- The Alan Jones Trial: High-profile criminal court proceedings at the Downing Centre Local Court dealing with historic indecent assault and sexual touching charges.
- The ICAC Inquiry: The Independent Commission Against Corruption's Operation Rosny investigating political donations and matters tied to the NSW Liberal Party.
- Juggling Courts: Wrench managed appearances by shifting between the two venues down Elizabeth Street.
- Scheduling Gaps: When the Jones trial paused for days dedicated to technical legal arguments requiring only senior and junior counsel, Wrench was free to appear alongside Greenwood at the corruption watchdog hearings
‘Money for jam’: The forgetful witness, frustrated ICAC lawyer and advice on dogs
Anita Perrottet smiled beatifically as she looked to the ceiling, stroked her chin, scratched her hair or stared quizzically at an invisible spot on the floor.
“No, I just don’t recall,” she said, beaming at Dr Peggy Dwyer, SC, the counsel assisting a corruption inquiry which has embroiled her family.
One of the lawyers in the Elizabeth Street hearing room noted he’d given up counting Perrottet’s “I don’t recalls” when he got to 140 – and that was only up to the morning tea break on Wednesday.
Sydney’s best coverage of the ICAC inquiry
How Alan Jones went from one of the loudest and most powerful voices in the country to silence in a courtroom
He was friendly with a huge variety of politicians and sportspeople, and for more than three decades barraged his listeners with his opinions.
The witness was trying to express the impossibility of saying no to Alan Jones. Anguished, Complainant C testified that he regretted every day that he “didn’t fight back or say ‘no’ louder, but you couldn’t”.
“Alan was protected, he was the golden goose,” he told the court. “There was no way in the world I could have said anything to anyone.”
Complainant C was the second man to testify in Jones’ trial this month on 22 counts of indecent assault and sexual touching, charges Jones vehemently denies.
The first prosecution witness, Complainant J, also gave evidence of the enormous power – perceived or real – that Jones wielded at the height of his broadcasting career.
The former star athlete told the court that when Jones grabbed his penis while he was driving, he struggled to maintain control of the vehicle.
“I had one of the most powerful men in the country in the car and I had to focus on the road,” he said.
This characterisation – Jones as one of the most powerful men in the country – is difficult to conjure as the 85-year-old sits in the courtroom a much-diminished figure, flanked by lawyers but with no personal supporters or family; meticulously dressed but walking with the aid of a cane.
Jones used to command the bully pulpit of the ratings-busting 2GB breakfast slot, an enormously influential post in the pre-internet age, when media was concentrated and the loudest voices commanded the biggest audiences.
Now he is silent as the evidence is led, much of it highly intimate and shaming.
Journalist Chris Masters, who wrote the definitive Alan Jones biography Jonestown, published in 2006, says he remembers sitting down with Jones once “and observing to him that he was more powerful than a premier or a prime minister”.
“His reaction was that he was really proud of that,” Masters recounts. “Philosophically, that puts him at odds with other people in the media. In the media we don’t seek to control the outcome.”
Jones’ prodigious energy – he famously only sleeps a few hours a night – combined with his enormous listenership and his lobbying power in business and politics meant that he could seek to control outcomes.
And he did.
Jones started on 2UE radio in 1985, and in 1988 he moved to his signature breakfast time slot, from 5.30am to 9am.
In the mid-1990s his audience share was 22 per cent, which was the largest radio share in Sydney and one of the largest, if not the largest, in Australia.
In 2019 it was reported he had enjoyed 218 ratings survey wins.
In 2002 he moved to 2GB and, while his audience share dwindled slightly over time, he remained there until 2020 – his last annual contract was reportedly for $4 million.
For more than three decades Jones barraged his listeners with opinions about racing policy and the arts, about town planning, economics and tax; about casino licences and criminal cases he took up.
Some of his opinions were famously paid for – as the “cash for comment” scandal of 1999 laid bare.
But most of Jones’ opinions were genuinely, and vociferously, held. They resulted in multiple defamation payments, which his employer copped.
Jones famously had a “pick-n-stick” club of cronies on whom he lavished great largesse, and from whom he expected total loyalty in return.
He was friendly with a huge variety of politicians and sportspeople, and had long-standing close relationships with powerful men such as Kerry and James Packer, Liberal party powerbroker Michael Kroger, colourful financier Rene Rivkin, Graham Richardson and the powerful media agent Harry M. Miller.
