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A 1996 fax from her asks for $43,000 because "the girls would like a swimming pool for themselves and their friends." She also wanted $9,289 for a vacation, $5,239 for a new chest of drawers for Sarah, $6,379 for new wallpaper in the girls' bathroom and $1,224 for a new TV stand for Genevieve.
Shah is still indignant about Ellen's claims that he was a tightwad, and he shows stacks of canceled checks that add up to about $140,000 in support and alimony each year. When they split, he bought her a house for $600,000, which he paid for in cash, and gave her $100,000 to furnish it. He also agreed to give her $40,000 a year for five years, and covered all expenses for his daughters, who were with him Thursday, Friday and Saturday each week.
Shah had left banking and started his own company in 1992 to set up an ATM system for credit cards. The company was named Gensar after his daughters. He sold it in August 1996 for $200 million and a personal profit he describes as "tons of money." In September, he says, Ellen wanted to reconcile and they even went on a date, but he refused to give the marriage another chance. The following month, she filed for protection from abuse.
In early 1997, Shah took his daughter from his first marriage, Nelie, on a tour of his homeland. Nelie, an attorney, suggested a plan to get Ellen off his back--a plan Bipin Shah may forever regret. He sued Ellen for full custody of the girls, hoping it would give him an edge in their daily battles. But there would be no day in court. Before the first hearing, Ellen had sold her house, pocketed $90,000 in cash and wired $420,000 into a Swiss bank account. Then she grabbed the girls and ran.
The Dunkin' Donuts at Roswell Road and Sandy Springs Place, just north of Atlanta, has more to offer than crullers and glazes. Show up around midmorning, and you'll find a striking 49-year-old woman dressed to win a role in a Victorian stage production. Faye Yager has a collection of hats Mae West would have killed for, and today's is a black felt, feathered affair.
"I like the coffee," Yager says of her unofficial office of Children of the Underground. This unlikely spot, which advertises a dozen doughnuts for $3.20 on its marquee, is where Yager usually has her first meeting with desperate women who fly, drive and bus in from all over the U.S., a caravan of national dysfunction, heartbreak and wild fear. This is where Faye looks into their eyes, hears the whys and wherefores, and determines whether they're "runnin' material."
And if they are, a judgment Faye makes with scandalous bias, they get her whole deal. New names, new resumes, new life stories. There is no charge but the life you walk in with, because that person is ended forever, and a new one rises up and disappears into a network of safe houses and churches, zigzagging away from dads and police and private detectives. A blond might become a brunet. A long-haired girl might become a short-haired boy. It takes months, sometimes longer, before you can stop and blend in somewhere, unreachable, unrecognizable. And then you'll get a job and the kids will go to school and you'll pretend you have no past.
Ellen Shah came to this Dunkin' Donuts last April. "She was sittin' right there," says Faye.