material was intricate and critical to uncovering the truth.

However, Dr. Hughes callously refused their request. He shut down the investigation, preventing them from accessing the very documents that later enabled Darren Kearney to expose the shocking reality. This was not a mere administrative blunder but a calculated act—an intentional manoeuvre to bury the truth and protect Telstra from the consequences of their malfeasance.

The evidence Darren Kearney of AUSTEL (now ACMA) ultimately unearthed was contained in the very documents Dr Hughes denied his own experts, despite their written request for additional time on April 30, 1995. This was no mere coincidence; it was a violation of justice—a discriminatory act that denied me my rightful chance to prove my case.

By denying the consultants the necessary time and resources, Dr. Hughes effectively orchestrated my downfall. He should have postponed his decision until Telstra provided clear evidence that no further systemic faults were undermining my business. Instead, he pressed ahead recklessly, fully aware that network issues were ongoing and unresolved, inflicting devastating damage on my operations.

This was not just a procedural lapse; it was a profound betrayal of the arbitration process designed to deliver justice. His refusal left my business vulnerable to the relentless problems the arbitration was intended to resolve. It allowed Telstra's deep-rooted faults to fester unchecked for years, ensuring that the truth—the truth those consultants were poised to uncover—remained hidden.

In the end, the message is clear: the system was never designed to protect me; it was a construct intended solely to shield Telstra and its actions.

In his chilling letter dated January 10, 1996, Pinnock coldly dismissed my request for these arbitration records, writing:

• I refer to your letter dated December 31, 1996, in which you seek access to various correspondence held by the TIO concerning the Fast Track Arbitration Procedure. I will not be providing you with copies of any documents held by this office Open Letter File No 57-C.

This marked the beginning of a long and troubling chapter of deceit. Lies became intertwined with issues concerning Dr. Gordon Hughes's wife, and over the ensuing thirty years, a cascade of falsehoods emerged. This corruption thrived by exploiting confidentiality clauses in an agreement that had been insidiously altered even before it was signed, revealing the treachery at the heart of the arbitration process.

Dr. Hughes was at the centre of a Machiavellian scheme. He stonewalled every request for my pre-arbitration files—handwritten notes, boardroom minutes, commercial assessments—refusing to release the very evidence that would expose his secret role as an "assessor" in the four COT cases, rather than the impartial arbitrator he claimed to be. Even more damning, he approved Telstra's self-serving, backdated draft to usurp any genuine arbitration agreement, allowing it to masquerade as the binding contract. His actions weren't mere oversights but calculated, conspiratorial moves to bury the truth.

By October 1995, five months after my arbitration concluded, I was compelled to bring these deceptive practices to the attention of the Commonwealth Ombudsman. Following questionable counsel from Law Partners of Melbourne, I contacted Mr John Wynack, the Ombudsman's Director of Investigations. Together, we peeled back layers of Telstra's deception, confronting their claims that the file had been "destroyed"—a blatant lie designed to shield the rot beneath.

The contents of the five letters attached to Home Page File No/82 indicate that Mr Wynack did not accept Telstra's assertion regarding the destruction of the file.

That alone wasn't enough. In 2008, driven by righteous outrage, I launched a two-stage appeal through the Administrative Appeals Tribunal. Nine gruelling months of hearings (case V2008/1836), followed by a further ten in 2011 (case 2010/4634), only revealed the depth of institutional collusion: the government itself, acting as respondent, perpetuated the cover-up.

Even now, in 2026, I stand on the precipice of history empty-handed, blocked from accessing the one document that could unmask the entire corrupt apparatus. The betrayal runs deeper than individual actors—it's woven into the very fabric of a system that rewards secrecy and punishes whistleblowers.

Having spent thirty years navigating the treacherous seas as a seafarer and several more on the gritty waterfronts of Australia, I've crossed paths with many hardened souls. These characters, despite their fierce convictions, never resorted to hiding behind their partner's skirts for protection. Yet here stands Dr Gordon Hughes, still cowering in 2026, three decades after the incident.

The Disclosure That Never Came

On 23 January 1996, Dr Gordon Hughes—my appointed arbitrator—wrote to John Pinnock, the Telecommunications Industry Ombudsman, regarding Laurie James, then President of the Institute of Arbitrators Australia. In that letter, Dr. Hughes stated:

I enclose copies of letters dated 18 and 19 January 1996 from the Institute of Arbitrators Australia. I want to discuss several issues arising from these letters, including:

• the cost of responding to the allegations;

• the implications for the arbitration procedure if I fully and frankly disclose the facts to Mr. James.