As journalist David Leser wrote in a profile of Jones published in Good Weekend in 1998: “Jones’ is a world of credits and debits, a world of payback. You get credits for gratitude and loyalty, and debits for what he perceives to be an absence of same.”
Often, Jones thought he knew better than the courts. He advocated fiercely for people who he believed, often with little evidence, had been locked up unfairly.
His advocacy for Kathleen Folbigg, who was convicted in 2003 of murdering four of her babies, undoubtedly helped raise awareness of her case, leading to two judicial inquiries and her eventual exoneration in 2023.
Sometimes the causes seemed far less worthy, like Jones’ furious lobbying for Manly hotelier Andrew Kalajzich, who in 1986 was convicted of hiring a hitman to kill his wife.
Jones believed there had been a miscarriage of justice, and he used his radio show to assert Kalajzich’s innocence, repeatedly and passionately.
The campaign led to a judicial inquiry into the murderer’s conviction in 1995, conducted by retired Supreme Court judge John Slattery, QC, which re-affirmed Kalajzich’s guilt with “no doubts or questions”.
Another of Jones’ pet causes – his 2018 campaign against the Queensland Wagner family, claiming they were responsible for 12 deaths in the 2011 Lockyer Valley floods, cost Jones and 2GB $3.7 million in damages.
Jones intervened in matters high as well as low – literally, when it came to Sydney’s Crown Casino tower.
In February 2012, Jones brought together billionaire James Packer and then-NSW premier Barry O’Farrell for a cosy lunch at his luxury Sydney apartment in the “Toaster” building at Circular Quay.
Packer “had this vision for Sydney”, as Jones later put it. He wanted to build a luxury hotel and a casino in an enormous tower at Sydney’s Barangaroo.
A few weeks after that meeting, Packer was interviewed on Jones’ show. “Barry O’Farrell is quoted today as saying he embraces the plans for a hotel and second casino at Barangaroo,” Jones told his billionaire guest, and asked him a question to which he already knew the answer: “Have you spoken to him about this?”
O’Farrell did not respond to attempts to contact him for this story.
Chris Sidoti, then the chairman of the NSW casino regulator, later told ABC’s Four Corners that the casino proposal had “momentum”.
“Having had James Packer behind it and knowing his powerful friends, it seemed to me at the time that this was going to happen.”
There was no tender process, and construction on the casino site began in 2016.
In 2021 the NSW regulator ruled Packer’s Crown Resorts was unsuitable to hold a casino licence. It is now controlled by the Blackstone Group.
This secret meeting – which was not disclosed by either O’Farrell or Packer – highlights what was perceived to be Jones’ most notorious power: his influence over politicians.
“He’s a failed political candidate himself,” Masters says of Jones. “But he managed to find the bully pulpit where he dictated politics.”
Masters says politicians both federal and state were “astonishingly frightened” of Jones, and would regularly do the “walk of shame” to Jones’ show, with NSW premiers, in particular, convinced they needed him to maintain their own power.
“They went on his show not out of respect but out of fear,” Masters says. “They were concerned about that short-term loss if there was an election or a byelection coming up. They didn’t see any benefit in taking him on, on air, and fighting him.”
But Masters believes politicians’ fear of Jones was misplaced, that they gave him power by appearing on his show, often to be berated or lectured.
Despite his huge audience, Jones’ power was limited – by his Sydney-centric listenership and by the fact that his listeners were overwhelmingly older, rusted-on conservatives unlikely to change their vote.
Along with, famously, Malcolm Turnbull, one federal politician who did take Jones on was former Howard government cabinet minister Amanda Vanstone, who, Jones once said, “couldn’t run a pigsty”.
As Vanstone tells it, the trouble began during one interview in 1995, when she alluded to Jones’ 1988 arrest in a London toilet, following which he was charged with “outraging public decency” and “committing an indecent act”.
The charges, which Jones vigorously denied, were dropped by police, but for years his enemies mocked him with innuendos about the matter. Just not usually to him, on his radio show.
Vanstone says Jones was hectoring her about a criminal who was about to be released from jail, who Jones believed should stay in jail, when she reminded him about the rule of law.
“I said to him: ‘Just say we were overseas in a public place and we got charged with something – it would be a bit different, wouldn’t it?’” Vanstone recalls. “That encounter started 10 years of constant negativity towards me on air.”
She found out years later that he wrote repeatedly to prime minister John Howard, telling him he should sack her as a minister.
Vanstone recalls Howard ringing her about her rift with Jones and asking, “was there a possibility we can make this better?”
