The announcement of Imperial Holdings' headquarters had been a local triumph, but the ripple was now swelling into a wave. Newspapers in Lagos and Abuja carried his face on their business pages. Online financial blogs started calling him "Nigeria's Silent Billionaire," while talk shows debated whether his rise was the result of sheer brilliance, political deals, or hidden foreign capital.
It was in this whirlwind that Chinedu received a letter embossed with the seal of the University of Enugu. The Vice-Chancellor himself had signed it, inviting Chinedu to deliver a keynote lecture on "The Role of Indigenous Entrepreneurship in Economic Development." It wasn't just an honor—it was a sign that the academic and policy circles were taking him seriously.
"Public speaking, eh?" Tunde teased when he heard the news. "Don't freeze on stage."
"I'm not there to perform," Chinedu replied, "I'm there to plant an idea."
The lecture hall was overflowing that day. Students sat in the aisles, professors leaned forward in their seats, and cameras from local TV stations crowded the back. Chinedu spoke not of his own wealth, but of systems—how agriculture, transport, processing, and retail could be woven into a single, self-sustaining network. He spoke of innovation in Africa not as a dream, but as a duty.
The applause was thunderous. But the real explosion came the next day, when a major financial magazine released a deep dive into his holdings. The journalists had dug through company filings, land records, shipping manifests, and stock transactions. They estimated his net worth at somewhere between ₦180 billion and ₦240 billion, placing him among the top ten richest Nigerians—though he had never appeared on any official Forbes list.
They even published a ranking chart with his name alongside oil magnates, telecom tycoons, and old-money dynasties. The internet roared with reactions—admiration, envy, skepticism.
A reporter cornered him after a business meeting. "Mr. Obasi, what do you think of the estimate? Does it bother you that your wealth is now public?"
Chinedu simply smiled. "Numbers are just numbers. What matters is what you build with them."
And he moved on.
Behind the scenes, he did act—but not in the way the media expected. That very week, he established the Imperial Foundation for Engineering and Applied Sciences at the University of Enugu. The foundation would fund scholarships, sponsor research, and build a state-of-the-art laboratory complex. Chinedu had already seen the shortage of skilled technical professionals in Nigeria; if Imperial Holdings was to keep expanding into processing, logistics, and aviation, the future workforce had to be trained now.
"This isn't charity," he told Temilade as she drafted the legal documents. "It's an investment in twenty years from now."
From his office, he watched as the world's gaze settled more firmly on him. Politicians wanted alliances, journalists wanted interviews, and business leaders wanted partnerships. The storm of attention was only beginning—but Chinedu's eyes were already on the horizon, where the empire he envisioned was much bigger than the headlines of the day.