(File 205 – AS-CAV Exhibit 181 to 233)

That sentence gave me pause.

What implications could there possibly be in making a full and frank disclosure—unless the facts themselves were damning? What costs was Dr. Hughes weighing, if not the reputational and legal fallout of revealing that the arbitration process had been compromised?

On 15 February 1996, Dr Hughes wrote to Mr Pinnock regarding a draft letter he intended to send to the Institute of Arbitrators in response to one of my complaints. He stated:

• "I would appreciate your confirmation that there is nothing in the proposed letter which would embarrass your office or jeopardise the current arbitrations."

• "You may consider it appropriate for you to provide an independent letter of support. This is of course a matter for your discretion." (AS-CAV Exhibit 181 to 233 – See AS-CAV

  206)

This Wasn't a Technical Concern. It Was a Moral Crossroads.

Why would Dr Gordon Hughes—a purportedly competent, trustworthy, government-endorsed arbitrator, fully accredited by the Institute of Arbitrators Australia—require a letter of support if he had genuinely conducted my arbitration according to the agreed terms?

If the process had been fair, transparent, and within the scope promised to the four COT Cases, no such letter would have been necessary. Its very existence suggests doubt, defensiveness, and a need to shield against scrutiny, raising a chilling question: was the letter a preemptive defence against the truth?

This wasn't about procedure; it was about principle. The moment Hughes sought validation through back channels, the arbitration ceased to be a legal process and became a performance, staged to protect reputations and bury accountability.

I had meticulously outlined the procedural flaws and ethical breaches to Laurie James, believing the Institute of Arbitrators would uphold its standards. Instead, Dr. Hughes opted for silence, containment, and a blatant disregard for the ethical obligations of his role—obligations to me, to the other claimants, and to the integrity of the arbitration itself.

What sinister and treacherous undercurrents were twisting the process so tightly that even the arbitrator feared disclosure?

Coordinated Deception and Institutional Complicity

In February 1996, John Rundell, then a partner at KPMG and involved in the 1994/1995 arbitrations, created a false letter claiming Victoria Police intended to interview me about property damage. This fabricated letter was then used to prevent Laurie James from addressing my legitimate concerns.

Even more damning, Rundell admitted in that same letter that my accountant, Derek Ryan, was correct: Rundell's financial report was incomplete. This breach of integrity should have rendered the arbitration findings invalid. Instead, Dr Hughes weaponised Rundell's false letter in his communication to Laurie James, further entrenching the deception.

Victoria Police later confirmed I was never a suspect, and Barrister Neil Jepson clarified that Brighton CIB's involvement had been grossly misrepresented. Despite this, Pinnock failed to hold Rundell accountable, allowing Hughes to use the misleading letter to influence the pending arbitration appeal before the Institute of Arbitrators.

Public Interest and Ongoing Influence

It is deeply troubling that both Dr Hughes and Mr Rundell continue to disregard the truth about their decisions. Their deliberate disregard for these serious allegations casts a shadow over their credibility and raises alarming questions about their commitment to transparency and integrity. While Dr Hughes continues as Principal Legal Representative at Davies Collison Cave Lawyers and Mr Rundell manages arbitration centres in two major cities, their ongoing silence and apparent lack of concern regarding potential repercussions are profoundly troubling. This conduct paints a treacherous picture of the ethical landscape in which they operate, leaving the public to wonder what else they might be concealing.

This is not just my story, but a warning, a call to action, and a demand for accountability.

I refuse to be silenced.

Sincerely,
Alan Smith
Founder, AbsentJustice.com
Advocate for truth, justice, and reform in Australian arbitration

Chapter Eight — International Betrayal

The betrayal did not stop at Australia’s borders. It travelled—quietly, deliberately—across oceans, carried in falsified reports, diplomatic silence, and the complicity of international consultants who were never held to account. What happened to me at Cape Bridgewater was not merely a domestic failure; it was part of a broader, transnational machinery of concealment.