Vanstone told Howard that no, she didn’t think so, and Howard dropped the matter.
The former immigration minister sees this episode as “confirmation [Howard] was not doing Alan Jones’ bidding”.
“Jones might have had close contact and been able to express his view to Howard in a way that others didn’t, but that’s no indication that Howard listened to him or followed him up.”
Says Howard: “I vaguely remember that, and it sounds right.”
“Alan was very opinionated … but I would not have taken any notice of him about whether to keep or discharge a minister,” the former prime minister says.
“He had my ear, I listened to what he had to say because we were friendly, but I wouldn’t do his bidding.”
Howard, who is now 87, says Jones was a strong supporter of his from the time he became opposition leader in 1985, the same year Jones joined 2UE as the morning show host.
“I didn’t have many journos who were [supportive] and I didn’t forget that,” Howard says. “On the other hand, he could be difficult about certain issues.”
Howard says Jones “used to give me carry-on” on pet topics, including tariffs (Jones was in favour of them) and the duopoly of Coles and Woolworths. “But when the crunch came he would always speak in favour of the return of my government.”
Howard rejects historic reports that he had a “minister for Alan Jones” in his office staff.
“[Jones] was a prolific letter writer and there was somebody in my office who used to deal with it, and with other things as well,” Howard says. “He was an influential broadcaster and I used radio a lot to get my message across.”
Now, Howard says, Jones “remains a friend”.
“Both my wife and I have continued to be in touch,” he says.
Bob Carr served as NSW premier from 1995 to 2005, and later became foreign minister under prime minister Julia Gillard, serving 18 months in that role until September 2013. “He could be a fierce and effective ombudsman,” Carr says of Jones.
Carr says that Jones had an “enormous capacity” to take up causes and pursue them on air, and that he spoke to his cabinet about Jones, telling them not to dismiss the broadcaster’s hobbyhorse issues. “Sometimes it was useful for ministers to examine what he was saying and see where their departments might be letting them down,” Carr says.
On the other hand, says the former premier, Jones “would take up causes put to him by whistleblowers, and direct a monstrous fury at some innocent public sector manager who thought they were only doing their job”.
Carr freely admits that Jones “did berate me on air” but “I thought it better to front up and defend my policies”.
When the former premier was out campaigning, people would often say to him, “I heard you on Alan Jones.”
“That’s why I kept turning up. He had large audiences … he had given himself, by sheer persistence and diligence and monomanias, something of a status that an editor of a tabloid might have.”
In 2005, months after Carr left the Labor leadership and Morris Iemma became Labor premier, Jones fulminated on radio over racial tensions in Cronulla, in Sydney’s south.
Jones’ power was such that he was later found to have encouraged the brutality of the ensuing Cronulla riots, using his program to suggest that “biker gangs … be present at Cronulla railway station when these Lebanese thugs arrive” and asserting that “we don’t have Anglo-Saxon kids out there raping women in western Sydney”.
He also read out letters and texts from listeners vilifying Lebanese-background Australians.
In 2007, the Australian Communications and Media Authority found that Jones’ employer, 2GB, had breached the Commercial Radio Codes of Practice by broadcasting material likely to encourage brutality.
Jones was not sanctioned, either by the authorities or his employer. “While he was making money, they were more than happy for him to go on,” says Masters. “The factors that counted against him in the end were more organic than regulatory.”
When Sean Kelly, now a columnist for this masthead, was press secretary to prime minister Julia Gillard, Jones was “still a big figure”, he says. Following her announcement of the carbon price in February 2011, Gillard did back-to-back media interviews. When one interview ran over time, she was late to her scheduled appearance on Jones’ 2GB show.
“Alan Jones tore absolute strips off the prime minister of the day for being a little bit late to an interview,” Kelly says. “It is an extraordinary reflection of the contempt in which he held a female prime minister – which was borne out in subsequent events – and a pretty strong reflection of the man’s perception of his own place in the world.”
In 2012 Jones’ made now-infamous commentsto the Sydney University Liberal Club about Gillard’s father having “died of shame”, a follow-up to an on-air rant in which he said Gillard should be “shoved in a chaff bag” (along with Greens senator Bob Brown and Sydney Lord Mayor Clover Moore) and carried out to sea.
Following publication of the “died of shame” remarks, and a public outcry over them, Jones tried to contact the prime minister to apologise. Gillard declined the opportunity to speak to him.
