The alliance with Dangote proved to be more than a headline.
Almost overnight, the northern glasshouses began to pay off. Grain from Kano, vegetables from Plateau, and tomatoes from Kaduna were reaching Imperial warehouses faster and cheaper than before. The math was clear: production costs had dropped, distribution lines expanded, and the co-op system now hummed with northern strength.
For Chinedu, it was more than savings. It was leverage. With cheaper food sources feeding Imperial Farms and Imperial Malls, he had the breathing room to take bolder steps.
And Lagos demanded boldness.
The malls and oil stations were already underway, foundations laid, permits cleared. But as he drove one night through the neon glow of Victoria Island, Chinedu noticed something else. The city lived on rhythm — clubs thumping till dawn, cinemas packed, restaurants overflowing with laughter and clinking glasses. Lagos was not just an economic capital; it was Nigeria's cultural heartbeat.
If Imperial Holdings wanted to root itself here, it needed to do more than sell food and fuel. It needed to breathe Lagos.
Thus was born Imperial Entertainment.
Concert halls, film studios, event arenas — a network designed to capture the city's booming creative industry. Partnerships were floated with up-and-coming musicians and filmmakers. Investors circled, curious to see if Chinedu could bring the same discipline that turned farms into fortunes into the chaos of entertainment.
Alongside it rose Imperial Restaurants, a fusion of African and global cuisine, branded to echo the Imperial name while celebrating local flavor. He imagined chains that would rival the international giants, yet remain proudly Nigerian.
"Restaurants, concerts, movies," Tunde said one evening as they reviewed proposals. "Are you sure about this, Nedu? This is a different beast."
Chinedu leaned back, a smile tugging at his lips. "Lagos feeds on dreams, Tunde. If Imperial doesn't give them, someone else will. Better we do it now — before the rivals sharpen their knives."
And he was right to think so. Rumors were already swirling of old Lagos tycoons meeting in smoky boardrooms, whispering about the boy from Enugu who dared to claim their city.
But Chinedu wasn't waiting for them to move. With farms secured in the north and costs slashed through the Dangote alliance, he poured fresh capital into entertainment and dining. Every new project was a fortress planted in Lagos soil, daring anyone to push him out.
In the months that followed, Imperial Holdings' name was no longer spoken in Lagos as an intruder. It was spoken as an inevitability.
And as the city danced to the beat of music and feasted in Imperial Restaurants, Chinedu knew one truth — before his rivals could plot, he had already made Imperial part of Lagos itself.