What we must not do is surrender to despair and hopelessness and the cynical assumption that there is nothing we can do. What we must do is turn our anger and outrage into a positive force for reforms that can help prevent future tragedies.

—Bernice King

When you live in Florida, you quickly learn bodies of water are everywhere. According to the Fish and Wildlife Conservation Commission, “There are more than 7,500 lakes, ponds, and reservoirs, and approximately 12,000 miles of fishable rivers, streams, and canals” (Fish and Wildlife Commission). Many of these ponds, lakes, and canals are along roadways.

And what lives in those bodies of water? Alligators. Locals warned us to be careful walking near water, especially with pets or small children. Alligators move very fast in or out of water. According to the Key West Aquarium website, Florida is home to over one million alligators (Aquarium 2022).

It was common in Florida to hear about a car that veered off the road and submerged in water, only to be found days or weeks later when water levels dropped enough for a part of the car to be visible. Where was Jenn’s car? Did she end up in a canal?

After the call with Joyce that Tuesday evening, I kept replaying our conversation. Jennifer was missing, and I felt utterly helpless to do anything about it. That night, I spoke with my business partners, explained what had happened, and made plans to fly back to Orlando the next day.

As I tried to sleep, my mind played out all the possible dark scenarios of what could have happened to Jenn. Then, my mind drifted to making mental lists of things to do. How would we search all the bodies of water on Jenn’s route to work?

Nothing made sense. Jenn was living her dream. She purchased her first home—a condominium at Mosaic at Millenia in Orlando in the fall of 2005—and a new car, a black 2006 Chevrolet Malibu. Jenn was on a great career path and was excelling in her position. And she had someone she cared about in her life, Rob Allen.

As Joyce described Jenn: “Those of us close to Jenn, we knew something must be wrong. If she was going to be late for work or a meeting, she would call. In fact, Jenn had good routines. She and Rob, her boyfriend, called each other daily while driving to work in the morning and would speak with each other every night before going to bed.”

Joyce told me, “Drew and I talked with Jenn last night [Monday evening]. Jenn mentioned that she had already spoken with Rob.” We later learned from Rob that he had an early morning meeting (Tuesday, January 24, 2006), so he and Jenn couldn’t talk during her drive to work. Instead, he said he’d call after the meeting.

Joyce and Drew were close friends with Tom, a senior executive with Central Florida Investments, Jenn’s employer. When Tom learned that Jenn did not show up for work, he called them to see if they had heard from her. They immediately started calling Jenn’s cell and home numbers without success. Internal alarms were going off.

What we knew at that time was whatever happened was totally out of character for Jennifer. She was predictable in a good way. She was intelligent, always conscious of her sur- roundings, and planned for her safety. For example, Joyce said when Jenn was leaving the mall, a restaurant, or a meeting in the evening, she would call someone and talk until she was safely in her car.

Those who knew Jennifer would agree she didn’t show any signs of discontent with her life, relationships, or work environment.

However, I learned Jenn had some uncomfortable experiences with some workers at her condo complex. Anyone who has bought a new home knows there will be continuing involvement with the developer and maintenance staff for some time. Unfortunately, Jenn lived alone and felt like she was being watched and subjected to unwelcome stares.

Jenn shared her concerns with her father. As a result, Drew told her to call if she ever felt threatened or in danger, and he would come to Orlando and take care of it. She also made a formal complaint to the property management company. Based on Jenn’s concerns, Joyce and Drew immediately suspected the workers when they realized Jenn was missing.

By the time I arrived at Jenn’s condo on January 25, Drew already had missing-person flyers printed. Family and friends began to canvass the buildings in her complex and local neighborhoods, handing out flyers and looking for Jenn’s car.

Eventually, many of us went to the main road intersections. We handed out flyers to people as they waited in their cars for the lights to change. Debbie and I visited the local businesses and shopping centers near Jenn’s condo, asking permission to tape the flyers to doors and windows and leaving some on counters. While this was important, a little part of me felt like we needed to be doing more. I needed to be doing more.

On the evening of Wednesday, January 25, as we gathered at Jenn’s condo, I felt the need to be busy doing something. First, we needed to find Jenn’s car. I had been involved with several political campaigns and was familiar with planning door-to-door activities. In my mind, if we did a street-by-street search for Jenn’s car, it might lead us to Jenn. So, we organized groups and assigned specific streets to canvass.

