The River’s Secret: The Long Search for William Hoetaling Jr.

By the time the autumn light faded across Putnam County, Tennessee, the river had already swallowed its secret for nearly eight months.
What began as another quiet disappearance—a man gone missing, a car that never turned up—would end with a haunting discovery by two YouTubers, a grieving family, and questions that still echo through the still water of Center Hill Lake.

The Disappearance

In early March, 37-year-old William Hoetaling Jr. vanished.
He was last seen driving his silver 2013 Chevy Impala near Cookeville.
Two weeks later, his body was found—naked, except for his socks—floating two-tenths of a mile from a local boat ramp.

Investigators were puzzled. His wallet and ID were tucked into his socks. There were no visible injuries, no car, no sign of where he had gone or why he had ended up in the lake.

For his sister, Sarah Hoetaling, the grief was sharper than confusion.
“He wasn’t the kind of person to just drive off,” she told local reporters at the time. “He had plans, he had hope. The not-knowing is what kills you.”

The official report said accidental drowning.
But the car—the last piece of the puzzle—was missing.
And without that, nothing made sense.

The Divers

Nine months later, two YouTubers arrived in Cookeville: Jeremy Sides, known online as Exploring with Nug, and his partner Adam Brown, from Depths Unknown. They were part of a new movement of volunteer divers—people who used sonar, drones, and deep-water cameras to find missing vehicles and bring closure to families long after police had stopped searching.

The day was gray and windless when they launched their small aluminum boat at the Center Hill Marina. The water was calm, but visibility was poor—less than five feet below the surface.

“We were told the body was found near this boat ramp,” Jeremy said in his video log that morning. “But the car? Never recovered. We’re here to change that.”

Their sonar scans showed nothing at first—just rolling mud and the occasional tire. Then, as they moved toward a more isolated launch ramp several miles downstream, something unusual appeared on the screen: a perfect, rectangular shadow.

“That’s a car,” Adam said quietly. “Upside down, about twenty-five feet deep.”

The Dive

By noon, Jeremy was in his drysuit, descending slowly into the murky depths.
The temperature dropped with each meter. His flashlight beam cut through a green haze, illuminating shapes that shouldn’t be there—metal, glass, fabric. Then, at the bottom, he saw it: the unmistakable curve of a car roof half-buried in silt.

“It’s upside down,” he radioed to Adam. “All windows are up. Trunk’s open.”

Inside the open trunk, pieces of fabric floated like ghosts. A single shoe. A torn duffel bag. Clothing. Jeremy reached for the rear license plate, wiped away a film of algae, and read the numbers.

It matched the missing Chevy Impala.

He surfaced, breathless. “That’s the car,” he said, his voice shaking. “That’s William’s car.”

The Investigation Reopened

By late afternoon, police tape fluttered at the marina. Deputies from the Putnam County Sheriff’s Office stood with TBI agents as tow cables and air lift bags were rigged to the submerged Impala.
The divers worked in silence. The water boiled with bubbles as the car slowly rose, rolling sideways, until its silver frame broke the surface for the first time in almost a year.

The crowd that had gathered fell silent. The car’s windows were intact. The trunk, still partly open, spilled out belongings—shirts, a wallet, a phone charger, and a child’s toy keychain Sarah recognized immediately.

“That’s his,” she whispered.

The car was towed to a secure lot for forensic processing. Investigators hoped to find fingerprints, DNA, or even digital traces from the car’s onboard computer.

But what they found deepened the mystery.

Unanswered Questions

The gearshift was in drive.
The ignition was off.
And the driver’s seat was pushed far back—too far for William’s height.

A detective with the Tennessee Bureau of Investigation later confirmed that the car had entered the water at “high speed.” The angle of descent suggested deliberate acceleration, but the absence of skid marks pointed away from panic.

Still, there was one haunting detail: the trunk latch was broken from the inside.

“That means someone tried to get out,” Jeremy said later in his interview. “Maybe William. Or maybe someone else.”

