The newspapers had been full of it for weeks — a troubled oil field in the eastern delta, battered by financial mismanagement, vandalism, and simmering hostilities with the local communities. For most investors, it was a red flag. For Chinedu, it was an opening.
Sitting in his Enugu office late one night, he read every report available, tracing the problems like a surgeon studying a wound. Theft, sabotage, community protests over pollution, unpaid royalties — the oil company had become a pariah, abandoned by both foreign partners and the government that once championed it.
But as Chinedu leaned back, his mind mapped out the loops. Oil was more than crude exports. It powered trucks that carried farm produce, fueled buses in his transportation network, supplied generators that lit up Imperial Malls, and fed the logistics of Imperial Construction. If Imperial could step into upstream oil, it wouldn't just be another venture — it would tighten the chain that held all his industries together.
He summoned Tunde the next morning.
"They're bleeding," Chinedu said, pointing to the papers. "If we take it, stabilize it, and fix the politics around it, this becomes more than fuel. It becomes leverage."
Tunde frowned. "Oil isn't like restaurants or malls. This one drips with danger. Vandals, militants, angry communities. It's a fire waiting to burn someone."
Chinedu nodded. "Which is why we won't fight them. We'll engage them. Imperial Oil Stations already made us a name. Now, we'll create a structure — Imperial Upstream — built to share."
The plan was daring. Instead of swooping in like the foreign companies had done, he envisioned community stakeholding — giving locals a share of revenues, hiring directly from villages, and allocating part of profits to visible infrastructure projects. It would turn hostilities into loyalty, sabotage into protection.
The first calls were discreet — through contacts he had built with the governor, through the secretary who had fed him whispers before, and through quiet envoys sent to community chiefs. The responses were cautious, but interest stirred. Here was not another foreign company taking wealth away. Here was one of their own, an Igbo son, with a reputation already spreading nationwide.
For Chinedu, the field represented more than profit. It was a test. If Imperial could tame oil, he would not only secure fuel for his empire but also step onto the highest table of Nigerian business, where only a few men dared sit.
As he gazed out over the city lights that night, the words rolled silently in his mind: Black gold. Heavy shadows. But shadows can be managed if you bring light.