Even before the events that would shock two states and leave a family shattered, those who worked alongside Michael David McKee sensed something was off. In the weeks leading up to the cold morning of December 30, 2025, subtle tremors of instability rippled through the halls of OSF Saint Anthony Medical Center in Rockford, Illinois. McKee, a vascular surgeon respected for his skill and professionalism, began to show cracks in the facade that had long defined his career. Colleagues recall a man who, beneath the surface of surgical precision and patient praise, was quietly unraveling.

McKee’s complaints were not the typical gripes of a high-pressure hospital environment. He spoke often of feeling “disrespected,” his words tinged with a bitterness that grew sharper with every retelling. These weren’t isolated outbursts, nor were they the harmless ventings of a stressed physician. Instead, they became a motif—private conversations in break rooms, murmured exchanges in sterile corridors, moments snatched between procedures—where McKee would circle back to perceived slights, both real and imagined. “They think they can disrespect me, but they’ll get what’s coming,” he’d say, or “They’ll face the consequences.” At the time, most dismissed these remarks as the product of a demanding job, not knowing they were listening to the prelude of a tragedy.

On paper, McKee was the model of medical achievement. He graduated from Ohio State University College of Medicine in 2014, earned his credentials through years of rigorous training, and maintained spotless records in both Illinois and California. Patients described him as personable, even excellent—a doctor who inspired trust and confidence. Yet, the image that greeted patients in the exam room was not the full story. Behind closed doors, McKee nursed grievances that went beyond professional disappointment. He felt undervalued, overlooked, and slighted, not just by colleagues but by superiors and, most painfully, by figures from his personal past.

The tension in McKee’s life was not confined to the hospital. His failed marriage to Monique Tepe had left deep scars. They married in 2015, but the union was brief and turbulent, ending in divorce just two years later. Monique moved on, finding happiness with Spencer Tepe, a dentist who would become her new husband and the father of her children. For McKee, the sight of his ex-wife rebuilding her life was a wound that never quite healed. According to family members, including Spencer’s brother-in-law Rob Misleh, McKee’s behavior during the marriage had been emotionally abusive. When the news broke of the murders, suspicion fell quickly and heavily on McKee.

In the month before the killings, McKee’s rhetoric escalated. What had once been vague threats became more pointed, more sinister. Colleagues remember him speaking of “payback” and “fitting consequences,” words that, in retrospect, sound like warnings. Yet, no one reported him; the remarks seemed too abstract, too disconnected from any real danger. The hospital staff, accustomed to the pressures of their work, failed to see the red flags waving in plain sight.

Then, in the early hours of December 30, McKee allegedly drove from Illinois to Columbus, Ohio. The details of that night are chilling in their precision. There was no forced entry, no sign of struggle. The couple’s two young children, just one and four years old, were left unharmed. The bodies of Monique and Spencer were discovered only after Spencer failed to show up at his dental practice, prompting a concerned colleague to request a wellness check. The horror that awaited law enforcement was matched only by the shock that reverberated through both the medical and dental communities.

Investigators quickly pieced together the timeline. The shootings occurred between 2 a.m. and 5 a.m., a window that suggested careful planning. McKee’s journey from Illinois to Ohio, his actions inside the Tepe home, and his subsequent flight all pointed to premeditation. The upgraded charges—two counts of aggravated murder with premeditation—reflected the calculated nature of the crime.

In the aftermath, hospital sources described McKee’s complaints as having a tone of entitlement and unresolved anger. While no one had reported overt threats of violence, the recurring theme of retribution now stood out as a glaring warning sign. The hospital responded swiftly: McKee’s profile was removed from public directories, and a statement was issued confirming cooperation with law enforcement. There had been, they emphasized, no prior indications of danger.

The psychological dimension of the case is as compelling as it is disturbing. Experts in behavioral analysis note that individuals who harbor long-term resentment—especially when fueled by romantic rejection and professional or social grievances—can reach a breaking point. What begins as abstract threats, voiced in moments of frustration, can eventually crystallize into violent action. McKee’s statements in the final weeks before the crime suggest an escalating fixation on those he believed had wronged him, culminating in an act of targeted violence against Monique and Spencer.

Neighbors in Chicago’s Lincoln Park, where McKee lived in a high-rise condo, were equally stunned. To them, he was just another resident—someone who chatted about the weather and barbecues by the pool. The revelation of his alleged involvement in a double murder was a shock that rippled through the community. “He seemed normal,” one neighbor said. “Talked about the weather, barbecues—then this.”

As McKee awaited extradition from Winnebago County Jail in Illinois to Franklin County, Ohio, he maintained his innocence through a public defender. In a brief court appearance on January 12, 2026, he waived extradition, appearing calm in a yellow jumpsuit and shackles. The Tepe family, meanwhile, expressed gratitude for the arrest, calling it “an important step toward justice.” Their focus now was on mourning the irreplaceable loss and caring for the children left behind.

The revelations from McKee’s workplace paint a haunting portrait of a man quietly nursing wounds of perceived disrespect. Bitterness festered until it allegedly erupted in violence, leaving a family destroyed and two communities in shock. What began as workplace grumbling foreshadowed a devastating act, one that investigators and psychologists may study for years to come.

In the sterile, high-pressure world of medicine, where lives hang in the balance and reputations are built on precision, the emotional undercurrents can be difficult to detect. McKee’s story is a reminder of how hidden resentments can remain concealed until it’s too late. The colleagues who once dismissed his complaints as harmless venting now look back with regret, wishing they had recognized the signs.

As the investigation continues and the legal process unfolds, the story of Michael David McKee stands as a chilling testament to the dangers of unchecked bitterness and the tragic consequences of a mind pushed to its breaking point. The quiet conversations in hospital break rooms, the murmurs of disrespect, the vows of retribution—all were pieces of a puzzle that only came together in the aftermath of an unspeakable crime.

Those who knew Monique and Spencer Tepe remember them not for the violence that ended their lives, but for the love and happiness they found together. Their story, now intertwined with McKee’s, serves as a stark warning of how personal grievances, left to fester, can erupt with devastating force. The lessons to be learned are painful, but necessary: in the complex interplay of professional and personal lives, the signs of trouble are often there, if only we are willing to see them.

The tragedy that unfolded in Columbus, Ohio, is more than a headline. It is a story of ambition, resentment, and loss—a story that began with whispered complaints and ended in heartbreak. As friends, family, and colleagues grapple with the aftermath, the haunting question remains: how did it come to this, and what might have been done to prevent it? The answers may never be fully known, but the impact of McKee’s actions will echo for years to come, a somber reminder of the fragility of the human psyche and the importance of vigilance in the face of hidden pain.