Toxicology reports showed low traces of alcohol but no drugs. There was no water in the lungs—indicating that William may have died before the car entered the lake.

For Sarah, it was both relief and horror. “It wasn’t an accident,” she said. “Someone did this.”

A Trail of Theories

As the story spread online, theories multiplied.
Some viewers pointed to the odd detail of William’s socks and wallet, suggesting he’d been stripped or staged. Others noted his recent dispute with a former employer, or rumors of money owed.

Jeremy and Adam, careful not to fuel speculation, stayed focused on the mission: documenting what they found and handing it to investigators.

“This isn’t about YouTube views,” Adam said. “It’s about truth. We don’t solve cases—we find the pieces.”

Yet the public couldn’t help but connect dots. The same viewers who had watched the discovery video millions of times now dissected it frame by frame, searching for clues the divers might have missed.

Sarah’s Goodbye

For Sarah, watching her brother’s car rise from the lake was like watching time reverse—and then stop altogether.

When she finally stood beside the recovered vehicle, the smell of rust and river water hung heavy in the air. She placed her hand on the hood, the metal still wet, and whispered, “You’re home.”

At William’s small memorial service two weeks later, she spoke about his laughter, his habit of calling every Sunday morning, and how he never left without saying, Love you, sis.

“He was like Robin Williams with an edge,” she said, smiling through tears. “He could make you so mad, and then he’d make you laugh so hard you’d forget why.”

The YouTubers attended quietly at the back. For them, closure was a fragile word—something that didn’t erase questions, only softened them.

A Ripple Effect

The case changed more than one life.
The divers’ video reached millions of views, bringing national attention to the world of volunteer search teams. Within weeks, local families of other missing persons contacted Jeremy’s team for help.

“This is what we do it for,” Jeremy said in a later vlog. “Not fame. Just families who deserve to know.”

The TBI continued to investigate. By December, they had interviewed several of William’s acquaintances, including one man who’d been with him the night before he vanished. He admitted they had argued, but denied seeing him again afterward.

No charges were filed.

But one detail remained burned into Sarah’s mind: the car’s headlights were found in the on position. Someone had driven into that dark water with eyes wide open.

The Return to the Lake

A year after the discovery, Sarah returned to the same boat ramp. The winter air was still, the lake glassy and gray. She carried a single white rose, placing it on the water’s surface.

Behind her, Jeremy filmed quietly—not for YouTube this time, but for the family.

“People think closure means the end,” she said softly. “It’s not. It’s learning how to live with a hole that never fills.”

The divers packed up their gear in silence. As they drove away, Jeremy glanced once more at the lake. In the fading light, it looked almost peaceful, as if it had given back everything it took.

Almost.

Epilogue: What the River Knows

In the months that followed, the sheriff’s office quietly closed the active investigation, citing insufficient evidence of foul play. Officially, William Hoetaling’s death remains listed as “undetermined.”

But to those who dove beneath the surface that day, the truth feels heavier.

Jeremy still remembers the silence underwater, the eerie calm of the silted car, the moment he saw the trunk yawning open like a final breath.

“When you dive on something like that, you don’t just see it,” he said. “You feel it. That car was trying to tell us something.”

Sarah, too, has stopped waiting for new answers. Instead, she works with a small volunteer group that supports families of the missing. Each time a new name is added to the list, she sends them the same message: You’re not alone.

“I used to hate that lake,” she said recently. “Now I see it differently. It’s not where he died—it’s where he was found. Where he came back to us.”

Reflection

The story of William Hoetaling Jr. isn’t just a mystery—it’s a mirror of a broader truth: how grief bends time, how water hides secrets, and how ordinary people can wade into darkness to bring others home.

In an age of viral moments and digital noise, two divers with a camera did something deeply human—they looked deeper.
They didn’t find fame; they found a family’s missing piece.

And in the quiet rhythm of the waves, you can almost hear the final echo of that discovery—
a whisper of closure, carried on the current.