On the humid morning of August 15, 2012, Preston Keegan stood at a Louisiana boat launch waiting for his children. His daughter, 21-year-old Odilia, and his son, 18-year-old Tanner, had promised to meet him by 8:00 a.m. after an overnight kayaking trip. By 10:00 a.m., there was still no sign of them. The water was silent, broken only by the occasional ripple of mullet. Preston’s gut told him something was terribly wrong.
This trip was supposed to be a celebration. Odilia had just recovered from a grueling knee surgery, and she and Tanner had planned their excursion for weeks. The day before, Preston had even joined them for the launch, watching proudly as both kids reeled in bass within the first hour. He snapped a photo of them on the sandy shore: Tanner in a royal blue t-shirt and backwards cap, Odilia in a hot pink sleeveless top, both grinning as they held their catch.
By evening, Preston left them at their secluded campsite, well supplied with food, camping gear, and a satellite emergency beacon—a precaution he insisted on for every remote trip. They were strong, experienced kayakers. Everything seemed normal.
But when Preston paddled to the campsite the next morning, the scene was unsettling. The tent was standing, the firepit cold, the cooler and clothes scattered—but the kayaks, and the siblings, were gone.
A rapid search began. The Coast Guard, local police, and dozens of volunteers scoured the marshes. Helicopters swept the air, airboats churned the shallow waters, and sonar probed the channels.
For 48 hours, rescue efforts focused on the waterways between the campsite and the launch. Then came a breakthrough—and a puzzle.
On August 18, Tanner’s kayak was discovered, capsized and scarred, drifting in a channel miles from the campsite. The find seemed to confirm investigators’ fears of a drowning. But just hours later, Odilia’s kayak was found upright, intact, and carefully positioned near the restricted canal of Zeer Industrial Solutions, a sprawling oil-support facility.
The separation raised questions. If the siblings had capsized together, why were their kayaks found miles apart in such different conditions?
Even stranger, Zeer security claimed key data and camera logs from that night had been “corrupted.” Detectives were stonewalled by corporate lawyers, and employees gave uniform, evasive answers.
When the Zeer lead went nowhere, investigators turned their eyes elsewhere. Some speculated that the siblings had stumbled into disputes between rival fishing operations, known for violent territorial clashes.
But every suspect had airtight alibis. By late 2012, the case was cold.
Not for Preston. He refused to accept the drowning theory. Year after year, he built a shadow investigation from his farmhouse, logging vessel traffic at Zeer’s docks, photographing unmarked containers loaded at night, and charting ships that turned off their transponders before slipping into the Gulf.
To the sheriff’s office, he was a grieving father clinging to ghosts. To himself, he was the only one still searching.
Seven years later, he was proven right.
On September 10, 2019, an emergency SOS transmission jolted analysts at the GEOS International Emergency Response Coordination Center. The coordinates appeared hundreds of miles offshore in the Gulf of Mexico.
The beacon’s registered ID matched the Keegan family’s device—the very one Odilia and Tanner carried on their last trip.
The signal lasted 90 seconds, then went silent.
The Coast Guard scrambled a cutter and aircraft to the coordinates. They found nothing—no boat, no debris, no life raft. But the implications were clear. The device hadn’t been lost in the marshes. It had traveled, somehow, to the deep Gulf.
Theories spiraled. A false alarm? Unlikely. Accidental activation after years at sea? Nearly impossible. The more chilling possibility: someone had kept the beacon, and someone out there had tried, briefly, to send a signal for help.
The “ghost signal” shattered the accident theory forever. The Keegan case was no longer a local drowning—it was now a federal investigation involving the FBI, Coast Guard Investigative Service, and maritime forensic experts. And at the center of their renewed inquiry was the same corporation Preston had suspected all along.
When agents visited his home in 2019, they found walls lined with maps, logs, and photographs—seven years of private surveillance. Preston had tracked suspicious supply vessels that departed Zeer at night, disappearing from shipping lanes and reappearing days later.
He had documented unmarked containers, shadowy transfers, and even intimidation from security guards. Most disturbing, he recalled how Deputy Myron Blevins, part of the original investigation, had dismissed every lead pointing toward Zeer, shielding the company from scrutiny.
For years, Preston was ignored. Now, federal agents called his work indispensable.
The unanswered questions remain chilling. Did Odilia and Tanner stumble onto smuggling operations hidden behind Zeer’s legitimate shipping? Were they silenced to protect corporate secrets? And why, after seven years of silence, did their beacon flare to life in the middle of the Gulf?
The investigation continues, with Preston still at the center—not just as a grieving father, but as a witness who never stopped searching. What began as a family’s tragedy has become a story of possible corruption, cover-up, and the enduring mystery of the Gulf of Mexico.