Despite Jones’ campaign against the woman he called “Juliar”, and his ferocity in tearing down the carbon price, Kelly believes that period in Australian politics was “actually the beginning of people realising that [Jones] didn’t have as much power as he had been perceived to have”.
Jones’ vitriol against Gillard and others, including former Victorian Police commissioner Christine Nixon and former Opera House chief Louise Herron, galvanised feminist forces against Jones. It also sparked a discourse about misogyny in Australian public life.
Feminist activist groups such as Destroy the Joint and, later, Mad F---ing Witches lobbied advertisers, who eventually began to sour on Jones, especially after he told prime minister Scott Morrison, during a 2019 interview, that he should “shove a sock down the throat” of the New Zealand prime minister Jacinda Ardern. Jones also said Ardern should be “backhanded”.
Eventually, the vitriol and wild rhetoric that had kept politicians and public servants in fear, and which kept Jones’ listeners tuning in, became a commercial risk. More than 80 advertising brands deserted or distanced themselves from Jones’ show. Despite a belated apology for the Ardern comments, advertising revenue for his show reportedly halved.
In 2020 he resigned, reportedly for health reasons, but as this masthead reported at the time, “the writing was on the wall”. “There’s the Cronulla riots, years later there’s ‘died of shame’ and chaff bags,” says Kelly. “It’s kind of incredible that, as a public, we afforded this man the level of power he had.”
Bryan Wrench is the star lawyer who celebrities and high-profile people call when they land in hot water
When a celebrity or prominent person lands in hot water, they call Bryan Wrench – the lawyer who has handled a host of high-profile cases.
It’s the catwalk no-one wants to parade down – the running of the gauntlet outside court, photographers’ cameras flashing, reporters yelling, TV news crews jostling for the best shot.
Right there, beside whichever celebrity or public figure is facing the worst day of their lives, you’ll often see prominent criminal defence lawyer Bryan Wrench.
The 36-year-old has become the go-to for footballers, actors, pop stars and millionaires who find themselves in the limelight for all the wrong reasons.
Rabbitohs icon Sam Burgess, and his brother George too. Film legend John Jarratt. Australian Idol runner-up Shannon Noll. And currently, veteran broadcaster Alan Jones.
They’re just some of the recognisable names who’ve called Wrench, managing partner at Murphy’s Lawyers, when running afoul of the long arm of the law.
“We take everyone,” he’s quick to clarify. “That’s a bit of a mistaken perception – some people think that we only take high profile cases. We take anybody who needs a defence.”
Beneath the impeccably cut Italian suit, usually a double-breasted Zegna, and designer tie, typically Hermes, is a man from modest beginnings who is deeply philosophical, incredibly driven, and uniquely humble.
Coffee boy finds his calling
When he was just 15, Wrench landed work experience during the school holidays at the firm of high-powered criminal lawyer and barrister Chris Murphy.
“I was lucky to have a persistent father who rang up Chris’ secretary and said, can you give me son a start there?” Wrench revealed.
“And luckily, Chris agreed. I was very young, so I was the coffee boy, but they seemed to like what I did and so every holiday, I came back.”
Among his duties was shadowing lawyers and barristers working on major cases, getting an insight into their processes and how courtrooms worked.
One of those giants was the renowned barrister Philip Bolton, who had some life-changing advice for the teenager.
“He told me: ‘If you like it now, you’ll always like it.’ And I did like it. And from then on, I’ve stuck with it.”
While earning his degree at uni, he worked at Murphy’s Lawyers as much as he could, and landed a permanent full-time position after graduating.
The ‘amphitheatre of human life’
Having spent so much time in courtrooms over the past two decades is arguably why Wrench feels more comfortable there than anywhere else.
And the intellectual nous required to argue complex cases also speaks to him.
“A courtroom at its core is a debate. It’s a debate of ideas and persuasion. It really is the amphitheatre of human life. You see people at their highest, people at their lowest, and you’re trying to persuade people of uncomfortable ideas.
“I think central to that is this idea of restraint, because sometimes, like with everything, we have unpopular causes. A courtroom is that battle of ideas.”
Unpopular causes indeed.
Charges like murder, domestic violence, sexual abuse or assault, harassment, drink driving, assault, drug possession and more are par for the course for someone in this line of work.
“It’s a passport into human lives,” Wrench said.
“I think as a defence lawyer, you develop a sophisticated morality because you realise nothing’s black or white. There is a lot of grey.
