The rainy season had settled in, turning the air heavy and the red earth slick. From the balcony of his Enugu office, Chinedu watched trucks rumble out of the yard — some loaded with crates of oranges from their first orchard harvest, others carrying sacks of feed for the growing poultry division. Below, the sound of hammering from the new retail outlet echoed up the street.
Inside, the walls were covered with expansion charts: orchards in Anambra, cattle paddocks in Ebonyi, a dairy trial in Imo. The transport division's map now had routes stretching into Cross River and Akwa Ibom. The East wasn't just a foothold anymore; it was a network.
Tunde strode in, rain on his shoulders, smelling faintly of petrol from his morning at the depot site in Port Harcourt. "Oil retail's looking solid. One depot ready for lease, another in negotiation. If we close both, Imperial can move fuel and goods through the same fleet."
Chinedu smiled faintly, tapping his pen against the desk. "Good. But we'll need another capital surge to match the pace. And Lagos is still ahead of us."
They were still talking when Chinedu's phone buzzed. A number he didn't recognize flashed on the screen, tagged only with the prefix for the state capital. He answered.
"Good afternoon, Mr. Obasi," a crisp female voice said. "This is Mrs. Udoka, secretary to His Excellency."
Chinedu sat up straighter. "Yes, I'm here."
"The Governor asked me to reach out. There may be a project he wants your company involved in. It's preliminary, but he's aware of Imperial Farms' work in the school feeding program. He'd like to discuss something broader."
Chinedu's mind was already racing. Deals with the Governor didn't just mean contracts — they meant access, visibility, and protection.
"What kind of project?" he asked carefully.
"I can't disclose details over the phone," Udoka replied. "But I'll say this — it involves long-term supply and infrastructure. If you're interested, clear your schedule for Tuesday morning. You'll be meeting him directly."
After the call, Chinedu leaned back in his chair, letting the hum of rain on the roof fill the silence.
Tunde raised an eyebrow. "That sounded important."
Chinedu's smile was small but sharp. "Important is one word for it. This might be the bridge to Lagos — or something even bigger."