On a crisp December morning in 2025, what began as a routine offshore fishing trip for two experienced Florida men turned into a haunting maritime enigma that has gripped communities along the Gulf Coast. Randall Spivey Sr., a 57-year-old prominent personal injury attorney from Fort Myers, and his 33-year-old nephew Brandon Billmaier, also a lawyer, set out aboard their 42-foot catamaran named “Unstopp-A-Bull” for a day of bottom fishing. They departed early from a private dock in the Iona area, expecting to return by evening. But as darkness fell without any contact, panic set in, launching one of the largest search operations in Southwest Florida history—and leaving families, friends, and the public searching for answers during a somber holiday season.
The two men were no novices on the water. Spivey, founder of a well-respected law firm, was known for his caution and decades of fishing experience, often prioritizing safety with auto-inflating life jackets. Billmaier, following in his uncle’s footsteps as a trial attorney, shared a deep passion for the sea, frequently joining family outings. Their close relationship—mentor and protégé, uncle and nephew—made these trips a cherished tradition. Family described them as inseparable on the boat, equipped with top-tier gear and a vessel designed for long-range stability. The plan was simple: head about 70-100 miles offshore into the Gulf, drop lines, and head home with stories and catches.
When no word came by nightfall on December 19, Billmaier’s wife Deborah alerted authorities. By midnight, a Coast Guard helicopter spotted the boat adrift roughly 70 miles west of Fort Myers Beach—engines still running, in gear, but completely empty. No signs of struggle were immediately evident: the vessel was upright, undamaged, with fishing gear in place. Crucially, two life jackets—blue and yellow auto-inflating models—were missing from storage, sparking early hope that the men had grabbed them in an emergency and were afloat.
The discovery transformed the incident from overdue boaters to a full-scale search-and-rescue mission. The Coast Guard deployed aircraft, cutters, and helicopters, covering an astonishing 6,700 square miles—an area larger than Connecticut. Local agencies from Lee and Collier Counties joined, alongside hundreds of volunteer boaters forming informal flotillas and private pilots scanning from above. The community response was overwhelming: strangers coordinated via social media, firefighters volunteered off-duty time, and messages of support flooded in from across the state. Families expressed profound gratitude, with Spivey’s wife Tricia calling the effort “touching beyond words.”
Initial optimism stemmed from favorable conditions: calm seas, water temperatures in the mid-70s preventing rapid hypothermia, and the missing life jackets suggesting preparation for trouble. Theories focused on a man-overboard scenario—perhaps one slipping while handling a fish or gear, the other jumping in to assist, with the unmanned boat drifting away on autopilot. The wallet Deborah found in Brandon’s pants pocket at home added poignancy: he wouldn’t head far offshore without it, implying the incident was abrupt and unplanned.
As days passed without sightings, the mood shifted. On December 22, after exhaustive efforts, the Coast Guard suspended active searches at sunset—a decision described as “incredibly difficult.” Captain Corrie Sergent commended the volunteers and partners, offering condolences while noting the highest confidence that surface survivors would have been located. The FBI took over as lead investigator, towing the boat for forensic examination. No foul play is suspected; the probe centers on accidental causes.
The holiday timing amplified the heartache. Deborah Billmaier, facing her first Christmas without Brandon, spoke of their five-year love story and his infectious light. Tricia Spivey echoed the pain, praising her husband’s dedication to helping others through law. Both families requested respect for the suspension, emphasizing that Randy and Brandon would never want risks to others. Private efforts continue informally, guided by hope and new tips.
Amid the grief, online speculation has swirled around rarer possibilities, including encounters with marine life. While officials have not endorsed any shark-related theory—stressing the absence of blood, damage, or distress signals—winter shark activity in the Gulf is documented, with great whites and bulls occasionally migrating through deeper waters. No direct witness accounts of disturbances like churning or “torn” water have surfaced publicly, yet the vast, unpredictable ocean fuels imagination. The empty, running boat evokes classic maritime mysteries: sudden, silent vanishings where nature reclaims without trace.
The men’s legacies endure. Spivey, a board-certified trial lawyer, built a firm on compassion for the injured. Billmaier, practicing in Boca Raton, embodied the same ethos. Colleagues mourn rising stars cut short, communities remember generous spirits. As 2025 ends, their disappearance stands as a stark reminder of the Gulf’s beauty and peril—even for the prepared.
Families cling to slim possibilities: currents carrying them to remote spots, or survival against odds. Deborah’s discovery of the wallet symbolizes unfinished business—a man who planned to return. Until closure comes, the story lingers: two lives intertwined with the sea, lost in its depths during a season of miracles. The Gulf keeps its secrets, but hope, like the missing life jackets, floats on.