For a moment, I felt hopeful. By midnight, my wife Debbie, my sister Marge, and I finished for the night in a neighborhood at the southwest corner of Americana Boulevard and Texas Avenue in Orlando, just a mile from Jenn’s condo.

The following day, Thursday, January 26, we gathered at Jenn’s condo to organize and send groups out to continue our street search.

Drew’s phone rang. “Hello, this is Drew Kesse,” he answered, turning solemnly as he made eye contact with Joyce and everyone present. Our eyes were staring expectantly at him, waiting.

My heart raced with anticipation. Seconds felt like hours.

Drew hit the end button on his phone and, in a quiet voice, said, “It was the Orlando Police. They said there was a break in the case. They found Jenn’s car.”

Almost simultaneously, those present said, “Where?” “A resident at the Huntington on the Green apartments called the OPD tip line after seeing Jenn’s car on the news,” Drew told us. “Police confirmed it was Jennifer’s black 2006 Chevy Malibu.”

Huntington on the Green? We were across the street last night.

Almost immediately, Debbie, my sister Marge, and I looked at each other in disbelief. We all had a sinking, nauseous feeling; we had just been in that neighborhood the night before, looking for Jenn’s car.

With her car found, local media outlets arrived at her condo community, along with law enforcement agencies. Heli- copters began flying overhead, and before long, K-9 units arrived to start a search of the area. Within days, Terry, a neighbor from Lake Mary and an officer with the Mounted Unit of Orange County Sheriff’s department, had organized a search of off-road and wooded areas.

Our collective faces revealed growing concern and increasing anxiety. They have Jenn’s car, but where is Jenn? Emotions were high as we tried to make sense of what was happening. Time seemed to have painfully stopped.

I was amazed at how Drew was handling the situation. Early in our marriages, we lived on the same cul-de-sac in Barnegat, New Jersey. Drew was an accomplished sales professional. He had a remarkable ability to persevere despite being told “no” dozens of times a day while cold-calling for business. He seemed to thrive in that environment. Drew’s family was his top priority, and he would do anything to protect them. But now, he was thrust into one of the most challenging situations any parent could face: having a missing child.

Drew was the point person with law enforcement and the media while seeking to calm everyone with confidence that belied the situation and his internal emotions. His determination and focus encouraged all of us. One night, we stood outside Jenn’s condo in the interior breezeway and talked.

The tone of his voice and body language revealed the overwhelming stress he was experiencing.

“What are you thinking? What do you want us to do next?” I asked.

Drew’s face and quietness revealed he was reflecting on the enormity of the situation.

“Drew, I want you to know how proud I am of you. How proud we all are,” I said encouragingly. “I can’t imagine what you are carrying right now.” Then, after a pause, I continued, “I have always been amazed by your professionalism, tenacity, and persistence. You will draw on the confidence and courage you have displayed in life and work.” With my eyes fixed on his, I extended my right arm to his shoulder. “You don’t know what you’re capable of doing until you have to do it. You will do it—and you have family and friends here to support you.”

Drew got us all focused on promoting awareness. We knew how important it was to tell people that Jenn was missing and show a picture of her and then one of her car, hoping someone would remember seeing something.

Within a few days, we learned the Huntington on the Green apartment complex had security cameras. Police reviewed the video footage, and though the quality was not good, it was clear someone other than Jenn drove her car to that location, parked it, and then walked away. So now, a person of interest needed to be located and identified. Two people needed to be found.

We faced a new reality: Jennifer had been abducted. Our priority to get her story in front of the public increased dramatically. We needed anyone with information to step up and share what they might know with the authorities.

Emotions were all over the map—glad for new information, yet overwhelmed with a sense of loss and grief, sorrow, and sadness. What happened to Jenn, and where was she?

Jenn’s story received excellent news coverage across central Florida and beyond. The details of the search for Jennifer and the investigation continue to this day. Drew ensures her story remains on news programs, podcasts, articles, and websites.

But the question we all asked and wondered was, how—and why—does someone vanish without a trace?

And that question ignited a flood of personal questions that began to pierce my heart and soul.