In July 1995, the Canadian Government wrote to me, acknowledging the seriousness of my allegations. Their letter, dated 7 July 1995, stated:

“In view of the facts of this situation, as I understand them, I believe you are taking the most appropriate course of action…”

It was diplomatic, cautious, but unmistakably clear: they recognised that something was deeply wrong. They understood what Australian authorities refused to admit — that the integrity of the arbitration process had been compromised, and that the truth had been buried beneath layers of official silence.

But the most chilling part of the Canadian correspondence was not the letter itself. It was the exhibit attached to it — a document revealing that Dr Gordon Hughes, not long after closing my arbitration, was made aware that Telstra had intentionally leveraged a falsified Bell Canada International (BCI) report to obstruct any investigation into my ongoing telephone faults. He knew the report was fraudulent. He knew it had been weaponised. And yet he refused to reopen my case.

This refusal stood in stark contrast to his own admission, written on 12 May 1995, that the arbitration agreement he used was “overly optimistic” and allowed no time for proper examination of technical reports — including the very BCI report that had been falsified.

Hughes acknowledged the system was flawed. Then he used those flaws to bury the truth.

The BCI Deception

Bell Canada International Inc. never conducted the 13,590 test calls to the Cape Bridgewater exchange — calls that AUSTEL relied upon to declare my service fault‑free. Telstra’s own Freedom of Information documents confirm this. The so‑called test results were fabricated.

These falsified results were not merely misleading; they were weaponised. They were used to dismiss my claims, discredit my evidence, and sabotage my credibility. They became the foundation upon which Telstra built its defence — a defence constructed on deceit.

Why did Telstra release documents proving AUSTEL relied on fundamentally flawed data? Why did the Australian Government conceal these facts? Why was I forced to travel to Canada to seek justice for a wrong committed on Australian soil?

These questions remain unanswered — not because answers do not exist, but because those who hold them refuse to speak.

The Silence of Institutions

BCI never responded to my inquiries. They never explained the falsified report. They never acknowledged the damage their fabricated data caused. But the Canadian Minister of Telecommunications’ office did respond — and their letter made one thing clear: they understood the gravity of what had occurred.

Their acknowledgement stood in stark contrast to the silence of Australian institutions, which continued to deny, deflect, and bury evidence. The contrast was damning. It revealed a truth that has haunted me for decades: the betrayal was not accidental. It was engineered.

Foreign Consultants and the Privatisation Agenda

The involvement of Lane Telecommunications Pty Ltd — later absorbed by Ericsson of Sweden — added another layer of international misconduct. Lane had collected sensitive technical and business data under confidentiality agreements during the arbitration. Yet Ericsson, whose flawed equipment contributed to the faults in Telstra’s exchanges, gained access to this data without signing any confidentiality agreement specific to the COT cases.

This breach was not a clerical oversight. It was a violation of trust, protocol, and the basic principles of justice. It exposed how international consultants were used to sanitise Telstra’s failures and pave the way for privatisation — a privatisation built on falsified evidence and concealed faults.

The machinery of corruption was not confined to one nation. It was global.

A Web of Foreign Bribery and Institutional Rot

The COT arbitrations were not merely mishandled; they were manipulated. Witnesses were bribed. Reports were falsified. International consultants produced fraudulent assessments that shielded Telstra from scrutiny and enabled the unjust sale of government assets that were never fit for privatisation.

This was kleptocracy disguised as telecommunications reform. This was corruption dressed in the language of progress. This was betrayal — international in scope, devastating in impact.

The Weight of What Was Never Resolved

The unresolved disputes from my arbitration were not just personal grievances. They were symptoms of a larger institutional failure — one that cast a long shadow over my business, over the new owners who followed me, and over every small operator who depended on a functioning telephone service.

The new owners tried to rebuild what Telstra had broken. They failed. Just as I had failed before them. And just as the owners before me had failed in the early 1980s.

The cycle of destruction continued — uninterrupted, unacknowledged, and unaccounted for.

A Global Betrayal, A National Silence

This chapter is not merely about Canada. It is about the international machinery that enabled Telstra’s misconduct — and the national silence that followed. It is about foreign consultants who falsified reports, governments that looked away, and bureaucrats who buried evidence.

It is about a betrayal that crossed borders, corrupted institutions, and destroyed lives.

And it is about the truth — still buried, still contested, still waiting to be reckoned with.

