Former MLB pitcher Scott Erickson told a Van Nuys courtroom on May 13 that he stepped on the gas when he spotted two young brothers standing in a Westlake Village crosswalk, seconds before both children were struck and killed in September 2020. The admission came during testimony in the Iskander family's wrongful death lawsuit, years after Erickson's then-girlfriend Rebecca Grossman was convicted of murder for the crash that took the lives of 11-year-old Mark Iskander and 8-year-old Jacob Iskander.
Erickson, who pitched for the Dodgers and several other big-league clubs, told the court he was traveling between 50 and 55 mph in a black SUV when he reached the crosswalk on Triunfo Canyon Road just after 7 p.m. on September 29, 2020.
What he said next should trouble anyone who believes accountability still means something in American courtrooms.
Erickson did not claim he hit the brakes. He did not say he swerved. He said he sped up. In his own words:
"I stepped on the gas for probably two or three seconds to get through, because I thought that was the safest process."
Attorney Brian Panish pressed him on whether he actually knew how fast he was going. "So you're just guessing what your speed was?" Panish asked. Erickson's reply was blunt: "Yes, I am."
The exchange that followed was even more striking. Asked whether he saw the boys in the crosswalk, Erickson offered a sequence of answers that shifted in real time, first acknowledging "the boys," then asking "what boys?", then "there were boys?" The contradictions unfolded under oath, in a courtroom where the Iskander family sat waiting for answers they have pursued for years.
The facts of the evening paint a grim picture. Mark and Jacob Iskander were crossing Triunfo Canyon Road with their mother, Nancy Iskander, and their younger brother. Witnesses saw cars racing toward the crosswalk. Erickson, driving his black SUV, reached the intersection first. Behind him, prosecutors alleged, Grossman was driving a white Mercedes at 73 mph in a 45-mph zone.
Nancy Iskander has said she grabbed her youngest son and dove out of the way of Erickson's SUV, only to watch Grossman's vehicle speed through the spot where Mark and Jacob had been standing.
Erickson testified that after passing through the intersection, he continued to Grossman's nearby home. Moments later, he said, she called him and told him something terrible had happened. He said he ran back toward the scene and stopped when he saw Grossman's wrecked SUV.
He did not call police. He did not come forward to authorities. A week passed before investigators contacted him.
Erickson's testimony revealed a pattern that went well beyond the crash itself. He admitted lying to traffic investigators about how much he had been drinking that night. He admitted deleting WhatsApp messages between himself and Grossman after the accident. And he admitted switching license plates on his 2016 high-performance Mercedes-Benz with those from his older 2007 model, a scheme he maintained for six years, he said, to avoid paying registration fees on the newer vehicle.
The WhatsApp messages, spanning four years, are now part of the Iskanders' wrongful death lawsuit. They show Erickson and Grossman exchanging "I love yous" while coordinating their stories, even as Grossman's criminal defense team argued that Erickson, not Grossman, was behind the wheel that killed the boys.
That defense failed. In 2024, a jury found Grossman guilty of two felony counts of murder, two felony counts of vehicular manslaughter with gross negligence, and one felony count of hit-and-run driving resulting in death. She was sentenced to 15 years to life in prison. In March, a California appeals court rejected her final attempt to reverse the verdict.
The case echoes other fatal hit-and-run cases that have drawn national attention for the callousness of those involved and the agonizing wait families endure before seeing any measure of justice.
Erickson's courtroom testimony did not arrive in a vacuum. The week before, former MLB player Royce Clayton, Erickson's onetime teammate, appeared in the same trial. Clayton claimed Erickson had told him he saw Grossman running over the boys in his rearview mirror. Clayton also said he had margaritas with Erickson and Grossman the day of the crash.
If Clayton's account is accurate, Erickson knew what happened the moment it happened, and still chose silence for a full week.
Prosecutors had previously alleged that both Grossman and Erickson were drinking before the crash. The Washington Examiner reported that prosecutors said both had been drinking at a nearby restaurant before the fatal drive. Los Angeles County Superior Court Judge Shellie Samuels, who found sufficient evidence for Grossman to stand trial, did not mince words: "The defendant was not rushing to get home. She was playing a high-speed game of chicken with Mr. Erickson." Samuels added, "I believe the defendant went well beyond gross negligence."
Grossman, a co-founder of the Grossman Burn Foundation and wife of plastic surgeon Dr. Peter Grossman, faced a possible sentence of 34 years to life. The jury ultimately delivered 15 years to life.
For Nancy Iskander, the criminal conviction was only part of the fight. The wrongful death lawsuit, the proceeding in which Erickson now testifies, represents the family's effort to hold every responsible party accountable, not just the driver who struck her sons.
Nancy Iskander has been direct about what she believes. She told Fox News Digital: "A person killed two children. They didn't do anything wrong. She's a murderer." She added, "We will continue to speak up until we see justice and see her pay for the murder of two little boys."
The family has expressed frustration that even after the guilty verdict, post-conviction legal maneuvering delayed sentencing and extended the ordeal. Grossman's appeals court loss in March finally ensured she remains behind bars, but the civil case continues, and with it, the slow grind of testimony from witnesses like Erickson.
Cases like these test the patience of families who have already lost everything that mattered. The pattern is familiar in high-profile criminal proceedings: defendants with resources use every available legal avenue to delay, relitigate, and exhaust the people on the other side. It is a pattern seen in other headline-grabbing cases where suspects exploit the system's procedural generosity while victims' families wait.
Set aside the baseball career and the celebrity connections. What the courtroom record shows is a man who, by his own admission, accelerated through a crosswalk where children stood. Who lied to investigators. Who deleted evidence. Who swapped license plates to dodge fees. Who waited a week to talk to police, and only then because they came to him.
Erickson was not charged criminally. He testified as a witness, not a defendant. But the civil trial is laying bare the full scope of conduct surrounding that September evening, and the picture is not flattering.
The justice system's handling of hit-and-run fatalities often leaves families feeling that the system moves too slowly and punishes too lightly, especially when defendants have money, lawyers, and connections. The Iskander case has tested that frustration at every turn.
Grossman's conviction was the right outcome. The appeals court's decision to uphold it was the right outcome. But the civil trial is now exposing how many people around this crash chose self-preservation over honesty, and how long it took the truth to surface.
The broader question the case raises, whether our courts and legal institutions move fast enough to deliver justice to ordinary families, is one that resonates far beyond Westlake Village.
Mark Iskander was 11. Jacob Iskander was 8. They were crossing the street with their mother. Two cars came racing down the road. One driver accelerated. The other allegedly hit them at 73 mph. Both drivers went home. Neither called for help.
Nearly five years later, the family is still in court, still fighting, still listening to a man explain under oath why he thought stepping on the gas was "the safest process."
When the people behind the wheel have resources, connections, and lawyers, and the people in the crosswalk are children, accountability shouldn't take this long.