Nancy Pfister grew up inside a world most people only glimpse in magazines. Her father co-founded Buttermilk Ski Area and helped turn Aspen from a fading mining town into a playground for billionaires. She dined with presidents, turned down a marriage proposal from Michael Douglas, and partied with Hunter S. Thompson.
At the time of her death, Pfister controlled a personal fortune of roughly $9.5 million, equivalent to about $12.9 million today. Her $4 million mountain home sat perched above Aspen’s 8,000-foot elevation, with views of the peaks her father had transformed into ski country. The property was held through the NMP Residence Trust, managed by the law firm that had handled Pfister family wealth for generations.
Her bank accounts were fat with rental income. Jewelry, art, and scattered income properties across Aspen’s most exclusive neighborhoods padded the balance sheet. Her father’s 2014 real estate deals alone included Buttermilk lots selling for $2.5 million and $2 million, suggesting family wealth that dwarfed Nancy’s personal holdings.
Pfister lived a life of perpetual travel. Australia one month, Africa with Anjelica Huston the next, European jaunts with film stars. Her passport told stories of first-class departure lounges. Work was foreign to her. She claimed credentials as an architect or entertainment producer, but family trusts and monthly rental income funded her existence.
In November 2013, she advertised her Aspen home for rent. The terms seemed simple: $4,000 per month plus caretaking duties. William Trey Styler III, a 65-year-old retired anesthesiologist, answered the ad. He planned to open an Aspen spa with his wife, Nancy Styler, who described herself as a lily pad expert.
On paper, the couple looked respectable. Their history suggested otherwise. Kansas investigators had looked into them after both of their cars exploded mysteriously, with suspicions of insurance fraud that never led to charges. Colorado police knew Nancy Styler for a 2005 arrest involving allegations she beat a waitress.
On September 24, 2013, the Stylers took possession of Pfister’s home. She handed over the keys and flew to Australia, expecting winter to pass without incident. Instead, broken appliances greeted the new tenants. A stove that wouldn’t heat. A dishwasher that wouldn’t wash. The Stylers withheld rent pending repairs, and the dispute escalated quickly into open warfare.
Emails flew across the Pacific, carrying venom instead of rent checks. Each message escalated from business dispute to personal hatred. Pfister demanded utilities, damages, and penalties, inflating the $4,000 rent into a $14,000 bill. She called the Stylers “trailer trash” and said they belonged in a trailer park.
Nancy Styler later described the commands she received: “Get my cigarettes. Get this. Get my drink.” She said Pfister reduced her from botanical expert to personal servant. The couple had owned a home in Denver before financial ruin. Now they were taking orders from a woman who treated them like hired help.
Pfister’s assistant, Kathy Carpenter, delivered the ultimatum: pay $14,000 or lose the spy equipment and sewing machines the Stylers had left in the house. Those possessions represented the couple’s last hope for recovery. Carpenter later confirmed that Nancy Styler had verbalized a threat: “I’m just this angry at her. I could just kill her.”
On February 22, 2014, Pfister returned from Australia. She had told friends she delayed eviction through Christmas, but her patience had expired. Two days later, Trey Styler entered her bedroom while she slept.
The hammer in his hand had a slightly curved edge, with a striking surface spanning an inch or two. It was a tool selected for intimate violence, not construction. Styler later said that seeing Pfister sleeping peacefully while his own life crumbled triggered something primal.
“It bothered him that our whole lives were falling apart and she was there sleeping peacefully, and he snapped,” investigators later recounted. In his confession, Styler said: “Suddenly, it occurred to me that I could rid myself of this problem once and for all by killing her.”
He struck her three to four times between the right forehead and right temple. The blows were forceful enough to bruise her left upper arm, right neck, and right jaw. Blood overwhelmed the mattress. Styler retrieved a garbage bag from the garage and covered her head to keep the bleeding to a minimum.
He pulled her onto a sheet and wrapped an extension cord around her body. Then, inches at a time, the 65-year-old man with degenerative muscle disease dragged her 12 feet to the walk-in closet. The bedroom looked suspiciously clean afterward. Investigators found hardly any visible blood except for a small smear on the headboard.
