The rains had just ended in Enugu when Chinedu took the highway drive himself. He didn't need a report; he wanted to see it with his own eyes. The Imperial Construction project that once drew skepticism was nearing completion, and the results spoke louder than any press release could. Smooth, multi-lane expressways cut through old, crumbling roads, gleaming under the sun like veins of steel threading across the state.
Trucks moved faster. Farmers arrived earlier. Commerce was alive again. Enugu was transforming before his eyes—and people knew it was Imperial Holdings at the heart of it.
Chinedu smiled faintly as he leaned back in the convoy. This was only the beginning.
That evening in Lagos, inside his study lined with drafts and blueprints, he drew his roadmap for the next five years. The paper wasn't neat, but the vision was crystal clear.
First: Aviation.
Imperial Air would not just ferry passengers; it would anchor Nigeria's entry into modern aviation. He circled three priorities:
Fleet acquisition — newer, safer planes sourced directly from the U.S. through favorable purchase agreements.
Maintenance backbone — a partnership with American aircraft maintenance companies, ensuring every Imperial jet would be serviced to international standard.
Training pipeline — agreements with U.S. pilot academies and universities in Nigeria. The plan was to establish joint programs: training pilots, engineers, and aviation managers who would grow with Imperial Air for decades to come.
He knew this was not just about planes. It was about laying an entire ecosystem that could not easily be rivaled.
Second: Entertainment and Media.
The breakout success of Imperial Music and Imperial Films had shown the world Africa's soft power. But dominance required consistency, and consistency required channels.
The acquisition of a Lagos-based TV station was finalized that week. Soon, Imperial TV would broadcast concerts, film premieres, and documentaries that shaped culture. It was a natural progression—control the music, the film, and the screen they were seen on.
"Distribution is power," Chinedu muttered to himself, jotting down a note. "We control both the content and the channels."
Imperial Studios was already preparing its second contest for screenwriters, and whispers in the industry were calling him the "patron of Nigeria's creative revolution."
Third: Education as Infrastructure.
Temilade's recent updates about her connections in the legal world had reminded Chinedu how powerful university partnerships could be. For aviation, entertainment, and even oil, education was the invisible backbone.
He began outlining scholarships, endowments, and training programs. Engineering, law, sciences, arts—each Imperial sector would have its mirror in academia, producing talent that fed into the empire.
When the roadmap was complete, he leaned back in his chair, exhausted but satisfied. On his desk, the sheets showed a man's ambition stretching beyond business: roads, skies, media, and minds.
For the first time, Chinedu felt the weight of the empire he was building. Imperial Holdings was no longer just a company. It was becoming the architecture of modern Nigeria.
And as he closed his files, he whispered to himself, "Five years. That's all it will take."