When the first promotional campaign for Imperial TV aired, Nigerians stopped to watch. It wasn't just another channel; it was bold, modern, and unapologetically African. Clips of upcoming films, Afrobeats concerts, and interviews with directors filled the airwaves. The reception was electric.
Imperial Air, too, was creating waves. Training contracts had been signed in Washington, Miami, and Abuja. Pictures of young Nigerian pilots in crisp uniforms flooded the newspapers, with headlines declaring, "Nigeria to Train a New Generation of Aviators."
The synergy between the two—media and aviation—was impossible to ignore. People flew in on Imperial Air, watched Imperial TV at their hotels, and shopped at Imperial Malls. It was a loop that fed itself, each branch of the empire amplifying the others.
But the loudest ripple came from Enugu.
The completed expressways were already being studied by other states. For the first time in decades, ordinary traders could make a round trip in hours instead of days. Farmers doubled their profits; industries expanded their supply chains.
The story could not be contained within one state.
Soon after, the call came from Osun.
The governor there, a pragmatic visionary, had been watching closely. Osun had untapped tourism potential: the Osun-Osogbo Sacred Grove, waterfalls, cultural festivals. But poor infrastructure choked it all. He wanted Imperial Holdings to replicate the Enugu miracle.
"Osun must become the tourism capital of Nigeria," the governor said during their first private meeting. "And only your team has shown the capacity to think at that scale."
Chinedu studied him carefully. The offer was more than business. It was political, cultural, even historic. To build roads that led not only to farms and factories, but to shrines, palaces, and festivals—it was a chance to tie commerce to heritage.
He agreed, but with conditions: Osun would co-fund aggressively, Imperial Construction would oversee, and Imperial Entertainment would weave it into Nigeria's cultural rebirth. Tourism would not just be accessible—it would be celebrated.
As the deal brewed, another thought burned at the back of Chinedu's mind.
The Americans had given him technology and credibility, but their terms were heavy. The Chinese, however, were always eager to fund infrastructure, especially when oil and minerals were involved. He had seen them back home in Asia, building ports, railways, entire cities.
"What if Imperial Holdings could use their appetite to break into Africa faster?" he mused silently.
The Osun deal was proof of concept. Once it succeeded, state after state would come knocking. Add Chinese financing and machinery, and Imperial's expansion wouldn't just be Nigerian—it would be continental.
Chinedu leaned back in his Lagos mansion, phone buzzing with updates: pilots in training, malls opening, studios producing, governors calling.
The ripples had turned into waves. And waves, he knew, had the power to reshape entire shores.