The mattress had been flipped, hiding the blood-soaked side. Investigators doubted Styler had the physical strength to do that alone. The question of whether someone helped him would haunt the case for years.
On February 26, Kathy Carpenter used her access to Pfister’s home to check on her. She called emergency dispatchers and said, “She’s dead, full of blood.” Investigators noted that Pfister’s body was thoroughly wrapped, making such observations impossible without unwrapping it. Carpenter’s description raised immediate red flags.
The next day, Carpenter visited Pfister’s safety deposit box and withdrew $6,000 and two family rings. Investigators saw that as evidence of deeper involvement. One investigator said plainly: “Kathy Carpenter had something to do with the murder or the cleanup afterwards.”
On March 3, police arrested the Stylers at a run-down motel in Basalt. Evidence accumulated quickly. The murder weapon, with Pfister’s blood on it, was found in a nearby dumpster. Trey’s DNA matched plastic bags found at the scene. A closet key was found near their motel room.
Nancy Styler made a bizarre announcement to the motel clerk while collecting newspaper articles about the murder. She said the criminals were in room 210, where she and her husband were staying.
On June 16, Trey Styler gave a detailed confession. He claimed sole responsibility, describing unlocked doors, garage weapons, and a murder accomplished despite his physical limitations. Investigators remained skeptical. They could not understand how a wheelchair-bound man flipped mattresses, dragged a body, and cleaned the crime scene well enough to protect it for days.
On June 20, 2014, Trey Styler pleaded guilty to second-degree murder. He received a 20-year prison sentence. The deal included absolute immunity for Nancy Styler. She could never face murder charges, regardless of future evidence. Prosecutors knew Dr. Styler lacked the physical capacity to hide the body alone, but the plea deal sealed Nancy’s protection forever.
Fourteen months later, on August 6, 2015, guards at Arrowhead Correctional Center found Trey Styler hanging in his cell. The coroner ruled it most likely self-inflicted. His death silenced the one person who knew whether he truly acted alone.
Nancy Styler released a statement calling her husband a victim. “Trey is now at peace after being tortured for such a long time,” she said. A $1 million life insurance policy paid out to her after his death. Colorado law permitted the payment because second-degree murder did not trigger a prohibition.
Pfister’s daughter, Juliana, fought back. Her legal team froze the funds through U.S. bankruptcy court in Massachusetts and ultimately secured $850,000 of the million.
In late 2015, Nancy Styler published a memoir titled “Guilt by Matrimony: A Memoir of Love, Madness, and the Murder of Nancy Pfister.” The book was an attempt to monetize tragedy. Co-author Delene Bry helped craft Styler’s narrative of false accusation and innocence. The book deal had been negotiated while Trey was still alive.
In January 2016, Juliana filed a $25 million wrongful death lawsuit. She alleged that Nancy Styler assisted her husband in the murder. The lawsuit emphasized physical impossibilities: Trey’s wheelchair-bound condition versus the strength required for dragging a body, flipping a mattress, and concealing evidence.
Attorney David Boino argued that prosecutorial immunity should not shield Nancy from civil liability. The lawsuit targeted both the insurance proceeds and book profits as blood money.
In 2021, the parties reached a confidential settlement. Juliana secured the majority of the insurance money and likely placed restrictions on Nancy’s attempts to profit from the murder.
Nancy Pfister’s estate totaled $9.5 million at death, roughly $12.9 million in today’s dollars. That figure represented her personal wealth, separate from the larger family holdings. The Pfister family retained Starwood properties, Maroon Creek Club memberships, and legacy real estate throughout Aspen’s billionaire-populated landscape.
A $4,000 monthly rent dispute triggered murder. It proved that even among Aspen’s elite, money could motivate the ultimate violence. Nancy Pfister died believing herself untouchable in her mountain kingdom. She never imagined that tenants she dismissed as trailer trash would become her executioners.
Aspen’s golden girl lay wrapped in garbage bags while her killer confessed, and his possible accomplice walked free. Justice, in the end, proved as complicated as the crime itself.