The call came just before dawn
"Chinedu, you need to come," the night watchman's voice shook. "It's… bad.
By the time Chinedu reached the main farm, the air smelled wrong — sharp, chemical, bitter. Rows of maize stalks stood limp, their leaves already curling in unnatural browns,
Poison.
The irrigation pipes in that section had been tampered with. Whatever was poured in had flowed straight into the crops. Weeks of work — gone overnight.
Ireti was already there, her scarf tied tight against the morning chill. "This isn't random," she said quietly. "This is someone making a point."
Chinedu crouched, touching the brittle soil. He didn't need to guess who. The resistance from certain farmers had been simmering for months, but this… this was war.
By mid-morning, Tunde arrived with two uniformed policemen. They took statements, photographed the scene, and promised an investigation. But Chinedu knew how these things worked — no one would be caught unless they were careless.
"Don't let this distract you," Tunde said, standing beside him. "They want you off-balance."
"I'm not leaving the field," Chinedu replied. "If they cut one branch, we grow two more.
Two days later, a white Hilux pulled into the yard. Out stepped a man in a neatly pressed kaftan and sunglasses.
"Mr. Obasi?" he asked, extending a hand. "I'm Honourable Kenechukwu. I've been hearing about your work here."
Kenechukwu represented the local government's agricultural committee. His tone was warm, but his eyes measured every corner of the farm.
"I'd like you to showcase Imperial Farms at the state agricultural fair next month. We can give you a stall, publicity… maybe even consider you for a government-backed expansion loan."
Chinedu smiled cautiously. "And in return?"
"Let's just say… we help each other. You have the face of the new agriculture. I have the network to make sure people see it.
Ireti, listening from the shade, caught Chinedu's eye. She didn't need to speak; her look said be careful. Political favors were debts that didn't vanish.
That evening, Chinedu gathered his small leadership circle — Ireti, Tunde, and Mama Akin.
"They want to crush us," Chinedu said, "so we're going to grow in a direction they can't touch."
He laid out a simple plan:
Use the surviving harvest to launch Imperial Fresh, a branded produce outlet in Onitsha's central market.
Leverage the buses from Imperial Transit to run direct farm-to-market routes, cutting out middlemen.
Feature co-op members' names and farms on the produce labels, making it clear this was a shared victory.
Ireti grinned. "Make the market see your name every morning, and your enemies will choke on their own jealousy."
The first Imperial Fresh stall opened two weeks later. Bright green and gold banners fluttered over neat stacks of tomatoes, yams, peppers, and plantains. The co-op's logo sat proudly on every crate.
Customers came for the freshness — but stayed for the story. The young man from Umunze turning scattered farms into a network. The co-op that shared profits. The buses that arrived before dawn, loaded with produce.
By the end of the week, the stall was selling out daily. Orders came in from hotels, restaurants, even a small boarding school.
The sabotage was never solved. But Chinedu noticed the whispers in the market changing. Fewer muttered curses, more curious questions. The damage had been real, but his counterattack — retail and visibility — was working.
One evening, standing in the empty stall after closing, Chinedu looked at Ireti.
"They threw thorns at us," he said. "We just planted them back and made roses."
She laughed. "Roses? Don't get poetic, oga farmer."
But as he locked up and walked towards the waiting bus, Chinedu's thoughts weren't on roses. They were on numbers — the kind he'd seen flash in his head before matches he never remembered watching.
The farm was growing, the market was opening, but the road ahead was steep. Political doors, new industries… they would all demand capital. Heavy capital.
He took out his phone and scrolled to the betting app he hadn't touched since the last big win. Futures. Multiples. Long odds. His heart beat faster.
More risk, more reward. And this time, he wouldn't just be betting on games. He'd be betting on the empire.