As the sun sets over the Gulf of Mexico, the families of missing fishermen Randall “Randy” Spivey and Brandon Billmaier continue their agonizing vigil, holding onto fading threads of hope more than two weeks after the men vanished during a routine outing. Spivey, 57, a respected personal injury attorney, and his nephew Billmaier, 33, a trial lawyer, set off from Fort Myers on December 19, 2025, for what was meant to be a relaxing day of fishing. Instead, their disappearance has plunged their loved ones into a nightmare of uncertainty, marked by emotional rituals and unyielding determination. Spivey’s wife clutches his jacket each night as if willing him home, while Billmaier’s parents steadfastly remain near the shoreline, scanning the horizon for any sign. Adding to the poignancy is a quiet promise Spivey made before departing—one that now weighs heavily on those left behind, a reminder of the ordinary plans shattered by tragedy.

The ordeal began innocuously enough. The uncle-nephew duo, both avid anglers with years of experience on the water, launched their 42-foot boat, the “Lucky Strike,” from a Fort Myers marina early that Friday morning. They were equipped for a full day at sea, with rods, bait, and provisions, planning to return by evening. Billmaier, ever the devoted family man, texted his wife Deborah around 9 a.m.: “I love you, and I’ll see you tonight. I’ll be back home tonight.” It was a message filled with the casual assurance of routine, but it would become the last communication from him. Spivey, too, had shared a similar sentiment with his wife, promising to bring back fresh catch for a family dinner—a quiet vow that now echoes with unintended finality.

When the men didn’t return by nightfall, alarm bells rang. Family members contacted authorities around 9 p.m., triggering an immediate response from the U.S. Coast Guard. The search operation, one of the largest in recent Florida history, spanned over 6,700 square miles—an area comparable to the state of Connecticut. Helicopters buzzed overhead, boats crisscrossed the waves, and fixed-wing aircraft scanned from above, all in a race against time and the Gulf’s unforgiving currents. On December 20, the boat was located adrift about 70 miles offshore, its engine still idling, fishing gear intact, but no one aboard. The discovery fueled initial optimism, but as hours turned to days without further signs, hope began to wane.

The Coast Guard’s preliminary theory, shared with the families and later publicized by Deborah Billmaier, posits a tragic accident. Investigators believe one man may have fallen overboard while the boat was underway—perhaps due to a sudden wave or a slip on deck. The other, in a heroic but ill-fated attempt to rescue him, jumped in after, not realizing the engine remained engaged. “The boat kept moving away from them,” Deborah explained in a tearful interview, her words painting a vivid picture of desperation in open water. With no way to catch the drifting vessel, the men would have been left treading water in choppy seas, vulnerable to exhaustion, hypothermia, or worse. Water temperatures hovered around 70 degrees Fahrenheit, survivable for a time but deadly over extended periods.

Despite the logic of this scenario, the families refuse to accept defeat. Spivey’s wife, whose name has been withheld for privacy, has taken to sleeping with his favorite fishing jacket, its scent a tangible link to the man she describes as her “rock.” “Every night, I hold it close and pray for a miracle,” she told close friends, according to sources familiar with the family. The jacket, worn on countless trips, symbolizes the everyday life interrupted—a life of barbecues, legal battles won, and quiet evenings on the porch. Spivey, founder of Spivey Law Firm, was known in Fort Myers as a tenacious advocate for accident victims, often drawing from his own love of the outdoors to connect with clients.

Billmaier’s parents, meanwhile, have become fixtures along the Fort Myers shoreline, refusing to leave the water’s edge even as winter winds bite. “We’re here until we bring him home,” his mother said in a brief statement to local media, her eyes fixed on the horizon. The family has set up a makeshift camp, complete with photos of Brandon and Randy, as volunteers rotate in with coffee and blankets. Brandon, a father himself, left behind a young family; his last text to Deborah has become a mantra for them, a promise unfulfilled that fuels their resolve.

Adding emotional weight is the “quiet promise” Spivey made before leaving. According to family accounts, Randy assured his wife he would “always come back” no matter the weather—a vow born from years of safe returns. Now, it carries an unintended gravity, a reminder of the risks inherent in their hobby. “He said it with that smile of his,” his wife recalled to a family friend. “But now, it’s all I think about.”

The search suspension on December 22, after three days, was a gut punch. Citing elapsed time, vast search area, and crew safety, the Coast Guard handed the case to the FBI as a missing persons investigation. “Our hearts go out to the families,” Chief Warrant Officer Paul Rocuant said, acknowledging the difficulty of the decision. The FBI’s involvement has sparked speculation, though officials stress it’s standard for such cases. No foul play is suspected, but agents are reviewing phone records, boat maintenance logs, and witness statements from the marina.

Private searches continue, funded by community donations. GoFundMe campaigns have raised over $100,000, supporting drone flights and chartered boats. “We’re not stopping,” Deborah declared, organizing daily sweeps. Legal colleagues from Spivey Law Firm and Shiner Law Group have joined, turning professional networks into search parties.

The incident highlights boating dangers in the Gulf. Experts note that unattended vessels can drift rapidly due to currents, and without kill switches, accidents escalate quickly. Similar cases, like the 2016 disappearance of two teens off Jupiter, Florida, ended tragically after prolonged searches.

For the families, hope persists amid heartbreak. Vigils along the Caloosahatchee River draw crowds, with prayers for miracles. “Randy and Brandon are fighters,” Spivey’s sister said at one gathering. As January 9, 2026, dawns, the shoreline stands sentinel, a testament to enduring love.

Authorities urge tips to the FBI tip line at 1-800-CALL-FBI. While the Gulf keeps its secrets, the families’ vigil reminds us of human resilience in the face of loss.