VISITORS to the Perth circus, sorry, the Lang Hancock coronial inquest, may have noticed something odd going on.Well, let’s face it, the whole affair is pretty damned odd.
VISITORS to the Perth circus, sorry, the Lang Hancock coronial inquest, may have noticed something odd going on.
Well, let’s face it, the whole affair is pretty damned odd.
What Briefcase means is that the inquest is taking place with someone missing – and that’s not a reference to the old man himself.
No, the missing person, who Briefcase expected to see sitting at the back of the room, complete with plastic lunchbox and grey cardigan, is the man from the Australian Tax Office, the chap who tracks down money trails to their rightful owner, and asks for half – please.
Curiosity started to rise about the role of the ATO when one of the highest paid performers, sorry, witnesses, said that large dollops of cash were sent to a bank account in the Philippines.
As a general rule there’s nothing wrong with this. Any money that helps the needy of that troubled country is welcome.
But there is this nagging voice in the background which keeps asking, “was the cash declared as Australian income?”
Perhaps the $800,000 in witness management payments detailed at the Hancock inquiry has been fully declared and everyone at the ATO is happy. Perhaps it was claimed as a windfall payment. Perhaps it was said to be a capital gain. Perhaps, perhaps.
Briefcase, however, has his doubts. The payments are hardly a windfall, though they could be a capital gain, in which case a tax liability has still been generated.
The question then becomes who declared what to the ATO. Briefcase again has questions, this time as to whether anyone declared anything, which is understandable. Money like that is often overlooked. After all, haven’t we heard from someone at the inquiry that they couldn’t remember handing over $50,000 to a prospective witness? See, it’s that easy to forget these things.
The ATO, however, does not forget. Nor does it forgive. It keeps newspaper clippings, writes down names, pores over files and cross references tax returns with court evidence.
Auditors are then unleashed. Sorry, auditors are asked to make polite inquiries, followed by a less polite blue-coloured letter suggesting that the taxpayer in question has an outstanding obligation.
And what an obligation it might be, starting with any alleged unpaid tax, plus penalties, plus outstanding interest on the tax and the penalties.
For curious readers, a culpability penalty is about an extra 40 per cent on top of the missing tax (it might even be up to 100 per cent, depending on how naughty the ATO believes you have been), while the interest rate is charged at 13.76 per cent compounding daily, which is an effective annual rate of about 17 per cent. Who said the banks were greedy?
Tracking the money which has flowed through the witness management program should be a doddle for the most junior ATO operative. It’s all there, in the court record.
Just for fun, let’s have a look at a hypothetical calculation. Assume $100,000 was paid in witness management money in 1999. That means the tax man wants about $48,500, plus the 40 per cent penalty (another $19,400) plus interest of, let’s say, a further $17,000.
A cheque for $84,900 should settle the matter, thank you, or would you prefer the 100 per cent culpability treatment?
Briefcase has never, as a matter of principle, sided with the tax man.
On this occasion, he makes an exception.
Savoia the rebirth of a favourite ‘people-watching’ noshery
WHAT a sad day it was when the Mediterranean restaurant in Subiaco closed its doors. Not only did a decent noshery disappear, but it became that much harder to watch Perth’s entrepreneurs “at work”.
Rejoice. It’s back, and so are they.
The Med, in spirit at least, has been reborn in the form of the Savoia bar and restaurant on the site of the old Ord Street cafe in West Perth. A visit is essential for anyone longing for a glimpse of famous names from the past. It is said that even Peter Briggs has been sighted among the waterfalls and discretely placed umbrellas.
Pop along, breathe in the atmosphere, sip the (somewhat expensive) wine and wonder about the schemes being hatched all around you.
All it needs to complete the image is a special guest appearance of that grand old man of dodgy deals, Bondy.
Well, let’s face it, the whole affair is pretty damned odd.
What Briefcase means is that the inquest is taking place with someone missing – and that’s not a reference to the old man himself.
No, the missing person, who Briefcase expected to see sitting at the back of the room, complete with plastic lunchbox and grey cardigan, is the man from the Australian Tax Office, the chap who tracks down money trails to their rightful owner, and asks for half – please.
Curiosity started to rise about the role of the ATO when one of the highest paid performers, sorry, witnesses, said that large dollops of cash were sent to a bank account in the Philippines.
As a general rule there’s nothing wrong with this. Any money that helps the needy of that troubled country is welcome.
But there is this nagging voice in the background which keeps asking, “was the cash declared as Australian income?”
Perhaps the $800,000 in witness management payments detailed at the Hancock inquiry has been fully declared and everyone at the ATO is happy. Perhaps it was claimed as a windfall payment. Perhaps it was said to be a capital gain. Perhaps, perhaps.
Briefcase, however, has his doubts. The payments are hardly a windfall, though they could be a capital gain, in which case a tax liability has still been generated.
The question then becomes who declared what to the ATO. Briefcase again has questions, this time as to whether anyone declared anything, which is understandable. Money like that is often overlooked. After all, haven’t we heard from someone at the inquiry that they couldn’t remember handing over $50,000 to a prospective witness? See, it’s that easy to forget these things.
The ATO, however, does not forget. Nor does it forgive. It keeps newspaper clippings, writes down names, pores over files and cross references tax returns with court evidence.
Auditors are then unleashed. Sorry, auditors are asked to make polite inquiries, followed by a less polite blue-coloured letter suggesting that the taxpayer in question has an outstanding obligation.
And what an obligation it might be, starting with any alleged unpaid tax, plus penalties, plus outstanding interest on the tax and the penalties.
For curious readers, a culpability penalty is about an extra 40 per cent on top of the missing tax (it might even be up to 100 per cent, depending on how naughty the ATO believes you have been), while the interest rate is charged at 13.76 per cent compounding daily, which is an effective annual rate of about 17 per cent. Who said the banks were greedy?
Tracking the money which has flowed through the witness management program should be a doddle for the most junior ATO operative. It’s all there, in the court record.
Just for fun, let’s have a look at a hypothetical calculation. Assume $100,000 was paid in witness management money in 1999. That means the tax man wants about $48,500, plus the 40 per cent penalty (another $19,400) plus interest of, let’s say, a further $17,000.
A cheque for $84,900 should settle the matter, thank you, or would you prefer the 100 per cent culpability treatment?
Briefcase has never, as a matter of principle, sided with the tax man.
On this occasion, he makes an exception.
Savoia the rebirth of a favourite ‘people-watching’ noshery
WHAT a sad day it was when the Mediterranean restaurant in Subiaco closed its doors. Not only did a decent noshery disappear, but it became that much harder to watch Perth’s entrepreneurs “at work”.
Rejoice. It’s back, and so are they.
The Med, in spirit at least, has been reborn in the form of the Savoia bar and restaurant on the site of the old Ord Street cafe in West Perth. A visit is essential for anyone longing for a glimpse of famous names from the past. It is said that even Peter Briggs has been sighted among the waterfalls and discretely placed umbrellas.
Pop along, breathe in the atmosphere, sip the (somewhat expensive) wine and wonder about the schemes being hatched all around you.
All it needs to complete the image is a special guest appearance of that grand old man of dodgy deals, Bondy.