“Some people are not perfect, but they can be good people. And some people can make mistakes and are capable of redemption. And those are the tensions that you have, and those are the ones that push you.
“You can persuade somebody to think with restraint, to have a considered judgment when judging this man’s life.”
Guilty or not, it doesn’t really matter – everyone is entitled to their day in court and a robust defence.
That’s sometimes forgotten in the court of public opinion.
Being the face on a television screen or in a newspaper or magazine spread that’s next to the downfallen celebrity means Wrench is in the limelight just as much as his clients.
“Look, not everybody’s necessarily a fan,” he said of the ‘feedback’ he occasionally cops.
“There’s a little bit of schadenfreude at play. There’s malicious delight seeing people fall from grace, so that’s quite intense.
“But by default, you have to learn to become a stoic. People have their own views.
“I always think you want to walk tall and you just have to keep on marching forward. You don’t want to listen to the naysayers, but yes, it’s not all merry, let’s put it that way.”
A slick suit of armour
Those who know Wrench remark on his meticulous manner when he’s in the midst of battle – precisely prepared, perfectly composed, and confident, but not cocky.
And he looks good doing it, too.
Wrench is almost famed for his penchant for perfectly tailored double-breasted suits and designer silk ties.
“The people at Hermes or Zegna, they know me pretty well there.”
Unlike some lawyers and barristers, Wrench doesn’t really have a pre-court ritual per se, except for a really good coffee from his local favourite, PINA in inner-city Potts Point – “going to court without coffee is a big no-no” – and maybe a new tie.
“To give me a bit of confidence,” he said. “You know – fresh tie, fresh idea. Maybe that’s it.”
Does it give him a boost to look so sharp?
“Of course it does,” he said.
“I remember what Oscar Wilde said, if you can’t be good, look good, right? So I try to employ a little bit of that into what I do, and it gives me obviously a bit of confidence.
“It’s the suit of armour, because I’m in the battlefield of ideas, and you need to be fully confident, and that just gives you a little bit of an edge, you know.”
When it’s time to hang up the armour after battle, Wrench prioritises what he calls “peace time” – quiet nights at home, good books, and a focus on health and wellbeing.
“I try to keep things relaxed. I like reading. I’m an avid reader because words are your weapons and you want to read as much as you can.
“And on occasion, I’ve been known to toss a barbell around here and there. It’s one form of meditation, the iron meditation.
“I think it’s a good foundation because I think exercise is natural medicine and it keeps that solid base so I can perform well in court.
“For the gym bros out there, I once did a 300 kilo dead lift. I think it probably speaks to my competitive nature with myself. I like to always push myself and see how far I can go.”
The focus on appearance doesn’t seem to be a sign of arrogance, though, with Wrench equally regarded for his distinct lack of an ego.
Perhaps being a defence lawyer keeps him humble, he suggests.
“And I think because I’ve gone through so many experiences, you learn humility and you learn that you’re not better than anybody else.
“I’m still a servant, I’m a servant of the people as much as I can be, and you can never be bigger than the game. And I’ll never be [unhumble]. I just want to do the best I can.”
Gratitude for luck and opportunity
Death rarely, if ever leaves someone unscathed, but enduring a heavy loss at a young age can have a particularly profound impact on someone.
As it did for Wrench when he was 18.
“One of my best friends passed away. That was obviously a completely negative experience. But what it did was drive me to succeed in life.
“Through tragedy can come growth, you know? And that’s what I think is pretty important to understand.
“Because of that, you appreciate more, you appreciate living in some ways. You would never want to repeat it. But because of that, it helps build you as a person and shift your perspective.
“It reminds you what’s important. You realise what’s important.”
That experience has also highlighted the importance of gratitude, and he’s well aware that to have climbed to where he has, and at his age, is a privilege of sorts.
“Maybe because I started as a coffee boy and I was the runner, I just think I’m the luckiest person in the world to be able to do this and that people trust me.”
The best feeling in the world – and the worst
There’s nothing quite like the rush of winning, particularly after a long and gruelling case.
“There’s no better feeling in the world,” Wrench said. “As much as you can, you’ve restored the status quo.
“In my experience, court cases for the client are the most stressful, difficult things that they will ever experience in their lives.
“It’s the last thing they think about when they go to sleep, it’s the first thing that they wake up to. In my experience, it actually doesn’t matter, the seriousness of the crime – it’s the fact that it is there.”
For the client, it’s like undergoing a major surgery without anaesthetic and while still awake.
