The Search Beneath the Surface: The Story of Adam Brown and Jeremy Sides

The afternoon sun hung low over Alabama, painting the still water with streaks of gold. The air was heavy—thick with humidity and quiet expectation. Adam Brown wiped a line of sweat from his forehead and glanced toward the lake’s edge.

“Let’s just get in the water,” he said quietly. “Let’s go for a dive and see what’s down there.”

Beside him, Jeremy Sides nodded. They’d said those words countless times before, but it never lost its weight. For years, Adam and Jeremy had made it their mission to search the depths of forgotten lakes and rivers—looking not for treasure, but for truth.

They weren’t paid detectives. They weren’t part of any agency. They were simply two men who couldn’t stand to see families live without answers.

This time, they were searching for Herman Matthew Gamble.

The Last Night at the Green Lantern

The Green Lantern Sports Bar was silent now, its windows boarded and its neon sign long since gone dark. The paint peeled from its walls, and weeds crawled up through cracks in the parking lot. But years ago, this place had been alive—music, laughter, and light spilling into the night.

It was also the last place Herman Matthew Gamble was ever seen.

“He was last spotted right here,” Jeremy said, gesturing toward the derelict building. “He left this place driving a red, older-model Chevy Silverado… and that was it. He vanished.”

There were no witnesses. No confirmed destination. Just one small detail—he was supposed to be heading down Highway 216, toward home. Somewhere on that lonely stretch of road, he disappeared without a trace.

Adam glanced down the empty highway, where heat shimmered like ghosts rising from the asphalt. “He worked here as a security guard,” he said. “Lived somewhere down that way. We’ll start checking the ponds off 216. If we don’t find anything here, we’ll move toward Tuscaloosa and hit the river.”

Their routine was one built on patience and persistence. Every case began the same: start where they were last seen, follow the water, and never stop until something surfaced.

The RC Boat and the First Search

Their first stop was a neighborhood boat ramp not far from the bar. The entrance was gated off, overgrown with weeds, but Adam just smiled.

“That wouldn’t stop anyone from dumping a car here,” he said.

Jeremy unloaded their custom RC sonar boat—a small, modified boogie board equipped with a sonar unit and a wireless transmitter that sent live images straight to his phone. It was a genius creation, built for days like this.

“Let’s see what’s under there,” he said, setting the boat into the water.

The little craft hummed forward, gliding smoothly across the lake’s mirrored surface. The sonar screen lit up with the contours of the lakebed—branches, fish, debris.

“Holy smokes,” Adam said, laughing. “Look at all those bluegill. Somebody must be feeding them.”

Jeremy grinned but kept his eyes on the readout. “Depth’s about sixteen feet here… twenty-three in the center. Deep enough for a truck.”

They made a few passes. Nothing. Just silt and shadows.

“Well,” Adam sighed, “this would’ve been the perfect place to hide something. But it’s clear.”

They packed up, loaded the RC boat back into the truck, and headed to the next spot.

A Shape Beneath the Waves

Their second location was only a short drive away—a quiet stretch of the same lake, bordered by trees and a narrow retaining wall.

“This could be it,” Jeremy said. “We’re looking for a big red truck.”

The RC boat went back into the water, zigzagging across the narrow inlet. The sonar screen flickered again, revealing the uneven floor below.

“I’d do another pass closer to the wall,” Adam said. “If he was driving along here and the ground gave out, he could’ve just slid right in.”

Seconds later, Jeremy froze. “Hold up.”

“What?”

“There’s something here.”

The shape was unmistakable—large, rectangular, solid.

“Oh crap,” Adam whispered. “Found a car.”

Jeremy leaned closer to the screen. “That’s not a car. Looks more like an SUV… maybe a truck cab.”

They stared at each other, a rush of adrenaline pushing through the heat.

“Well,” Adam said, “let’s get the drone.”

The Drone Dive

They unpacked their Chasing underwater drone, a bright yellow submersible built for exactly this kind of job. With the glare from the sun making it hard to see, Adam found a patch of shade and guided the drone into the water.

As it sank, the world on the screen turned green and murky. Particles drifted like dust in a forgotten room. Then—out of the haze—metal.

“There it is,” Jeremy said quietly.

The SUV appeared on screen, ghostly and still. Its roof was buried in sediment, its windows clouded with years of silt. The drone’s lights swept across its side, revealing the faint Chevrolet emblem.

Then something strange caught their attention.

“The tag,” Adam said. “Look at that tag.”

Every inch of the vehicle was coated in grime—except the license plate, which gleamed like it had been scrubbed clean yesterday.

“That’s… weird,” Jeremy muttered. “Almost like someone dove down here before us.”

They copied the plate number carefully. Whatever this was, it needed to be reported.

A Tag That Didn’t Match

The local police arrived within minutes, their patrol car crunching over gravel. The officers stepped out, squinting against the sun.

“What’s going on, fellas?” one asked.

“Found an SUV in the water,” Jeremy said. “Got a tag number.”

He read it aloud: 7AD 4365.

The officer jotted it down, ran a quick check on his radio, and frowned. “That tag comes back to a Ford Ranger,” he said.

Adam blinked. “That can’t be right. This is a Chevy.”

They double-checked the number, but the result was the same.

Moments later, a local HOA board member pulled up in a golf cart, curious about the commotion. “Y’all talking about that SUV out there?” he asked. “That thing’s been in the water for years. Everybody knows about it.”

Jeremy looked surprised. “It’s been reported before?”

The man nodded. “Oh yeah. Been sitting there at least five years. We just left it.”

The officers shrugged. “Well, that explains the tag mix-up.”

Adam sighed and turned off the drone monitor. “Case closed, I guess.”

After the Water Goes Still

The team packed up in silence. The lake rippled lazily behind them, calm and indifferent.

Jeremy leaned against the truck, the late sun burning orange in the sky. “You ever notice how it never feels like a waste?” he asked.

Adam nodded slowly. “Because every time we look, it means somebody cared enough to try.”

They didn’t do this for money. They didn’t do it for clicks or headlines. They did it because somewhere, a family was still waiting. Because sometimes, the only thing worse than finding someone is never finding them at all.

Even when the search ends in disappointment, there’s always the small, steady comfort of knowing—this place has been checked. This mystery, at least, is not forgotten.

The Endless Road Ahead

As they drove toward Tuscaloosa, the light faded into dusk. Another day done, another lake crossed off the list.

They had searched dozens of waters just like this one—some yielding nothing, others revealing vehicles tied to long-missing persons. Each discovery brought with it a strange mix of sadness and relief.

Adam stared out the window at the fading treeline. “Tomorrow,” he said softly, “we check the river.”

Jeremy smiled faintly. “We’re doing the job right,” he said. “It’s a good thing we’re doing.”

The truck rumbled down the empty road, two men chasing the next clue in a world full of unanswered questions.

And somewhere out there—beneath the murky water, behind the silence of forgotten lakes—more stories waited to be found.

Epilogue

Adam Brown and Jeremy Sides have built a legacy not of fame, but of compassion. Their dives have helped bring closure to families who waited decades for answers. They don’t wear badges or collect rewards—but they carry something far heavier: the trust of strangers who need them to keep looking.

For them, it isn’t about the cars or the lakes. It’s about the people who never stopped hoping.

And so, even when the trail goes cold and the sonar returns empty, they keep diving.
Because somewhere out there, someone’s story still lies beneath the surface.