The morning sun was barely stretching over the eastern hills when Ireti burst into Chinedu's office, laptop under her arm and a stack of printouts in her hands. Her eyes had that sharp gleam—the one that usually meant she'd been up all night chasing an idea.
"I've been thinking about the North," she began without preamble.
"I thought we'd already—" Chinedu started, but she cut him off.
"No. Listen. We don't go in with open fields. We go in with glasshouses—modern, climate-controlled, scientifically managed. We choose crops not just for yield, but for resilience and market demand. Tomatoes, peppers, onions—staples. But also export-grade vegetables and specialty fruits. It'll triple output per square meter, and the controlled environment means pests and weather barely touch us."
She set the documents down, flipping through diagrams of sleek greenhouse structures, irrigation systems, and even AI-powered monitoring software. "We can use solar to cut energy costs. And the best part? Local farmers can be trained to operate them—we'd create jobs while producing food year-round in a place most people think is barren."
Chinedu leaned back, scanning the pages. This wasn't just ambitious—it was airtight. Every line of data, every chart, every projection carried the weight of possibility. The risks were still there, but for the first time, the opportunity felt too big to ignore.
"Alright," he said finally, pushing the papers back toward her. "Start making preparations. Choose the spots carefully—close to stable towns, near roads we can secure. I want this done quietly until we're ready to announce."
Ireti smiled, but there was steel in it. "I'll get on it today."
Later that afternoon, Chinedu met with Tunde at a quiet café in Enugu. The man was already juggling the oil and retail arms, but Chinedu had a bigger vision in mind.
"I want you to find someone to run the malls and oil stations day-to-day," Chinedu said, stirring his tea slowly. "I need you somewhere else—real estate."
"Real estate?" Tunde raised an eyebrow.
"Yes. Imperial Real Estate. We'll start with affordable housing—middle-class apartments that people can actually live in, not just dream about. Then, we'll also do customized builds for the ultra-rich—tailored villas, penthouses. We can build communities, not just structures. I want you to head it."
Tunde's expression shifted from surprise to something closer to excitement. "That's… huge."
"It has to be. We're creating the spaces people live in, shop in, work in. Everything loops back to Imperial Holdings."
They talked for hours—about zoning laws, modular construction techniques, even building designs that could integrate retail at the base and apartments above. By the time they parted ways, the outline of Imperial Real Estate was already forming in Chinedu's mind.
That night, as he sat in his study reviewing the empire's growing web of ventures—farms, processing, transport, retail, oil, now real estate—his gaze shifted to the western edge of the map on his desk.
Lagos.
The city was a beast—dense, expensive, unpredictable—but it was also the heart of commerce in Nigeria. If Imperial Holdings was to become more than a regional powerhouse, it would have to plant its flag there.
He closed the map and leaned back, already thinking of contacts to call, permits to secure, and land to scout. The eastern chapter was still being written, but the western frontier was calling.
And Chinedu Obasi had never been one to ignore opportunity when it knocked.