The rain had just stopped, leaving the air thick and the asphalt slick. Chinedu's SUV rumbled along the main highway back toward his estate, its headlights carving through the early evening haze. He wasn't in a hurry—yet every bump and jolt of the road seemed to press urgency into his thoughts.
It was a shame. Enugu had been growing fast, industry and commerce on the rise, but the roads… the roads were a disaster. Deep potholes, broken shoulders, faded lines—it was the kind of infrastructure that dragged an economy backward.
That was when the thought returned to him—an idea he'd read about years ago in a business magazine. In some countries, governments partnered with private companies to build and maintain expressways. The companies would front part of the cost, maintain the roads, and charge modest tolls to recover their investment. If it worked elsewhere, why not here?
By the time he pulled into his driveway, the idea had hardened into a plan. Imperial Construction—still in its infancy—would take the lead on the engineering and project management. The government would own the highways outright, but Imperial Holdings, a network of local banks, and foreign bond investors would share the burden of financing. In exchange, Imperial would operate the toll system for a fixed period, ensuring that the company could recoup its investment—and make a profit.(
It wouldn't be a short-term win. The projections showed that real returns would only start rolling in after five years. But when they did, the profits could be massive—and more importantly, the deal would cement Imperial's reputation as not just a business empire, but a nation-builder.
The next morning, Chinedu called for a meeting with the governor. The man received him warmly—by now, their relationship had moved beyond mere formalities. Chinedu laid out the vision:
"Your Excellency, I want to make Enugu the state with the most modern road network in Nigeria. In Africa, even. This is not just construction—it's economic transformation. Farmers can move goods faster, businesses can scale without logistics nightmares, tourism can thrive. We'll use a public-private model, so the government isn't burdened with the entire cost. Banks, bond investors, Imperial Holdings—we'll carry the load together."
The governor leaned forward, clearly intrigued. "And the state?"
"The state owns it all," Chinedu said. "Imperial only operates it for a set number of years to recover costs. After that, it's entirely yours. Meanwhile, we all enjoy the benefits of world-class roads."
There was a pause—a long one. Then the governor smiled. "If you can get the banks and foreign investors on board, you have my blessing. Draft the proposal."
Within weeks, the first feasibility studies began. Imperial Construction's engineers mapped out major arteries—linking the capital to the borders, connecting rural production hubs to urban markets. Architects began sketching toll plazas that would be as modern as anything in Europe.
Word began to leak. Newspapers speculated about a "transformational infrastructure project" in Enugu. Opposition voices grumbled about private tolls, but local business groups were overwhelmingly in favor. Farmers' unions called it "a lifeline."
And as Chinedu reviewed the draft contracts late one night, he realized this was more than just another deal. This was legacy work—the kind of project people remembered long after names faded from headlines.
If it succeeded, Enugu would change forever. And so would Imperial Holdings.