The morning after his meeting with the Governor, Chinedu sat in his Enugu office, a large regional map spread across the desk. Colored pins marked Imperial Farms' territory — red for existing farm sites, blue for retail outlets under construction, green for expansion targets. To anyone else, it looked like a farmer's plan. To Chinedu, it was a military campaign.
Tunde walked in, sleeves rolled, folder in hand. "We secured two more retail spaces in Abakaliki — one by the main market, the other near the bus terminal. High traffic, good margins.
Chinedu nodded without looking up. "Good. But orchards, livestock, and new outlets won't build themselves. They'll swallow cash before they give anything back."
Tunde raised an eyebrow. "You're already thinking about where to get the money."
"I always am." Chinedu pushed the map aside and pulled out his tablet. "The school feeding deal gives us reputation, but not liquidity. I've got something else in mind."
He didn't elaborate, and Tunde didn't press. When Chinedu said "something else," it meant he had already seen an opportunity the rest of the world was sleeping on.
That afternoon, while Ireti oversaw new poultry sheds and the first orchard planting, Chinedu was holed up in a quiet hotel suite, reading financial reports. For weeks, he had been tracking whispers about a certain American tech giant going public. The name was already everywhere — Facebook. Most people saw it as a social network for posting photos and idle chatter. Chinedu saw it as a cultural currency about to turn into actual currency.
He had followed every scrap of news, studied market chatter, and run projections. The IPO date was set. The share price would be high, but the demand higher. If he got in early, even a few days of market frenzy could multiply his capital.
The decision was made. Using untouched reserves from previous profits, he bought in aggressively, not just shares but also short-term options to magnify returns. The risk was real, but so was his conviction.
In the days after the IPO, the numbers climbed exactly as he had predicted. By the end of the week, his positions had more than doubled. He closed his trades with the detachment of a man collecting on a bet he already knew he'd win. The final tally: enough cash to buy three new buses, secure land in Anambra for an orchard, and put down payments on two retail outlets in Ebonyi.
Meanwhile, Tunde was deep in Port Harcourt, laying the groundwork for their oil and retail push. He sent late-night updates: "I've found two promising depot sites. If we lock one down now, we'll control distribution in this axis."
Chinedu smiled when he listened. Everything was moving — the farms, the outlets, the transport fleet. The loops were forming. But this wasn't just expansion anymore. With capital from a Silicon Valley tech boom flowing into an Eastern Nigerian farm empire, Chinedu knew he had crossed a line.
The East was becoming Imperial Farms country — and the map on his desk was already pointing toward Lagos.