Chapter Nine — The Machinery of Concealment

The fabricated BCI results were not simply misleading; they were weaponised. They became the blunt instrument used to dismiss our claims, discredit our evidence, and sabotage our credibility. Telstra released documents proving AUSTEL relied on fundamentally flawed data, yet the Australian Government concealed these facts, knowing they contributed directly to the destruction of my business. And so I found myself travelling to Canada, seeking justice for a wrong committed on Australian soil.

BCI refused to answer my inquiries. But the Canadian Minister of Telecommunications’ office did. Their letter of 7 July 1995 acknowledged the seriousness of the allegations. Diplomatically worded, it nonetheless underscored what Australian institutions refused to admit: the arbitration process had been compromised, and the truth had been buried beneath layers of official silence.

This silence was not accidental. It was engineered.

The machinery of concealment extended far beyond Australia. It involved foreign bribery, insidious corrupt practices, and international consultants whose fraudulent reporting enabled the unjust privatisation of government assets — assets that were never fit for sale. Witnesses were bribed. Reports were falsified. The arbitration process was manipulated to protect a government‑owned corporation accused of theft, intimidation, and deliberate efforts to discredit anyone who stood in its way.

The unresolved disputes from my arbitration were not just personal grievances. They were symptoms of a larger institutional failure — one that cast a long, oppressive shadow over my business and over those who came after me. The new owners believed they could rebuild what Telstra had broken. They tried. They failed. Just as I had failed before them. And just as the owners before me had failed in the early 1980s.

There was no internet. No email. No way to bypass the in‑ground copper wire system that had become our lifeline — and our noose. Even in 2006, the new owners were still shackled to that same faulty infrastructure.

Had modern telecommunications existed, the twenty‑one COT Cases — and thousands of small business operators like us — would not have lost our livelihoods. We were sabotaged not just by technical failure, but by institutional indifference.

The damage inflicted has been devastating. It goes far beyond financial ruin. It has been deeply personal, emotionally scarring, and hauntingly enduring. Every attempt to move forward has been met with the lingering consequences of a process that was never truly about justice.

This is not merely a story of a failed telecommunications system. It is a story of lives derailed, trust shattered, and a system that chose silence over accountability.

Chapter Ten — The Domestic Betrayal

The machinery of misconduct inside Australia was as ruthless as the international betrayal. I founded Absent Justice because I refused to let the dark truth be buried beneath layers of deceit. Telstra’s insidious actions were not isolated; they were systemic. Their internal police force became infamous for intimidation tactics, threatening anyone who came too close to the truth. I was one of those targets. They employed advanced technical means to dismantle my credibility — and they came perilously close to succeeding.

But the most treacherous betrayal came from within the arbitration itself.

What I did not know — until 2011 — was that AUSTEL (now ACMA) had no knowledge that Ferrier Hodgson Corporate Advisory (FHCA), the Telecommunications Industry Ombudsman’s appointed arbitration consultants, had been covertly exonerated from liability for any negligent act committed during my arbitration. Nor were they aware that FHCA would assume an unofficial role as gatekeeper — vetting and filtering documents before they reached the arbitrator.

This meant that document 1659, points 2 to 212 — which validated my claims — were at risk of being withheld. FHCA’s covert power allowed them to determine what evidence was seen, and what was concealed.

I did not receive my copy of document 1659 until November 2007 — twelve years after Telstra and FHCA had received theirs.

A letter dated 11 July 1994 from Telstra’s Steve Black to arbitration administrator Warwick Smith confirmed the arrangement:

“If the resource unit forms the view that this information should be provided to the arbitrator, then Telecom would accede to this request.”

This single sentence revealed the truth: FHCA was secretly assigned to vet most, if not all, arbitration documents en route to Dr Hughes. If FHCA decided a document was “not relevant,” it would never be passed to the arbitrator or the other parties.

On 2 August 1996, fifteen months after my arbitration ended, Sue Hodgkinson of FHCA wrote to Dr Hughes, openly admitting to the deliberate withholding of crucial Telstra‑related documents that should have been assessed during my case. Hughes and the TIO office — both copied on the letter — chose to turn a blind eye.

The Commercial Arbitration Act 1984 is explicit: unless otherwise agreed in writing, an arbitration must be conducted by a single arbitrator. The agreement signed by the four COT Cases mentions only one arbitrator. We never saw any written agreement allowing a second arbitrator — FHCA — to determine what information the first arbitrator would see.

This was not arbitration. It was a controlled environment designed to protect Telstra.

