The whispers became thunder.
First came the media scandal. Tabloids splashed with lurid headlines:
"Hidden Families? Inside the Secret Life of Nigeria's Rising Billionaire."
"Three Ex-Girlfriends Speak Out: 'He Left Us Behind.'"
"Unclaimed Children: The Dark Side of Chinedu Obasi's Success?"
Gossip shows ran segments daily, digging into his past. An old classmate claimed he was arrogant even in school. A bitter ex fabricated stories about money he "owed." Commentators began asking whether a man with "such a questionable moral character" should be trusted to control Nigeria's financial future.
It was coordinated, precise, and relentless.
Next came the legal strikes.
The EFCC announced it was "reviewing Imperial Holdings' financial flows" for irregularities. They sent teams into banks and offices, subpoenaed records, and questioned managers under harsh lights. Imperial's lawyers handled it calmly, but the message was clear: they want to find something, anything.
Then a coalition of old banks filed a monopoly lawsuit. They argued that by tying loans, insurance, mortgages, and even fuel purchases together, Imperial Holdings was "building an anti-competitive structure designed to crush every other business in Nigeria."
The case was accepted in court.
Chinedu's boardroom went quiet the day the summons arrived. Even Tunde's face was grim.
"This isn't about the law," he muttered. "They want to slow us down. They want the public to doubt you."
The final blow came from the political front.
The Minister of Finance, speaking at a major economic forum, broke tradition by directly criticizing Chinedu in public:
"Nigeria's financial system must remain independent of any single man, no matter how successful. A monopoly in food, oil, entertainment, and now banking threatens the balance of our nation. We must ask—are we watching the rise of a businessman, or the creation of a shadow government?"
The room had applauded. The clip went viral.
For the first time, Chinedu felt the weight of a true coordinated assault.
The reports piled on his desk: negative press, legal battles, political speeches. He knew this wasn't random. Old money, foreign partners, and nervous politicians were moving in sync. The question was not whether he was guilty, but whether they could paint him guilty enough to kill Imperial Bank before it drew its first breath.
At a midnight meeting in his Lagos residence, the inner circle gathered. Ireti's eyes were cold fire.
"They are trying to bleed you by perception. If the people turn, the courts will follow. If the courts move, investors will flee."
Tunde slammed his fist. "They want to corner us? Then we corner them back. Use their own greed against them. The people love you—remind them why. Give them something so powerful the scandals look like noise."
Chinedu listened in silence, then leaned forward. His voice was calm, sharp, decisive.
"If they want war, then I'll give them proof that Imperial Bank isn't for me—it's for Nigeria. Let them try to shame me. I'll drown them in results."
The next morning, as the newspapers ran another "unclaimed children" headline, Chinedu announced a radical financial program:
Farmers would get access to zero-collateral microloans through Imperial Bank's pilot scheme.
Imperial Insurance would waive fees for public school teachers nationwide.
A nationwide job portal was launched for graduates to be hired directly into Imperial subsidiaries, starting with Imperial Restaurants and Real Estate.
Within days, tens of thousands registered. Farmers gave interviews thanking Imperial for their first-ever chance at formal credit. Teachers posted videos of receiving insurance cards. Young graduates lined up at Imperial career fairs, smiling for cameras.
The media scandal still ran—but it began to look hollow, out of touch with what ordinary Nigerians were experiencing.
And then, in a twist no one expected, several international outlets picked up the story—not the scandals, but the programs. "Nigerian Billionaire Launches Revolutionary Bank for the People," read one headline in London. "A Financial Giant Rises in Africa," read another in New York.
That night, watching the reports on TV, Chinedu allowed himself a rare smile.
They came with scandal, law, and politics, he thought. But the people—my people—are the shield they cannot pierce.
Still, he knew this was only the beginning. If his enemies had revealed their hand so openly, then the real strike was yet to come.
The storm had only just begun.