The news of Imperial's deal with the Americans spread like wildfire. Newspapers and talk shows praised the boldness, but not everyone was impressed. Within days, politicians, rivals, and even a few professors began to raise alarms.
"Obasi is selling our sovereignty for dollars," one critic barked on television.
"First it was farms, now it's oil, and now satellites? When does it stop?"
"They want to own our skies through him—can't you see?"
The attacks mounted, amplified by shadowy rivals in Lagos and Abuja who feared his growing influence. Editorials accused him of letting the Americans plant their flag in Nigeria's entertainment and tech industries. Opposition leaders whispered that he was the governor's secret weapon, that all his success came from "special favors."
For days, Chinedu kept quiet. He let the storm rage, eyes fixed on his schedule. Because he knew something the critics didn't: the results were about to speak for themselves.
The Imperial Studios contest concluded with a frenzy. Over a thousand scripts had been submitted, dozens of directors fought for recognition, and now the winners were chosen. Cameras rolled the very next week on Imperial Films' first feature—a bold Nigerian story with world-class production values. The announcement alone sent ripples through the industry: for the first time, young Nigerian filmmakers had been given the kind of budget and freedom once reserved only for Hollywood.
At the same time, Imperial Music burst into the charts. The roster Chinedu had quietly assembled—Wizkid, Olamide, Burna Boy, and a new wave of upcoming talent—was now unstoppable. Afrobeat was on fire. Imperial Music signed distribution deals across Africa and Europe, while promoters in New York and London clamored to host their artists. Streaming platforms reported spikes in Nigerian music like never before.
The timing could not have been better.
At a press conference in Lagos, a journalist raised the question directly:
"Mr. Obasi, how do you respond to critics who say you've handed Nigeria to America with this deal?"
The hall went silent. Cameras zoomed in.
Chinedu leaned forward, his tone sharp, deliberate.
"Let me be clear. This is not America owning Nigeria. This is Nigeria owning its future. We are not selling out—we are buying in. This deal is two-way. We give them a market. They give us technology. We build with it, we grow from it, and we rise higher. You've seen the results. Imperial Films is already creating the largest studio in Africa. Imperial Music is breaking barriers for Afrobeats globally. Tell me—" he paused, locking eyes with the crowd—"does that look like weakness to you, or strength?"
The hall erupted in applause.
Within hours, clips of his response flooded social media, turning the tide. Headlines shifted: "Obasi Fires Back: 'We Are Not Selling Out, We Are Buying In.'" Students and artists reposted his speech, praising him for defending Nigerian pride while opening global doors. Even skeptics had to admit—the results on the ground were undeniable.
The Americans, watching closely, smiled. Their investment had just been legitimized by the sheer force of his momentum.
And Chinedu, as he walked out of the press hall, remained calm. The critics had been silenced, but he wasn't thinking about them.
His eyes were already on the next frontier—the American market itself.