The COT story is not just mine. It is a story of systemic betrayal — a story never adequately investigated, never publicly reckoned with, and never answered for by those who conducted the arbitrations outside the agreed‑upon ambit.

But I am still here. And I will not let it be forgotten.

CHAPTER ELEVEN — The Cost of Endurance

The cost of endurance is not paid in a single moment. It is paid slowly, silently, over years — in the body, in the mind, in the marriage, in the nights when sleep fractures under the weight of memory. For Cathy and me, the toll began long before the arbitration, long before the letters, long before the lies. It began the moment the phone faults became more than an inconvenience. They became a presence — a shadow that followed us everywhere, a constant reminder that something was wrong and that no one intended to fix it.

Cathy felt it first. She felt it in the bookings that never arrived, in the customers who said they had tried to call but couldn’t get through, in the sudden silences that replaced the steady hum of a growing business. She felt it in the way I paced the house, checking the phone lines, checking the fax machine, checking the logs, checking the silence. She felt it in the way I began to disappear into paperwork, into fault reports, into the endless search for someone — anyone — who would listen.

She never complained. Not once. But I could see the weight settling on her shoulders, the way she carried the burden of a business that was being strangled by a system that refused to acknowledge its own failures. She carried the emotional load while I carried the evidentiary one. Together, we became custodians of a truth no one wanted to hear.

The arbitration did not break us in a single moment. It broke us in increments. Every withheld document, every falsified report, every unanswered letter, every threat from Telstra’s internal police — each one took a piece of us. Cathy watched me fight battles that should never have existed. She watched me write submissions late into the night, watched me collapse into bed exhausted, watched me wake up and start again. She watched the system grind me down, and she watched me refuse to surrender.

But endurance has a price.

By the late 1990s, the stress had begun to carve itself into my health. My blood pressure rose. My sleep fractured. My concentration wavered. The constant fight — the endless need to prove what should never have needed proving — became a physical burden. I felt it in my chest, in my bones, in the way my hands shook when I opened yet another letter from Telstra or the TIO. I felt it in the way my heart raced when the phone rang, wondering what new threat or new lie awaited me.

Cathy saw it all. She saw the toll before I did. She urged me to rest, to step back, to breathe. But how could I? How could I rest when the truth was being buried alive? How could I step back when the system was still grinding down others — Ann, Maureen, Graham, the new owners, the families who depended on their businesses just as we had depended on ours?

The cost of endurance is not measured in money. It is measured in years lost, in health eroded, in the quiet moments when you realise you are no longer the person you once were. It is measured in the way Cathy’s smile faded, replaced by a quiet resilience that masked her fear. It is measured in the way she held the household together while I fought battles that should never have existed.

There were nights when she sat beside me, reading through documents, highlighting inconsistencies, helping me piece together the puzzle of corruption that stretched from Cape Bridgewater to Canberra to Canada. She became my second pair of eyes, my anchor, my sanity. Without her, I would have drowned in the paperwork, in the lies, in the silence.

But even anchors feel the strain.

By the early 2000s, the toll on Cathy’s health became undeniable. The stress had seeped into her bones, into her sleep, into her heart. She carried the emotional weight of my fight, the financial weight of a business destroyed, and the personal weight of watching the man she loved battle a system designed to break him.

We did not speak of it often. We did not need to. The toll was visible in the way she moved, in the way she sighed, in the way she looked at me with a mixture of pride and exhaustion. She never asked me to stop. She never asked me to surrender. She understood that the fight had become part of me — part of us — and that stopping would mean accepting the lies, accepting the injustice, accepting the betrayal.

We could not do that. Not then. Not now.

Endurance is not heroic. It is not noble. It is survival. It is the quiet decision, made every morning, to stand up and continue despite the weight pressing down on your chest. It is the decision Cathy and I made together, year after year, decade after decade.

Now, at eighty‑two, I feel the toll more sharply than ever. My body is slower. My breath shorter. My nights longer. Cathy’s health has its own scars — invisible to others, but unmistakable to me. We have paid for endurance with our bodies, our peace, our years.

But we are still here.

And that, in the end, is the cost — and the victory — of endurance.

CHAPTER TWELVE — Cathy’s Burden

Cathy never asked for a war. She never asked to become the quiet witness to a decades‑long battle against a system that refused to acknowledge its own corruption. She never asked to carry the emotional weight of a fight that stretched across continents, across governments, across years. But she carried it anyway.