“They can see the operation live on them. They’re not sure of the outcome. So, when you get that outcome, it’s quite amazing.”
There’s rarely time to savour it, though.
It’s usually not long until Wrench’s phone rings again, sometimes at 11pm or 5am, with someone on the other end who’s about to place their life in his hands.
“You’re in the business of repeating miracles and reputation comes with expectation, so you’re on to the next one. You have to be.”
Of course, sometimes things don’t go to plan.
“I think the myth of a lawyer is that you’re always perfect. But sometimes things do not go your way. The losses drive you. I always think, lose today, win tomorrow, because you might learn something from that.
“It drives you to be better at what you do and understand the importance of what you do.
“For what I do, the consequences are so serious, so you really do think about them all the time. I think the losses do affect me deeply but fortunately, there aren’t too many.”
Every lawyer has to contend with the reality that once the jury retires, all semblance of control goes out the window.
It’s not the best feeling in the world.
“That feeling never goes away – you’re just simply getting better at handling it,” Wrench conceded.
“You can only control the controllables. That’s where stress comes from – trying to control things you can’t control, so all you can do is do the best you can and put the effort into what you can control.
“But it is still highly stressful because as much as you say these words to reassure yourself, there’s still that anxiety when you put everything on the line for the 12 people and one judge who have a determination in your client’s outcome.”
Two of the biggest legal cases of the year are unfolding simultaneously this month - but one legal eagle is, somehow, handling them both.
Eliza Barr
August 10, 2026
When a celebrity or prominent person lands in legal hot water, they call Bryan Wrench – the criminal lawyer who has handled a host of high-profile cases.
Two of the biggest legal cases of the year are unfolding simultaneously this month - but one legal eagle is, somehow, handling them both.
For the past week, Sydney has been riveted as prominent former broadcaster Alan Jones’ months-long local court trial on sexual touching charges got underway at the Downing Centre at last.
Jones denies the historic allegations, which pertain to six complainants who cannot be identified.
Slightly further down Elizabeth St, the city’s political nerds have been equally captivated by the Independent Commission Against Corruption’s Operation Rosny, where multiple figures associated with the NSW Liberal Party are under investigation for possible offences related to political donations.
Alan Jones with Lawyers Bryan Wrench and Chris Murphy. Picture: NewsWire / John Appleyard
Alan Jones with Lawyers Bryan Wrench and Chris Murphy. Picture: NewsWire / John Appleyard
Disgraced developer Jean Nassif, Catholic Schools NSW CEO Dallas McInerney and former Premier Dominic Perrottet’s brother Jean-Claude are among the figures being investigated over alleged donations which may fall foul of the act.
Jones received a rare day off on Monday while junior counsel dealt with legal arguments before his trial resumes on Tuesday - but the work simply never stopped for his solicitor Bryan Wrench, who instead popped up down the road for the other big case capturing the state’s attention.
Wrench has been a constant presence at Jones’ side from the day he was released from a Sydney police station on bail through to his trial before Judge Glenn Walsh. Wrench is present at two of the biggest legal cases of the year.
Confidential was therefore surprised to see Wrench at ICAC on Monday, behind the commission’s so-called “lady barrister” Peggy Dwyer SC.
Consultant and lobbyist Jeremy Greenwood has retained Wrench as his solicitor for the inquiry, with Wrench instructing junior counsel Christopher Parkin.
Wrench is the managing lawyer at Murphy’s Lawyers, founded by high-profile criminal defence lawyer Chris Murphy.
A slick suit, a good cup of coffee and a fresh tie are small ways criminal defence lawyer Bryan Wrench gives himself a shot of confidence before heading into a big court appearance.
Known around the traps as the solicitor to the stars, Wrench has previously represented Australian Idol runner-up Shannon Noll, former rugby league players Hazem El-Masri and Sam Burgess, late swim coach Dick Caine, late billionaire Richard Pratt’s former lover Shari-Lea Hitchcock, and actor John Jarrett.
More recently, Confidential’s correspondents have also seen Wrench acting for artist Otis Carey, who has vowed to fight domestic violence charges, and philanthropist Judith Neilsen’s former personal assistant Annalouise Spence after she was accused of fleecing Neilsen of $1.6m.
But in a 2025 with news.com.au, Wrench was quick to disavow the notion his services are exclusively available to the rich and famous.
“We take everyone,” Wrench said at the time.
“That’s a bit of a mistaken perception – some people think that we only take high profile cases.
“We take anybody who needs a defence.”