The recent re-release of court documents from the 2017 divorce between vascular surgeon Michael David McKee and his ex-wife Monique Tepe (formerly Monique Frances Sabaturski) has reignited intense scrutiny in the wake of McKee’s indictment for the alleged premeditated murders of Monique and her husband, dentist Spencer Tepe, on December 30, 2025. Insiders and media outlets reviewing the files describe the asset division as “coldly precise“—a calculated, no-frills split that left little room for ambiguity or ongoing ties—while a newly highlighted handwritten adjustment on the final page has become a focal point of speculation and shock among true crime followers and legal analysts.
The documents, originally finalized in Franklin County Domestic Relations Court in Ohio (with the decree entered around May/June 2017 after Monique filed in May citing “incompatibility”), were never truly contentious on the surface. The couple married on August 22, 2015, separated by March 2016 after roughly seven months of cohabitation, and had no children together. The separation agreement, filed April 28, 2017, stated plainly: “Differences have arisen between the parties, and they are now living separate and apart from each other.” No spousal support was ordered, and each retained personal property and vehicles to mutual satisfaction.
Key elements of the division included:
Real property: McKee kept the couple’s $230,000 home in Roanoke, Virginia (where he was completing his surgical residency), along with its mortgage. The property was in his name, with limited equity buildup during the short marriage.
Personal assets and debts: Monique claimed her 2012 Jeep and engagement/wedding rings (totaling about $6,000–$13,000 in value, which she asserted she personally paid for) as separate property. Each party assumed debts in their own names, with no joint accounts or shared safety deposit boxes referenced.
Financial reimbursement: Monique was ordered to reimburse McKee $1,281.59 (plus 23% interest if unpaid by July 2018)—a modest sum relative to their professional incomes (McKee as a resident physician earning around $51,000 annually at the time, Monique’s background not detailed but implying independence).
Legal and privacy provisions: Each paid their own attorney fees. The case was referred to a private retired judge for a quicker, more discreet resolution. A standard mutual restraining order (routine in Ohio divorces to prevent asset hiding or contact) was in place but not linked to any domestic violence allegations in the public record.
What has insiders calling the split “coldly precise” is its clinical efficiency: no lingering financial entanglements, no alimony, no shared custody battles, and explicit affirmations of full disclosure and non-interference. In hindsight, amid the murder charges, this detachment fuels theories of unresolved bitterness—especially given family statements that Monique was “terrified” of McKee, felt she “just had to get away,” and allegedly endured emotional abuse (though no criminal DV charges or non-standard protection orders appear in records beyond the mutual order).
The element drawing the most attention now is a handwritten adjustment noted on the final page of the decree or related filing. While exact wording remains limited in public reports (to preserve investigative details), sources describe it as a minor but deliberate pen alteration—possibly clarifying a reimbursement amount, property description, or reimbursement deadline—that appears to have been initialed by one or both parties. This small, manual tweak stands out in an otherwise typed, formal document, prompting questions: Was it a last-minute compromise? A sign of tension during signing? Or simply bureaucratic housekeeping? In the context of McKee’s alleged actions nearly a decade later, some speculate it symbolizes a moment of controlled resentment or precision that mirrored his later behavior.
Compounding the intrigue: The long-dormant case saw erroneous docket activity in 2025. A June 2025 filing date appeared, with a hearing noticed for September 26, 2025 (including mailed notices to both parties). Court officials confirmed this as a clerical error—a docket number mix-up with no actual reopening or new claims. The September date was canceled, and the 2017 decree remained closed. Yet the glitch resurfaced the old files just months before the December 2025 killings, leading many to reexamine them obsessively.
McKee, 39, now indicted on multiple counts including aggravated murder, aggravated burglary, and firearm specifications (with one count tied to a suppressor), was arrested January 10, 2026, in Rockford, Illinois, after a manhunt. Authorities linked him via vehicle surveillance near the Weinland Park home, travel records (a roughly 7-hour drive from Chicago), and a recovered firearm preliminarily matched to the scene. He waived extradition and awaits transfer to Ohio, where he faces potential death penalty eligibility.
The re-released documents—obtained and analyzed by outlets like USA Today, New York Post, Fox News, and others—offer no smoking gun of motive but amplify the tragedy’s layers: a seemingly clean break that may have masked deeper wounds. Family and friends portray Monique as having rebuilt a joyful life with Spencer (married January 2020/2021, two young children), while McKee job-hopped across states (Virginia, Nevada, Illinois, California licenses noted). The handwritten note, though minor, humanizes the paperwork—reminding observers that even “precise” legal endings can carry emotional weight.
As proceedings advance, these details underscore the enduring impact of domestic dynamics, even years post-divorce. The children orphaned by the crime remain the heartbreaking core, with tributes emphasizing Spencer and Monique’s roles as devoted parents and community members.
May they rest in peace, and may the truth provide some solace to those left behind.