She carried it in the mornings when the phone didn’t ring. She carried it in the afternoons when customers arrived angry, insisting they had tried to call. She carried it in the evenings when I sat at the kitchen table surrounded by documents, letters, FOI requests, and the endless paper trail of a life derailed by silence.

She carried it in the way she held her breath every time I opened a new envelope from Telstra or the TIO, waiting to see what fresh injustice had arrived. She carried it in the way she watched me age faster than I should have, watched the stress carve itself into my face, watched the fight consume the man she married.

Cathy’s burden was not loud. It was quiet, steady, relentless. It was the burden of watching, of waiting, of hoping, of fearing. It was the burden of loving someone who refused to surrender, even when surrender might have saved his health.

She carried the burden of isolation. Friends drifted away. Family grew tired of hearing about Telstra, about the arbitration, about the lies. They did not understand that this was not an obsession — it was survival. It was the need to prove that we had not imagined the faults, that we had not fabricated the evidence, that we had not deserved the destruction of our business.

Cathy understood. She understood in a way no one else could. She understood because she lived it. She lived the missed calls, the angry customers, the empty bookings, the financial strain, the emotional exhaustion. She lived the silence — the silence of the phone, the silence of the government, the silence of the institutions that were supposed to protect us.

She lived the betrayal.

And she lived the consequences.

Her health began to falter. The stress seeped into her bones, into her sleep, into her heart. She grew tired — not just physically, but emotionally. Tired of the fight, tired of the lies, tired of the silence. But she never asked me to stop. She never asked me to surrender. She understood that the fight had become part of me — part of us — and that stopping would mean accepting the injustice.

She carried the burden of hope. Hope that one day the truth would be acknowledged. Hope that one day the lies would be exposed. Hope that one day the system would be forced to reckon with what it had done.

Hope that one day we would be free.

But hope is heavy. And Cathy carried it for decades.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN — The Body Remembers

The body remembers what the mind tries to forget. It remembers the stress, the fear, the exhaustion. It remembers the nights spent awake, the days spent fighting, the years spent waiting. It remembers the weight of injustice, the burden of silence, the toll of endurance.

My body remembers.

It remembers the way my heart raced every time the phone rang. It remembers the way my hands shook when I opened a new letter from Telstra or the TIO. It remembers the way my breath caught when I discovered yet another withheld document, yet another falsified report, yet another lie.

It remembers the way my chest tightened when I realised that the system was not merely flawed — it was corrupt. It remembers the way my stomach churned when I realised that the arbitration was not a path to justice — it was a mechanism for concealment.

It remembers the way my blood pressure rose, the way my sleep fractured, the way my concentration wavered. It remembers the way the fight consumed me, the way the stress carved itself into my bones, the way the years slipped away.

Cathy’s body remembers too.

It remembers the nights she lay awake, listening to me pace the house. It remembers the days she spent answering calls that never came. It remembers the afternoons she spent comforting customers who had been unable to reach us. It remembers the evenings she spent watching me disappear into paperwork, into evidence, into the endless fight.

It remembers the weight of fear, the burden of hope, the toll of endurance.

The body remembers what the system refuses to acknowledge.

It remembers the truth.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN — The Legacy You Refuse to Surrender

At eighty‑two, I am the last surviving member of the original COT Cases. The others are gone — taken by age, by illness, by the toll of a fight that lasted far longer than any of us expected. I remain not just a survivor, but a witness — a witness to a decades‑long betrayal that has never been acknowledged, never been investigated, never been answered for.

This is my legacy. This is Cathy’s legacy. This is the legacy of every small business destroyed by silence.

It is a legacy of endurance, of truth, of refusal. Refusal to surrender. Refusal to forget. Refusal to allow the system to bury what it did.

I founded Absent Justice because I refused to let the truth be buried. I refused to let the lies stand. I refused to let the system win. I refused to let the legacy of corruption go unchallenged.

This book is not just a record. It is a reckoning. It is a testament. It is a warning. It is a call for accountability — not just for Telstra, not just for the TIO, not just for the government, but for every institution that allowed this betrayal to continue.

It is a legacy I refuse to surrender.

And it is a legacy Cathy carried with me — quietly, steadily, relentlessly — for decades.

We paid for endurance with our bodies, our peace, our years.

But we are still here.

And the truth is still here.

And I will not let it be forgotten.